actually looked proud of the fact.
Troy glanced about Stacie’s home. A chew toy lay in the hallway. Bright rugs covered board floors. It smelled of womanly things and home cooking, fresh paint and furniture polish. And welcome.
Those things might feel just right to some people, but to Troy they were warning signs to stay clear.
So why wasn’t he feeling the urge to back away? Perhaps it was because he was here for very practical reasons. A lost dog that he needed to deal with was a nuisance, a problem that needed to be fixed. Put like that, it sounded very much like business.
Keep saying so, Rushton. Maybe you’ll even believe it.
‘No bath for you, Fang. Not while I take care of this little one.’ Stacie bent to pet her animal.
She turned back to take the bundle of scruff out of Troy’s hands. Her words, her kindness to the stray, pulled Troy back to reality. A home smelling of welcome, a soft-hearted woman, were the last things he should have on his mind. And that brought him to the mutt, and to Stacie’s reaction to it.
‘The dog should be checked for a microchip.’ He passed the animal to her. ‘It’s probably got an owner out there.’
His instincts told him that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to take on a pet. To do that denoted ‘making a home’. Troy was not about that.
He was happy to have a roof over his head, an investment business and the challenge of his orchards. He had no plans to emotionally attach himself to any of it.
‘I understand, Troy. The dog just turned up on your doorstep. I think the water’s a decent temperature now.’ Stacie spoke the words as her dog sat with a woeful howl at her feet. She glanced down, and back to Troy. ‘Fang loves the water. He’s going to be jealous about this bath.’
Stacie stood the pseudo-poodle in the laundry tub and washed it efficiently, but not efficiently enough to avoid being liberally splashed as the dog tried to decide whether it liked this treatment or wanted to escape. Mostly the latter instinct won out.
How could a laundry, even a nicely renovated one, seem cosy and intimate with a dog in a tub and another looking reproachful on the floor, for crying out loud?
‘There. I think he’s all clean now.’ Stacie drained the water out of the tub, holding the dog in place as she did so.
‘Okay. I’ve got him.’ Troy wrapped a towel around the dog and together they held him still while Troyubbed the towel over him. Get the job done, and then exit out of here; that was what Troy needed to do now.
But for a moment Troy’s face was bent over Stacie’s nape as he reached from behind her shoulder to rub the towel over the dog’s back. The temptation to drop a kiss on Stacie’s soft skin swept over him.
He drew a breath and covered the thought at the same time that he lifted the small dog clear of the sink area.
Troy glanced down at the splattered front of Stacie’s soft blue sweater. ‘I’m not sure who ended up wearing the most of that bath, you or the dog.’ If he tossed the words off, maybe they would defuse that desire to kiss her. Since when had he pined for softness? The one relationship that Troy had committed to had been with a woman employed in the armed services, and though there’d been commitment it had been a practical one. This reaction to Stacie must be some kind of glitch or something.
‘I’ll go and change.’ Stacie glanced down too. When she looked back up, there were roses in her cheeks.
Troy’s hands stilled where he held the dog. He blinked. Perhaps he lost a round of the battle, because Stacie had blushed over her water-spattered sweater. That was about the most appealing thing he’d seen in a long time, and he liked it. For all that he’d lived by his self-control, right now he couldn’t seem to control that response to her.
Delicate; that was what Troy thought when he tried to come up with a word to describe her.
And in terms of outward appearance that was true. She was fine-boned, built on small lines. But Stacie was also a DIY expert in the making, someone who obviously had some physical strength and determination to go with it.
She was also beautifully shy about herself as a woman. Which of those things was responsible for this interest he felt towards her, that would surely disassemble itself any moment now?
‘Yeah—eh.’ He cleared his throat and stepped back, taking the wriggling bundle of dog with him. ‘I’ll just take the dog into your front hall; get it out of this small room and finish drying it off. It’s still a bit damp.’ He backed out of the room and refused to watch as Stacie made her way to her room to change her sweater.
Troy dried the animal with determined attention, Stacie’s dog standing by. The smaller dog didn’t appear afraid of Stacie’s pet, and her dog seemed friendly enough not to mind the invasion of its turf.
‘Not much of a guard dog, are you?’ Troy murmured the question to the Staffie, which wagged its tail and—Troy would swear—preened in its pink outfit. It might have jaws like a vice, but a mushy heart appeared to go with them.
‘That mushy heart wouldn’t last ten seconds in the army.’ Troy let the small dog loose.
‘Oh, good, you’ve finished,’ Stacie said as sherejoined him. ‘I checked the phone book. Tarrula doesn’t appear to have an animal-rescue centre. The pound has an emergency number for after hours, but I don’t think we really classify as an emergency.’
She’d changed the blue sweater for a cream one, and her work skirt for form-fitting jeans that showed every lovely curve to perfection. Just like that, all Troy’s belief that he could set aside awareness of her evaporated.
Well, he must push these reactions aside. Far and fast, because Stacie was a neighbour and an employee of sorts. And Troy was sworn off women in any case.
‘I guess it’ll have to wait for tomorrow to be checked for a microchip. At least the dog didn’t scrub up too badly.’ He forced his thoughts to that. ‘For a mutt.’
‘High praise, indeed.’ Stacie laughed.
And Troy responded to that laugh with a relaxing feeling inside himself that was wrong. All wrong!
The animal trotted into the depths of the house.
‘He’s headed for the kitchen.’ Stacie started to follow. ‘Let’s find some food for both dogs.’
A radiant electric heater warmed the kitchen. Around the room, pieces of rag had been stuffed into cracks in walls that had paint peeling from them.
Stacie had put her mark on the room regardless. There were knickknacks on shelves, and the room still managed an overall welcoming feel despite the work needed.
Stacie opened an elderly cupboard in the corner andpulled out a can of dog food. ‘This should keep him going. What happens if he has no owner, Troy?’
‘It’ll have to go to the pound.’ He looked down at the dog, which looked up at him with trusting eyes. ‘Someone will want it. It’s a cute thing in its way.’
And then he looked at Stacie, who also returned his gaze with an edge of militancy
