Damn. He’d meant to be here, but she hadn’t rung—or had she, while he’d been vacuuming the house?

Yup. There was a missed call from her, and a voice-mail.

‘I’ve arrived. Couldn’t get you on the phone earlier, but I’m here now so I’m walking the dog. Call me when you get home.’

He dialled her number as he carried the bags into the kitchen and dumped them on the worktop, and she answered on the second ring, sounding breathless.

‘Hi—did you get my message?’

‘Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t here, I went food shopping. I’m back now. Where are you?’

‘On the sea wall. I’ll be two ticks, I can see the cottage from here,’ she told him, so he opened the front door and stood on the porch step scanning the path, and there she was, blonde hair flying in the breeze, a huge sandy-coloured dog loping by her side as she ran towards him, her long limbs moving smoothly as she covered the ground with an effortless stride.

God, she was lovely.

Lovelier than ever, and that took some doing. His heart lurched, and he dredged up what he hoped was a civilised smile as he went to meet her.

She looked amazing, fit and well and bursting with energy. Her pale gold hair was gleaming, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks flushed with the sea breeze and the exertion as she ran up, her smile as wide as her arms, and threw herself at him. Her body slammed into his and knocked the breath from him in every way, and he nearly staggered at the impact.

‘Hey, Slater!’

‘Hey yourself, Princess,’ he said on a slight laugh as his arms wrapped round her and caught her tight against him. ‘Good to see you.’

‘You, too.’

She hugged him hard, her body warm and firm against his for the brief duration of the embrace, and he hugged her back, ridiculously pleased to see her, because he’d missed her, this woman of Joe’s. Missed her warmth and her humour, missed the laughter she carried with her everywhere she went. Or had, until she’d lost Joe.

Don’t tell me you’re getting married again—please, don’t tell me that …

Swearing silently, he dropped his arms and stepped back, looking down at the great rangy hound standing panting at Connie’s side, tongue lolling as it watched him alertly.

‘So—I take it this is your rescued dog? I’d pictured some little terrier or spaniel.’

Connie winced ruefully. ‘Sorry. Teensy bit bigger. This is Saffy—Safiya. It means best friend. Joe sort of adopted her in Afghanistan on his last tour. He was going to bring her home, but—well, he didn’t make it, so I brought her back.’

Typical Joe, he thought with a lump in his throat. Big tough guy, soft as lights. And he’d just bet she’d been his best friend, in the harsh and desolate desert, thousands of miles from home. A touch of humanity in the inhumanity of war.

He held out his hand for Saffy to sniff. She did more than sniff it. She licked it. Gently, tentatively, coming closer to press her head against his shoulder as he crouched down to her level and stroked her long, floppy ears. A gentle giant of a dog. No wonder Joe had fallen for her.

He laughed softly, a little taken aback by the trusting gesture, and straightened up again. ‘She’s a sweetie,’ he said, his voice slightly choked, and Connie nodded.

‘She is. I had to bring her home.’

Of course she’d had to, because Saffy was her last link to Joe. If Joe had been soft, Connie was softer, but there was a core of steel in there, too. He’d seen plenty of evidence of that in the past few years.

He’d seen her holding herself together when Joe was deployed to Afghanistan for what was meant to be his final tour, and then again, just months later, when he came home for the last time in a flag-draped coffin—

‘So, this is the new house, then,’ she said, yanking him back to the present as he opened the gate and ushered her and Saffy through it.

He hauled in a breath and put the memories away. ‘Hardly new. I’ve been here over two years. I’d forgotten you hadn’t seen it.’

‘No, well, things got in the way. I can’t believe it’s that long,’ she said. She looked slightly bemused, as if the time had somehow passed and she’d been suspended in an emotional void. He supposed she might well have been. He had, for years. Still was in many ways, and it was a lonely place.

Take care of Connie.

Guilt ate at him. He should have been there more for her, should have looked out for her, emailed her more often, rung her. It had been months, and he’d just let it drift by. Too busy, as usual, for the things that really mattered.