Abby and the Bachelor Cop / Misty and the Single Dad: Abby and the Bachelor Copy / Misty and the Single Dad. Marion Lennox
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Troy used to keep the Station really nice.’
‘Yeah, but he wasn’t a Finn,’ Raff said. ‘The place has gone to hell in a handbasket since I arrived. Did you think of the lawn yourself, Abigail, or did Philip mention it? A tidy man, our Philip. But enough. Murderers, rapists—and lawn!’ He sighed. ‘A policeman’s lot is indeed a tough one. See you ladies later. Have a nice cup of tea.’
He turned and walked away. Louise put her hand on Abby’s arm, holding her back.
The toad. Raff Finn knew she wouldn’t be able to get away from here for an hour.
‘Make sure you plant some petunias when you’re finished,’ Abby called after him. ‘It’d be a pity if we saw our police force bored.’
‘Petunias it is,’ he said and gave her an airy wave. ‘Consider them planted. In between thefts. How long till the next snatch and grab?’ He shook his head. ‘Keep off the streets, Abigail, and keep a tight hold on that felon of yours. Next time, I might have to put you up for a community corrections order. The pair of you might find yourself planting my petunias for me.’
CHAPTER SIX
ABBY didn’t go back to court. Philip phoned to find out where she was and she decided she had a headache. She did have a headache. Her headache was wagging his tail and watching as she dog-proofed her fence.
According to the Internet, to stop foxes digging into a poultry pen you had to run wire netting underground from the fence, but flattening outward and forward, surfacing about eighteen inches from the fence. The fox would then find itself digging into a U-shaped wire cavity.
That meant a lot of digging. Would it work when Kleppy The Fox was sitting there watching?
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she told him. ‘Philip’s being very good. We can’t expect his patience to last for ever.’
Philip.
She was expecting him to explode. He didn’t.
He arrived to see how she was just after she’d finished cleaning up after fence digging. They were supposed to be going out to dinner. Two of Philip’s most affluent clients had invited them out to Banksia Bay’s most prestigious restaurant as a pre-wedding celebration.
When Abby thought of it her headache was suddenly real—and, surprisingly, she didn’t need to explain it to Philip.
‘You look dreadful,’ he said, hugging her with real sympathy. ‘White as a sheet. You should be in bed.’
‘I … yes.’ Bed sounded a good idea.
‘Where’s the mutt?’
‘Outside.’ Actually, on her bed, hoping she’d join him.
‘You can’t keep him,’ Philip said seriously. ‘He’s trouble.’
‘This morning wasn’t his fault.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ Philip said darkly. ‘The dog might be trouble but Finn’s worse. It’s my belief he set the whole thing up. Look, Abby, the best thing would just be for you to take the dog back to the Animal Shelter.’
‘No.’
He sighed but he held his temper.
‘We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. I’m sorry you can’t make tonight.’
‘Will you cancel?’
‘No,’ he said, surprised. ‘They’ll understand.’
Of course they would. They’d hardly notice her absence, she thought bitterly. They’d talk about their property portfolios all night. Make some more money.
‘What will you eat?’ he asked, solicitous, and she thought she wouldn’t have to eat five courses and five different wines. Headaches had their uses.
‘I’ll make eggs on toast if I get hungry.’
‘Well, keep up your strength. You have a big week ahead of you.’
He kissed her and he was off, happily going to a wedding celebration without her.
The moment the door shut behind him, her headache disappeared. Just like that.
Why was she marrying him?
Uh-oh.
The question had been hovering for months. Niggling. Shoved away with disbelief that she could think it. But, the closer the wedding grew, the bigger the question grew. Now it was the elephant in the room. Or the Tyrannosaurus Rex. What was the world’s biggest dinosaur?
Whatever. The question was getting very large indeed. And very insistent.
Philip was heading to a dinner she’d been dreading. He was anticipating it with pleasure.
Worse. Philip’s kiss meant absolutely nothing. Last night … Raff’s kiss had shown her how little Philip’s kisses did mean.
And worse still? She’d almost been wanting him to yell at her about Kleppy.
How had she got into this mess?
It had just … happened. The car crash. Philip, always here, supporting her parents, supporting her. Interested in everything she was doing. Throwing himself, heart and soul, into this town. Throwing himself, heart and soul, into her life.
She couldn’t even remember when she’d first realised he intended to marry her. It was just sort of assumed.
She did remember the night he’d formally asked. He’d proposed at the Banksia Bay Private Golf Club, overlooking the bay. The setting had been perfect. A full moon. Moonbeams glinting on the sea. The terrace, a balmy night, stars. A dessert to die for—chocolate ganache in the shape of a heart, surrounded by strawberries and tiny meringues. A beautifully drawn line of strawberry coulis, spelling out the words ‘Marry Me'.
But there’d been more. Philip had left nothing to chance. The small town orchestra had appeared from nowhere, playing Pachelbel’s Canon. The staff, not just from the restaurant but from the golf club as well, crowding into the doorways, applauding before she even got to answer.
‘I’ve already asked your parents,’ Philip said as he lifted the lid of the crimson velvet box. ‘They couldn’t be more pleased. We’re going to be so happy.’
He lifted the ring she now wore—a diamond so big it made her gasp—and slid it onto her finger before she realised what was happening. Then, just in case she thought he hadn’t got it completely right, he’d tugged her to her feet, then dropped to his knees.
‘Abigail Callahan, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
She remembered thinking—hysterically, and only for the briefest of moments—what happens if I say no?
But how could she say no?
How could she say no now?
Why would she want to?
Because Rafferty Finn had kissed her?
Because Raff made her feel …
As he’d always made her feel. As if she was on the edge of a precipice and any minute she’d topple.
The night Ben died she’d toppled. Philip had held her up. To tell him now that she couldn’t marry him …
What was she thinking? He was a good, kind man and next Saturday she’d marry him and right now she was going to sit in front of the television and stitch a last row of lace onto the hem of her wedding gown. The gown should be finished but her mother and Philip’s mother had looked at it and decreed one more row.
‘To make everything perfect.’
Fine. Lace. Perfect. She could do this.
She let Kleppy out of the bedroom. He seemed a bit subdued. She gave him a