Page 83 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
The golf course was just as disappointing. Set on the long green swathe on the rising ground behind the hotel, the view was stunning. All along the Esplanade, the swags of coloured lights shone like a jewelled necklace. Beyond the houses around the bay, the hills were fading into shadow as the indigo cloak of night spread over the sky.
But Vicky barely spared it a glance. There were so many places a small dog could have got himself stuck — trees and bushes all around the perimeter and in clumps between the fairways.
They didn’t speak much as they worked their way around the edge of the course. Vicky could feel the sharp sting of tears in her eyes — the grim possibility that Rufus may never be found was beginning to sink in.
It was harder to search in the dark. Tom’s torch had a powerful beam, penetrating the tangled undergrowth of brambles and goosegrass and bindweed, but it cast confusing shadows that made it difficult to be sure what was there.
Vicky was almost ready to admit defeat when she bent to pull aside a long thorny runner of bramble... and caught her breath.
“Tom — here.” A small tuft of fur was caught on the prickles.
He hurried over and shone the torch on the ground. It was slightly damp beneath the thatch of weeds, and imprinted in the mud was a small but very distinct pawprint.
“It could be just a cat, or a badger...”
Tom shook his head, pulling more of the undergrowth aside and shining the torch down. Among the tangle of roots, there was a hole. A hole just big enough to lure a small dog.
“Here, hold the torch.” He thrust it into her hand and bent to drag the weeds aside, calling to the dog. “Rufus? Hey, boy.”
As they listened intently there was the faintest sound... It could have been a bird. Then it came again...
“Rufus!”
Vicky aimed the beam carefully at the hole as Tom knelt and reached into it, stretching his arm down as far as he could.
“Is he there?”
“Yes. I can just touch him, but he’s stuck.” He drew back. “Pass me the shovel.”
She tried not to let her gaze be distracted by the powerful movement of the hard muscles beneath his T-shirt as he stabbed the shovel into the earth around the hole, widening it. As he reached his arm into it again, she heard a distinct squeak.
He grunted, and pulled slowly back — and to Vicky’s delight a small bundle of muddy fur appeared. With a whimper the little dog scrambled into Tom’s arms, huddling against his chest and managing to lift a weary head to lick his chin.
At last Vicky could breathe. “Oh, thank God.”
Tom was kneeling on the ground, hugging the dog, and she could see his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in the muddy fur. He was crying.
She waited in silence until at last he rose to his feet.
“Stupid mutt.” His voice was a little huskier than usual. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Vicky laughed. “I don’t suppose he’ll be doing that again in a hurry.” She stroked a finger round the little dog’s ear. He turned his head to gaze at her with eyes that lacked their usual sparkle, then snuggled against Tom’s chest again. “Poor little mite — he must be starving.”
“Yes. But he’d better not have his usual dinner — it’d be too much for his stomach, after eating nothing for so long. It could make him ill.”
“I could do him some scrambled egg?” she offered.
He smiled, and reached out to take her hand. “That would be perfect.”
Chapter Sixteen
They took the shortcut through the cricket ground. The sky was dark now, filling up with stars. Walking beside Tom as he carried his little dog, Vicky knew that her heart was lost. To both of them.
“He’s a cute little thing,” she remarked for something to say. “How long have you had him?”
“Since he was around two weeks old. He and the rest of his litter were dumped in a sack in one of the bins at the recycling centre in town. He was the only one who survived.”
“Oh, that’s awful!” A sharp tear stung the corner of her eye. “Why do people do that? They could have just handed them in to a vet or the RSPCA or something.”
