Once Upon a Time in Tarrula / To Wed a Rancher: Once Upon a Time in Tarrula / To Wed a Rancher

Stacie’s hands closed around it.

It was a sweet little dog, collarless and a bit too lean. It looked as though it had some poodle in its gene pool. ‘It’s not exactly the kind of dog I’d have pictured you owning, now that I look at him. If anything I’d see you with—I don’t know—a husky or boxer or Dobermann or something.’ A strong dog, a man’s dog, worthy of someone like Troy.

She paused and added, ‘Then again, I have Fang, and he probably doesn’t exactly suit my image either, though he’s a very sweet muscle-dog.’ Even if he was terrified of balloons and grasshoppers. Stacie would keep those secrets safe for her pet!

Her gaze moved from the poodle to the much-loved Fang who was now running about her yard. She met Troy’s eyes again. ‘Would you like to come inside? I’m sorry I can’t claim ownership of the little dog, but maybe we can clean him up and find him some food while you decide what you’re going to do about him.’

His frown remained fixed. ‘The owner will have to be found.’

That might not be as easy as he hoped it would be.

‘How about we take care of his immediate needs for starters?’ She stroked her fingers over the dog’s head. It shivered in her hold. ‘Food, clean it up and warmth. Once those things are sorted out, we can worry about the rest.’

Troy seemed to hesitate for a moment before he nodded. ‘If you have some dog food you could spare, I’d appreciate it. Then I think I’d best take it into town to the lost-dog shelter, or the pound if there isn’t one of those. That seems the logical next step.’

In a town the size of Tarrula would there be an animal shelter? And what if the pound put the dog onto borrowed time?

‘We’ll see what’s in the phone book.’ Stacie placed the dog back into his hands and led the way inside.

Troy followed Stacie into her home. The farmhouse was small, but with verandas down each side and a porch at the front. She would have her work cut out, whipping this home into shape, but it felt solid beneath his feet.

Troy had his own challenges with a dog suddenly showing up, a home and orchards to settle into and a catch-up needed with Carl Withers to discuss the forward progress of the processing plant. Yet all he could think of in this moment was the woman in front of him. Her eyes had softened as she looked at the mutt. She’d reached for it and cuddled it close.

Stacie Wakefield was gentle, and probably a very giving woman. Troy had never looked for those characteristics, but something about those facts attracted him to Stacie in a way he couldn’t explain. Strength was his forte. He’d hurt a gentle woman like Stacie, would stomp on her emotions without meaning to.

He’d never managed closeness with his parents, had much preferred the company of his crusty, grumpy, unemotional old uncle until the man had died while Troy was away on a mission. Even then he hadn’t missed him, not desperately. Just those times of quiet companionship with Les had counted the most.

‘Come inside, Troy.’ Stacie gestured him into her home.

Visions of Stacie working about the place filled Troy’s mind, filled it with too much curiosity and interest. He could picture her in old clothes or overalls, intrepidly taking on DIY projects, strange nail-decorations flashing as she worked. He stifled a smile.

And he had to admit the combination of delicacy and determination that he sensed in Stacie intrigued him whether he wanted to let it or not.

‘Bring the dog into the laundry. We might as well start with a bath for it.’ Stacie led the way.

As Troy followed, her dog trotted into the house behind them. Rather than greet Troy with a territorial, warning growl, it wriggled against Stacie’s legs and gave a happy woof, and then became even more excited when it looked at the fellow canine in Troy’s hold.

The poodle froze for a moment and sniffed the air, but apparently decided it was safe with Fang, because it relaxed again in Troy’s hold.

As for Fang, the beast was dressed in a pink dog-coat and matching collar. The male 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 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.’

His words made Stacie realise how easily she could have lingered, talking to him, letting time drift when that was the last thing she should be doing with her new neighbour.

‘And I should get on with my Bow-wow-tique work. It keeps me busy.’ In the evenings, when other people would be doing things with their partners.

The thought wasn’t exactly uplifting so she pushed itaway. She would also do her nails again tonight. Pink, Stacie decided, with star-and-moon stickers.

They made their way to the front of the house. Once in the foyer, she dropped to her knees. The poodle obligingly came over to sniff at her hands. She quickly got dog and coat put together and fastened up.

‘Thanks for offering to keep it.’ Troy stepped towards Stacie’s door. ‘I’ll swing by early tomorrow and collect it to take it to the vet to be checked for that microchip.’

‘The dog will be in the yard with Fang. If you can’t raise me, or I’ve already left for work or anything, just take him.’

You see? That was all fine. They’d had a normal, neighbourly transaction. Now Troy was leaving and tomorrow they might see each other here or at the plant and that would be completely fine as well.

Stacie told herself all was well, and indeed she was fine until their glances met and she thought she found parts of herself in the depths of his eyes, in the way he seemed to guard himself.

Do not decide you know him, or that you share traits with him, Stacie.

All that kind of thinking could do for her was cause problems, and she didn’t know the man at all. But she did know he was single.

Yes. Great one to dwell on right now, Stacie.

‘I guess I might see you tomorrow morning.’

‘Yeah.’ He backed a step and then another. ‘Have a good night.’

Troy walked back to his farm.

Stacie went through the house and Fang flopped down in front of the kitchen heater in his pink outfit, while Stacie started organising her dinner. The little poodle stayed just inside her front door. Was it watching for Troy to return? But of course Troy didn’t, and eventually the dog came into the kitchen too.

Stacie sighed. ‘Well, I hope Troy didn’t think I was frivolous because of my creations, but he was quite supportive of my business. That’s generous, really, considering I’m planning to leave my job at the plant eventually.’

True, but Troy himself was happy to own the plant and didn’t want to spend all his time working there.

Stacie got on with her evening, enjoying Fang and the little dog’s company, working on her Bow-wow-tique sewing and online marketing.

She didn’t think about Troy at his nearby farm. She barely noticed when she happened to glance out of a window to see him go to one of the outbuildings and start shifting home-gym equipment about in there as though he really meant business with it.

Stacie draped a tape measure around her neck, repainted her nails and added the new stick-ons. She worked at her sewing some more. She didn’t imagine Troy thinking of her hard at work on her hobby. As if he would spare it or her a thought. Stacie might like her fantasy nails, but in life she understood she needed to be firmly grounded in reality.