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 that thinly covered worry. ‘If no one wants him, the pound will want to destroy him.’
Troy had taken lives in the line of duty. Saved children. Hunted down people who didn’t care who in the world they destroyed. He’d stood by his team, his commitment and his beliefs, and had done what had to be done.
Now he faced a woman who was concerned about the future of a dog. He hadn’t really thought what might happen once he handed it over. Once he regained the ability to think, he made himself reassure her. ‘I’ll get their commitment about that before I hand it over.’
‘Thank you.’ Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘For now, he needs a coat. I have one that will fit.’
‘Really? Your dog isn’t exactly the same size.’ As Troy spoke, he didn’t so much as glance in Fang’s direction, but he could hardly have failed to notice the way Stacie’s dog was dressed.
Stacie felt proud—of Fang’s clothing, yes, but moreover of standing up for the small dog’s future. That was a potential problem.
And there was another problem she was facing, thatof being far too aware of this man. Was it because he was so clearly very strong that she found it so hard to ignore his magnetism? Past boyfriends had been … softer men. Andrew, too, because even when he had chosen Gemma over Stacie he’d been self-interested rather than ruthless.
Her glance lifted to Troy’s and locked there, caught in hazel depths that seemed to read every thought in her head. She sincerely hoped that wasn’t so.
Then Stacie glimpsed the edge of sensual need deep in the backs of Troy’s eyes.
‘Well, I’d best get the coat.’ She tried very hard to walk normally up the short hallway to the spare bedroom she’d converted for creating garments for the Bow-wow-tique. Yet she felt ridiculously aware of leading Troy deeper into the house, and right next door to her bedroom.
For goodness’ sake, Stacie. Do you think he’s going to die of shock if he sees a glimpse of bedcover or something? Or that he’ll succumb to an overwhelming urge to toss you down on the bed and deliciously ravish you?
She should be more concerned about his impressions of her home business. Maybe she shouldn’t have drawn his attention to it in this way, but it was too late now. She would simply have to deal with it.
Stacie pushed the door of the spare room open and stepped inside. ‘This is the Bow-wow-tique. Most of what I make currently, I sell online. That will changenow that I’ve moved here. Tarrula hosts several national dog-shows each year, and has a strong tourist industry, much of which drives straight past the entry road to the farmlet.’
To Troy’s orchards, too, but they were a little further along. ‘I’ll be holding an open day out here a month from now and hoping to attract some of those buyers.’
She drew a breath and completed the verbal picture for him. ‘I hope to be independently living off this business a year from now.’
‘Leaving the job at the plant at that time.’ He dipped his head. ‘I can see that you’re on an adventure. You’ve set yourself a challenge, a goal to reach for and achieve. It’s very enterprising of you.’
His assessment was a little surprising, but so true. He was also very accepting of her plans. ‘Yes. And … this is the hub of Bow-wow-tique.’
She glanced about the room and tried to see it through his eyes.
Her sewing machines were kept in an antique-style pullout desk-cabinet. A matching large cupboard housed fabrics and sewing notions, fastenings, rolls of ribbon, boxes of plain collars and other practical items Stacie worked with to produce her designs.
The bright colours of all sorts of coats, small blankets, basket liners and so much more were spread about the room on tables and in open cartons and gave the room a jazzy feel. Her computer sat on a small desk in the corner.
Troy stepped farther inside and let his glance rove around. ‘This explains your dog’s attire a little better. If you hadn’t told me you make these things, I’d have thought you got them from a shop. They look perfect. You must put a lot of work in here, Stacie.’
‘I do.’ She got to explore her creative side.
‘I think you have a good chance of succeeding.’ He sounded impressed rather than concerned, so that had to be good, didn’t it?
‘Thank you. I hope so. Let’s find a coat for this dog.’ Stacie tried for a brisk tone to cover up the wash of pleasure his praise and encouragement had given her. ‘Do you have heating at your new home?’ The coat she picked up was chocolate brown. ‘This should do.’
‘I do have operational heating, yes.’
‘That’s good. It won’t have to be cold.’ Great. That sounded as though she cared about the dog, but not about Troy.
Stacie tugged the last stick-on from one blue nail. The rest had come off in the water as she bathed the dog. Maybe it was the lack of her signature nail-art that was making her words so interpretable.
And maybe she was distracted by the presence of a certain gorgeous man! ‘Of course I don’t want you to be cold either, Troy.’
She drew a breath. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind having the dog until things get sorted out. It could be in the yard with Fang until you find out if there’s an owner. Fang is good with other animals.’
‘That’d be great, thanks. If you’d do that, it’d save taking it to the pound while I advertise for any owners.’ Troy didn’t try to talk her out of the idea. His hand rose to the back of his head. ‘I don’t see myself as much of a dog minder, but I’ll cover all the costs for its food and lodgings.’
She thought he mumbled that he was better at manning a machine gun.
Before she could think about that, he added, ‘I don’t want to burden you, though.’
‘It’s okay.’ It was more than okay, and in the end, even if he obviously didn’t want the dog himself, and might not be all that attached to dogs on the whole, he was being generous. ‘I don’t mind having him while we figure out if there’s an owner out there.’
If the answer to that question turned out to be no, they would deal with the next step at that time.
As they retraced their steps down the hallway, Troy spoke again. ‘I should get back to my place. There are a few things left that didn’t get done at the weekend.’
