Читать книгу Once Upon a Time in Tarrula / To Wed a Rancher - Myrna Mackenzie, Jennie Adams - Страница 9

‘IT’S good to be almost home.’ Stacie spoke aloud as she slowed for a low narrow bridge. Gurudhaany Creek flowed beneath it, a muddy flow just feet deep in the summer months, but now during winter it was almost a smaller version of the large river that flowed around the outskirts of the township of Tarrula. The creek was named after the goannas that had been spotted along its banks, though Stacie had yet to see one of the large lizards for herself.

Instead today she’d met a very attractive specimen of a man, the new company owner, Troy Rushton. His imprint still seemed glued to her retinas, and that was not a fact that pleased her or that even made sense to her. ‘I might need a double dose of nail-polish and some better stick-ons to get my focus off that man.’

Usually by now her thoughts would be centred on getting home, taking care of her dog, Fang, and settling in for an evening of work on her Bow-wow-tique sewing and marketing.

Instead, thoughts of Troy Rushton distracted her. Stacie didn’t want to be distracted. Deep inside where she might not have entirely faced up to a few things, Stacie emotionally couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Stacie parked her grey sedan, got out and stepped through the farmhouse gate. She had faced things. She was building a new life. If that wasn’t dealing with her demons, she didn’t know what would be.

Visiting the family when Gemma and Andrew would be there?

It was the second time the thought had surfaced. Frankly, she didn’t appreciate it.

‘Did you miss me, Fang?’ Stacie called out with determined good cheer. Because she was happy, damn it, and she intended to stay that way, not wallow around in thoughts of the past.

Forget thinking too much about a certain new employer, also, even if the man somehow seemed to have lodged himself firmly in Stacie’s brain from the first moment she met him this morning. He wasn’t that appealing or interesting. If Stacie had worked today with half an eye on the production floor—and specifically on Troy as he’d moved through that floor briefly greeting workers and basically rolling his sleeves up and getting involved—she’d done so to make sure the new owner didn’t need her assistance with anything. Yes. It had been because of that.

‘Wroof!’

Fang leaped about the yard like the happy, muscly, extremely well-dressed dog he was. He wore a pink-sateen padded coat with a matching pink-studded collar. If pets could be fashion conscious, Fang really did wear his clothes with a certain pride. Stacie created them for him with pride. And with her goals for the Bow-wow-tique as firmly fixed as each stitch.

‘Come on, Fang. Let’s get some warmth happening inside.’

It was the start of June and the Australian winter season had hit hard. Even as Stacie headed for the farmhouse rain started to drizzle again. Stacie turned the heaters on, and then stood on the front porch and leaned down to rub the top of Fang’s head and let herself absorb the blind devotion in his doggy gaze.

‘Wroof!’

Fang broke away from her and ran around the little farmlet’s front yard, just because he could.

Stacie laughed and then she looked up as Fang’s woof changed to one of enquiry.

There was a man at the end of the path. A familiar man. Stacie’s heart-rate lifted before she could even register the response. She rushed forward. ‘Troy. I didn’t expect—Is there something? Is production at the plant …?’

She got that far and stopped, because of course this wasn’t about production at the plant. Everything had been fine when she left. Production had been closed down for the night.

Stacie’s glance shifted behind Troy, to the empty farmhouse on the neighbouring property. Except it wasn’t empty any more. There were lights on over there and a black four-wheel-drive jeep parked out the front.

And Troy was here on foot, as though he’d walked from somewhere quite nearby.

You do the maths, Stacie. He must have moved in next door while she’d been away at the weekend!

She’d visited her family for the first time since she’d left. She’d not enjoyed the visit and had arrived home last night and immersed herself in sewing until she forgot it. And that was without her sister’s presence there, because Stacie had known Gemma was going away.

‘Have you purchased Cooper’s Farm? Or leased it?’ She cleared her throat, cleared away those thoughts too. They were the last things Stacie wanted on her mind right now. ‘I don’t mean to pry. I just meant to ask, have you moved there?’

‘I’ve bought the place.’ One side of his mouth kicked up. ‘With the help of the bank, that is. We did a package deal for this place and the processing plant.’

‘It’s a large orchard.’ The trees needed work. Stacie had noted that fact when she moved in next door. ‘Do you know about running an orchard? Will you be able …?’

‘I can do as much work as anyone.’ For just a moment, frustration seemed to bubble inside him.

‘I was wondering about you finding workers.’ And why he’d taken on an orchard at all.

She hadn’t meant to question his physical abilities. That just really hadn’t occurred to her, because he was so strong and able. Stacie thought about explaining, but it was probably best to say nothing on the topic. ‘Did you grow up in a similar environment?’

‘My late uncle had almond orchards.’ He seemed as though he might stop here, but after a moment he went on. ‘I worked there as a teenager.’

