in a supportive way.
‘You were in some kind of special-ops, or particularly high-risk task force, weren’t you?’
That was what hadn’t seemed quite ordinary about those pictures.
It was another piece of him, one that made perfect sense the moment it occurred to her.
‘Yeah. But what made you think that?’
‘A lucky guess?’ Stacie couldn’t explain to him the real reason because she wasn’t sure herself. It must be his excellence, his attitude and his strength. The fact that he didn’t have movie-star looks but he compelled attention, he stood out, he didn’t seem like any man she had met before. That strong core that she had seen in his workout room would carry him through harsh missions and allow him to do his job.
It was also an ability to shut off his emotions. Shut them down for the better good of his work. Was that something that would only apply in terms of dangerous work he might have to do? Or did Troy apply that to other areas of his life?
Had Stacie done the same—shut herself down in some areas so she didn’t have to feel?
‘I’ve never closely known someone who had that kind of career.’ That was the topic of conversation right now and Stacie would focus on that and only that. There was nothing wrong with getting to know him. The rest of it, she would worry about later when she could unravel her thoughts into something sensible!
Troy was someone trained to assess situations in less than the blink of an eye, to take hard action where necessary, to measure life in terms of artillery power when that need arose. And he did seem a very strong man, internally as well as physically.
‘I imagine you’d have pushed your way to the top and that you preferred to keep your counsel about that work.’
‘You’re right. My job in the armed services wasn’t an ordinary one.’ Then he’d been injured and had moved here to start over. ‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Troy.’
She didn’t know how it would feel to have a work ambition, a career path, that she lost due to this kind of reason. ‘I’ve been lucky. I’ve always had clerical jobs, some more demanding than others. When I decided to go after my dream of establishing the Bow-wow-tique, I chose Tarrula as my base because it’s on a tourist route. It also holds the national dog-shows here each year and I was able to just take another similar job to see me through.’
‘I don’t think there’s been anything lucky about that. I think you’ve set goals and are working hard to make them happen.’
‘What about you, Troy?’ An orchard was a far cry from an army career. ‘Can you be happy?’
‘I’ve made my choices.’ His gaze held hers. ‘The orchards aren’t some kind of attempt at a replacement, but for my previous career I wanted the physical work and satisfaction of it. So far I’m getting that.’
‘I admire you.’
He leaned forward in his chair. In a strange way, she felt as though they had more in common than she had realised, even if for very different reasons. Stacie’s wounds were on the inside.
Troy had endured a physical loss that had taken away his chosen career. But there must have been emotional fallout from that, too. How strong and determined he must be to reinvent himself the way he was doing.
‘I should head home, Stacie.’ Troy’s words were low. He got to his feet. ‘Thanks for dinner and the coffee. I really enjoyed your company.’
She could have thought that she’d made him want to leave, made him uncomfortable with her questions. But a glimpse into his eyes before he shielded his gaze told differently, because there was reciprocal consciousness there.
And now he was leaving.
Troy seemed equally determined not to notice her other than in a very neighbourly way but perhaps he was finding that resistance a little difficult.
Stacie walked Troy to her front door. The little dog followed, and shot through the door the moment Stacie opened it.
Stacie called him back, and he returned, but reluctantly. He’d been headed straight for Troy’s house again.
‘If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay here.’ Troy turned and for just a moment his gaze searched hers. ‘He should realise how lucky he is to get that open-handed welcome.’
Nothing else was said, not a single word to indicate that anything had changed—but, oh, those words seemed to be about more than a Houdini poodle with a penchant for escaping. Troy had felt welcome. And she was glad about that.
Stacie looked into Troy’s eyes, he looked into hers, and she knew that he wanted to kiss her, and that she wanted it too. They might have both done their best to ignore it, but that desire had been there since they’d met.
While her mind refused to think its way beyond that knowledge, time seemed to inexplicably slow down as Stacie yielded to his searching gaze. Troy hesitated on the threshold. His head dipped towards hers, just a little. Just enough for her to catch her breath.
She wondered how it would feel to have his lips meet hers. To be held by his strength. To hold him.
What was she thinking? Stacie couldn’t think this way. She’d been hurt. She was still hurting. In no way could she put herself at that kind of risk emotionally again!
‘I … Goodnight, Stacie. I really should go.’ He straightened and took a step back. A moment later he was gone, limping into the darkness, and Stacie was inside the house. She’d walked to her sewing room before her thoughts reformed. Once they did, she stood in the centre of the room and bit her lip.
Had he truly thought about kissing her just then? He had; she hadn’t imagined it.
What had happened to her great plan not to be affected in that way by him?
‘You sabotaged it by inviting him to dinner, Stacie Wakefield, that’s what!’ She spoke out loud to force herself to acknowledge it.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE days passed. Troy worked hard on his orchards and the time slid by, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t conscious of his neighbour. He’d come close to kissing her at her house the night they’d shared dinner there. Troy should never even have entertained that impulse, but he had.
Stacie had figured out things about his past vocation that night, too. She’d realised that he’d been ruthless enough to push his way to the top in a field where there was little room for emotion, and to do well in that field until injury had taken him out.
God, he missed that life. It was the only thing that had made him feel right about himself, a vocation where the emotional lack his mother had constantly bemoaned was a benefit.
‘I’m sorry Carl’s not here again, Troy.’ Stacie’s words were apologetic, professional, but also just a little breathless. Soft flags of colour stained her cheeks. ‘He’s out at a meeting with one of our key orchardists.’
‘It’s okay. I wanted to check on the plant briefly, that’s all.’ Troy hadn’t stopped
