When Sally had agreed to drive up to the farm with her notes, Sol had fist pumped the air. He really hadn’t expected her to agree to come so far, and he’d become resigned to the fact that he would have to get his Land Rover fixed before he could drive to the beach house at Bondi and collect the notes. The deadline was looming and there was very little time to spare.
But she’d agreed to come…and she’d sounded enthusiastic too.
Sally had said she’d be there late morning, so once he’d fed the dogs and goats, searched out the cats and locked them inside and swept out the aviary, he let himself relax.
He boiled the kettle and was sitting out on the back verandah when two things struck him at the same time. He needed to get out of his pyjama pants and ratty jumper before she arrived, and at the same time he realised he hadn’t seen Otis around since he’d let him out when he’d got up this morning.
With a groan, he hurried out the back door and pushed open the gate that led out to the back twenty acres.
There was no sign of the silver Weimaraner.
Damn, he’d been put in Sol’s care, and now he’d taken off.
Dave’s words rang in his ears. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let Otis in the back paddock, or especially down by the creek. He humps wombats.’
Great, just great! A wombat-humping dog. Just what he needed today.
Sol thought back, trying to remember when he’d last seen Otis, but with no luck. He’d first ventured out at sunrise and the silver dog had followed him outside.
He walked down to the back boundary past the old wooden dunny covered in honeysuckle vines, and called and whistled the damn dog. He tipped his head to the side; that had sounded like a bark from down near the creek on the top side of the farm.
As
he walked back up the hill, another sound drifted across and he looked up.
A small red sedan was crossing the cattle grid at the front of the property. It
was between him and the house, and he put his hands over his eyes.
No, it couldn’t be Sally.
Not yet please God. He lifted his hands, and when he was sure it was indeed her, he estimated the distance between the back paddock and the driveway—and the house in between. He knew there was a pair of clean jeans sitting on the washing machine at the back of the house.
Anything would be better than getting sprung in a pair of blue-striped flannelette PJs.
He skirted along the back fence keeping an eye on the car as it drove up the hill before he dashed behind a stand of gum trees. He stood waiting for Sally to pull up at the front of the house. The car drove slowly along the drive and then she turned towards the shed where his dead Land Rover was parked.
With a groan, Sol stepped out from behind the tree and crossed to the shed. He had no chance of scarpering back to the house for his jeans.
He’d just have to greet her, apologise and then get dressed.
‘Morning, Sally. You must have left bright and early.’ He plastered a grin onto his face as she wound down the window and peered out at him.
Her eyes dropped to his legs and her smile was wide as she looked back up at him. ‘Am I too early?’
‘No, no, not at all.’ He opened the door for her. If there was one thing that his mother had taught him it was how to be a gentleman. ‘I’ve been looking for a missing dog.’
Sally climbed out and stretched her arms above her head. ‘That was a long drive.’
‘Thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it.’ he gestured to his Land Rover parked in front of her car. ‘Since Gertie gave up the ghost, I’m stuck here until the mechanic arrives.’
As Sally walked around to the other side of the car, and opened the back door, a cacophony of barks and bleats filled the air.
‘Bloody dog. Wait here, Sally.’ Sol left her at the car and took off at a run, puffing by the time he reached the top of the hill, but a groan took away his next breath.
The Weimaraner was in the goat pen and was having a wonderful time chasing the goats.
‘Blast you, Otis.’ He’d had nothing but trouble with the damn dog since he’d arrived to look after the farm. Now he knew why Dave had trouble getting the neighbours to look after the place when he went away.
‘How can I help?’
He turned around to see Sally beside him.
Sol shook his head with another groan as the goats ran around in a mad panic. He could barely make himself heard over the bleating and the barking. ‘If you hold the gate, I’ll go in and get him. When I get back over here with him, open the gate and shut it behind us after I drag him through.’
Sally nodded and he vaulted the fence. His PJs caught on the barbed wire at the top and he grabbed for his butt as a blast of cold air hit his skin. But he didn’t have time to worry about that. He grabbed the top of his pants, and held them secure as he took off across the pen after the dog. After three circuits of the pen avoiding goat hooves, with a huge lunge he crash tackled the damn mutt and landed in the mud with the dog beneath him.
‘Gottcha, Otis!’
***
Sally hadn’t laughed so much for years. Okay, maybe she had a tiny bit of sympathy for Sol, but the sight of a grown man with a huge rip in his PJ pants, chasing a silver flash of a dog around a goat pen was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen. By the time, Sol was back in his feet and dragging the dog over to the gate where she stood guard Sally had managed to school her face into a sympathetic expression.
‘Step back when we come through, you don’t want to get flicked with mud.’ Sol now had both hands through the dog’s collar, and the dog was heading reluctantly towards the gate. ‘Okay. Open it now.’
Sally pushed the gate open and the dog charged through. She squealed as it headed straight for her and two muddy, smelly paws landed on her shoulders and a pink, very wet tongue licked her chin.
‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry.’ Sol tugged at the dog’s collar. ‘Otis, bloody get down!’
Sally snorted as the laughter took over again. She lifted her hand to her face and it came away wet with a combination of dog slobber and mud. Her best white T-shirt and designer jeans were flicked with mud. As Sol pulled on the dog’s collar, the dog resisted, still licking Sally’s face, obviously enamoured with a new human. Sally reached out and put her arms around him. She was already filthy, and he was the most beautiful pup, naughty behaviour withstanding.
‘What a beautiful boy,’ she murmured. The dog moaned as she rubbed his ears, and after a minute, he slid his paws down the front of her T-shirt and jeans on his way to the ground.
Sol stood there and looked at her, a stupefied expression on his face. ‘I am so sorry. What a welcome.’
‘It’s fine. My clothes will wash. The goats seem to be alright, and the only damage I can see—’the laughter spluttered out again—‘is the huge rip in your pretty blue PJs.’
The grin stayed on her face as Sol went brick red and looked down at the dog.
‘Now take me to a laundry, and I’ll have a wash.’ She wrinkled her nose. What’s that strange smell?’
‘Probably wombat.’ Sol rolled his eyes as he looked at her. His mouth twitched and then lifted in a grin. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’
Sally stared up at him. ‘Thank you. ‘
‘Thank you?’ Sol quirked an eyebrow. ‘What for?’
‘For taking me right out of my comfort zone.’
Sally looked down as the dog slipped out of his grasp and headed for the house. Sol held his hand out to her, and it seemed to be the most natural thing in the word to slip her hand in his.
Her heart filled as they followed Otis over to the old farmhouse.