‘That’s good. You’ll know exactly what to do, then. I didn’t see you move in. When we met this morning at the plant, I didn’t know …’ That he would be her new neighbour.

That instead of potentially seeing him here and there when he happened to visit the plant, or if she bumped into him in town, she might see him very often. Daily …

‘I moved in at the weekend. Actually, I thought your place was empty.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ah, that is …’

‘It seems I’m living in a place that needs a little attention?’ She grinned and found her equilibrium again as she contemplated the hard work ahead. And the fulfilment of achieving her business goals, providing a home for herself, going forward by herself.

‘The house needs a lot of work, but it’s already habitable. It has heating and a working kitchen and bathroom, even if both are old. The foundations and structure are solid. I might strip a lot of it back to those bare bones but it will be a great place once that work is done. I’ve already renovated the laundry room and done a really good job of it, if I say so myself.’

She’d started there to make sure she could do the work using do-it-yourself guides and she’d proved that she could.

‘In any case, welcome to your farm, and to the town, Troy.’ She drew a breath. ‘I should have said that this morning. I’ve been happy since I moved here. I hope you will be, too.’

‘Thanks. I’m pleased to have the plant as an investment, though it’s the orchards where I want to put in most of my time. Labour-intensive work that I do for myself.’

‘Yes. The plant is a solid place, but it’s not all that exciting.’ As the words emerged, she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …’

His eyes narrowed. For a moment she thought a rebuke might follow. It would be well deserved. What had she been thinking? Well, that she’d taken on a job that wouldn’t be too taxing so she saved most of her energy for building her home business, actually—but it wouldn’t be particularly PC to hint at that!

But Troy simply dipped his head. Was there a tiny hint of amusement in the back of his eyes before he did so? ‘That’s probably an accurate statement. Why didn’t I see you over the weekend while I was moving in, Stacie?’ He glanced beyond her to her home. ‘I thought the place was not only empty but, eh …’

‘Just an abandoned shack? The whole farmlet was a mess when I bought it. You should have seen the yard before I put the time in to get the “jungle” hacked back to discover what garden might be left underneath. And the paddocks were terrible.’

She only had two, and they were small, but her face broke into a smile as she remembered hiring a little machine one day to get them cut down.

This move had been good for her. It had given her a new focus, and she’d needed that. She would never forget what had happened with Andrew, and because Gemma was her sister it would always be there, but Stacie didn’t want to think about it all the time either.

‘I haven’t minded roughing it here, and the house is clean and mostly functional.’ She followed his gaze to the exposed weatherboards, to the front door that needed to be realigned, to guttering that maybe needed some attention, and a few other things.

Well, a lot of things, but she had an aim for this home and at least it would keep her busy. ‘I’ve been learning all about DIY.’ And she was glad Troy hadn’t minded her suggesting the plant wasn’t the most exciting place to work.

‘I’ve indulged in a few do-it-yourself projects myself. They are satisfying.’

‘That’s how I see it.’ Stacie rushed on. ‘There’ll be a chicken coop one day, and a vegetable garden. I do need some work from a few tradespeople in the town. There’s only one roof guy; he’s been out here once.’

Stacie had been in town at that time, and disappointed not to get up there with him to look. ‘The roof needs to be treated where there are rusty patches. He fixed a few loose sheets of tin and said the rest of the work can wait until he can fit the job in. And, to answer your question, I spent last weekend away visiting family.’

‘I hope you enjoyed the time with your family.’ His expression made it clear that he expected she would have.

‘Of course.’ She said it too quickly, with too much emphasis.

Stacie sought for a change in the topic. ‘Do you see your family often?’

‘Not often. My parents are early retirees. They spend a lot of their time travelling.’ He shifted his arm almost awkwardly. ‘I couldn’t say we’re close.’

Stacie couldn’t claim to be close to her younger sister either. Not any more. Maybe never again, but she kept the words to herself. Why was Troy not close to his parents? Was that why he’d spent school holidays with an old uncle?

‘The reason I came over …’ Troy shifted and she realised he had something tucked into the crook of his arm. That something wriggled and let out a yip.

‘You stopped by because you have a dog?’ Somehow Stacie hadn’t pictured him with a pet. He seemed too solitary for that.

Why had he brought the dog to her? Had he learned somehow of the Bow-wow-tique and he wanted to make a purchase?

Fang would have known about the dog from the moment he let out that woof, of course.

‘I found this mutt on my front step when I got home this evening. I thought it must have come from here.’ Troy’s words were dry, though his hold on the dog was gentle enough. ‘I—’ His gaze seemed to catch on her mouth before he cleared his throat and went on. ‘When I saw a car arrive here I thought I’d found the dog’s owner.’ Troy held the bundle out. ‘I’m not quite sure where it’s come from if it isn’t yours.’

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.