Page 56 of Duke It Out
We walk. Twenty minutes pass, then thirty. I call for Muffin until my throat sounds hoarse. The spaniels are still dashing back and forth, but even they look a little downhearted, their tails flagging, as if they’re wondering where their friend has got to.
My boots are wet from the dew on the grass and I’m starting to regret not putting on an extra layer. Now we’re out of the sunshine under the cover of the trees it’s cold, and I rub my arms as we pause to survey the path we’ve just walked down.
Rory lifts his arms over his head, pulling the sweatshirt up so that it rides up. For a fleeting moment I see the line of dark hair that leads downwards and have to tear my eyes away from the sight of him in mud-splattered grey sweatpants. He tosses the hoody to me.
“Put it on,” he instructs.
“But you’ll be cold.”
“Put it on.”
I pull it over my head and inhale the scent of him as it covers my face. This is not helpful in the slightest, combinedwith the whole skin flashing sweatpants scenario. I’m worried sick about poor little Muffin but it turns out my libido must be more of a cat person, because there’s a whole other subplot going on in my brain. I shake my head to try and get some focus back.
“I’ll go up here and see if there’s anything at the top of the track, then double back to you.”
He’s about to protest when I point to where the track forks back down the hill. “I won’t get lost, I promise. You can see me the whole time.”
He huffs out a breath. “Fine, but don’t break your ankle on a tree root.”
“Hardly likely,” I say, and promptly trip over a fallen branch and have to regain balance by grabbing onto the rough-textured trunk of a pine tree. It’s covered in sap and without thinking I rub my hands on the front of his sweatshirt, leaving two grubby marks. “Oh God, sorry.”
Rory says nothing, just looks at me with an expression which suggests he thinks I’m a complete idiot. I march to the top of the ridge, and that’s when I hear it – a sharp bark, and then another, muffled and distressed.
My hands start shaking and I gasp.
“Rory!” I shout, already moving towards the sound.
By the time he reaches me, I’m already flat on my stomach, digging at a pile of disturbed earth under a tangle of brambles. I can hear a soft whine which grows louder as I talk gently to him, promising him I’ll get him out safely.
Rory drops to his knees and tears back the rest of the brambles without hesitation, and together we clear the earth away. There’s a huge rock beneath the soil.
“Easy, little one,” he says gently, reaching in to lift itcarefully out of the way. His movements are slow and careful. “Can you get to him?”
I reach in and feel the familiar wiry fur and Muffin’s little heart hammering beneath the skin. A moment later as I’m trying to catch hold of his collar, I give a laugh of relief as I feel the little dog licking my wrist. Rory’s hand brushes mine as he reaches over to help.
“Up we come,” Rory says, and we ease him out. He’s got a cut on one of his back legs and he’s covered in peaty black mud, but his little tail is wagging furiously. Rory pushes the hair back from his face and looks at me, mud-covered and streaked with blood from the thorns, a huge smile on his face.
“Well done,” he says, scooping Muffin with one arm and standing up before he puts a hand out to pull me to standing. My heart is thumping almost as fast as the little terriers was.
Rory reaches towards my face, and I hold my breath.
“You’ve got a—” He pulls gently and removes a bramble shoot from my hair.
We walk back together, Muffin in his arms, the spaniels darting back and forth. For a while we’re silent, and then Rory turns to me for a moment, his mouth curving in a half-smile.
“I think perhaps he’s inherited my father’s love of drama.”
“Let’s hope not, or he’ll be turning up for the ball on a unicycle.” I reach out and put a hand on Muffin’s scruffy head for a moment.
“Ah, the ball.” Rory raises his eyes heavenward. “You’ve heard some of the tales already.”
I nod. I don’t want to remind him that I’ve read the plans. Right now, the uneasy truce between us is so fragile that I don’t want anything to break it. “Kate and Janey havementioned one or two.” I can’t help sliding him a sideways smile. “Will we be expecting you to keep the tradition going?”
The path narrows and for a moment our arms brush together. Rory shakes his head, but he’s half-laughing.
“I can categorically state that no, I will not be indulging in any of the preposterous nonsense my father did.”
“That’s a shame.”
