Bushfire Bride. Marion Lennox
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considered, trying really hard not to panic.
Panic seemed an increasingly enticing option.
She’d go back to the hospital, she decided. Hugo had said he needed her. How much? He was about to be put to the test. ‘If you need me you’ll have to house and feed me,’ she’d tell him.
‘No. Feed me first,’ she corrected herself.
And Penelope?
Maybe she couldn’t expect Hugo to take on Penelope. She’d take her back to the pavilion.
Bad idea. It had been almost an hour now since Rachel had collected Penelope. Penelope had been the last dog to leave and the showground caretakers had done their duty. At some time while Rachel had walked into town and back again, the high wire gates had been bolted closed.
The caretaker’s residence was in the centre of the grounds, well out of shouting distance.
Rachel put her head against the cyclone wire and closed her eyes. Great. Just great. The whole situation was getting farcical.
Where was this women’s refuge?
‘This has to go into the record books as the most romantic weekend a girl has ever had,’ she told Penelope, but Penelope looked at her with the sad eyes of an Afghan hound who hadn’t been fed.
‘You ate my hamburger,’ Rachel told her. ‘Don’t even think about looking at me like that.’
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