The dog jerked back into the hedgerow, surprising Evie. She lost her balance and fell back on her rump. “Blast,” she muttered.

“Is someone over there?” A low masculine voice called from the other side of the hedgerow.

Evie stared at the shrubbery as if she could see through the thick greenery. “Yes. There is a dog in the hedgerow. I think he—or she—may be stuck.”

“I thought I heard a whimper,” the man said.

“I seem to have frightened it,” Evie said. “It showed me its face, but when I moved too close, it retreated.”

“Let’s see if I can coax him out. Here, doggy,” he cajoled. “Let us help.”

He received another whimper in response.

“Do you see him?” Evie asked, pushing up to her knees and leaning forward.

“I do. He’s very sweet.”

“Or she.”

“Or she,” he said. “How are you, then, little doggy?” the man asked in a surprisingly tender voice. “He—or she—looks young.”

Evie hadn’t noticed, but then her experience with dogs was limited to the ones she’d fed scraps to on the streets of Soho in her youth. “You are familiar with dogs, then?” she asked.

“Somewhat.” His voice changed to that softer lilt. “Can you come out? Or are you stuck in there, poor thing? Let me help,” the man coaxed.

This was met with a yelp and considerable rustling in the hedgerow. The dog’s white face peeked forth once more on Evie’s side, along with the upper half of its body. Evie grabbed its shoulders and held fast, despite the animal’s wriggling. “I’ve got you,” she said softly.

“Don’t let go!” the man called. “I’m coming!”

He was? Rather than look up and down the hedgerow for an opening, Evie kept her gaze fixed on the small dog who was still trying to get loose of her grip. She attempted to pull the animal free, but this was met with a louder whimper than the rest. It seemed he—or she—was stuck.

“Do hurry!” she yelled to the man, wherever he was.

“We’re only trying to help,” she said to the dog. “Will you let us? You’re awfully cute.” Evie brought her face even with the animal’s, perhaps unwisely. What if it tried to bite her? “You won’t nip at me, will you?” she said with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “We’re going to be friends. In fact, I think we are already.”

The dog stopped struggling so much. Its gaze held hers, then he—or she—let out another whimper. Where was the gentleman?

Evie turned her head to the right and saw him bearing down on them. She didn’t have time to assess him before he was down on his knees in the grass beside her. “It seems stuck,” she told him. “I can’t pull it free.”