His Plain-Jane Cinderella

by Jennie Adams

  The slight breathlessness from her hurried search for the poodle suddenly became acute.

  Troy was…beautiful. Absolutely toned everywhere, with strong, defined muscles and a hardness that seemed not only to be on the outside of him, but within.

  There were marks on him—a scar across one shoulder and upper arm. And on his leg lines of scar tissue above and below the knee, and the knee itself was mis-shapen as though pieces had shattered away.

  Oh, Troy. How did this happen to you?

  On the walls in the shed were photographs: men in uniform, out of uniform, carrying guns, out in the field. Troy featured in many of them. His physique had already suggested such a background. Stacie had known he’d be muscled but seeing it in this way wasn’t quite the same as thinking about it. Seeing his injury… And the expression on Troy’s face…

  All emotion had been cleared, wiped away and replaced by utter focus presented in a sharp, closed determination. He looked controlled and ready for anything.

  She’d just seen a glimpse into his world, into why ownership of a processing plant and orchards hadn’t seemed to fully fit him, though she had no doubt he’d succeed at both.

  Before she had time to be stunned by that glimpse into her new neighbour, even perhaps to wonder if she should feel intimidated, the concentration on Troy’s face changed as he noted her entrance. He set the weights down and rose.

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your routine.’ She didn’t mean to stand here goggling over how magnificent he was, or to see his injury and want to hold him.

  He would never allow that kind of empathy.

  She’d known that even before she saw the photos on the wall that told her in stark images who he was and where he’d come from.

  And what he’d lost, because he would never have chosen to step away from that army life. That truth was also tacked to his wall in those timeless images: camaraderie. Group shots with other soldiers. Training events. And real events that Stacie wasn’t sure she wanted to think too much about. That was his identity and belonging. There wouldn’t be room for the softer emotions in such a life.

  She struggled to pull her thoughts back together. ‘I came to tell you I’ve lost your—’

  ‘The dog got away on you. Actually, I planned to come over once I finished my workout.’ His gaze shifted to a corner of the room where a sports bag sat on the floor.

  A little dog sat beside it.

  ‘Oh, I’m so relieved that he’s okay, but how did he get out of my yard? It’s properly dog-proofed. I made sure of that when I first moved here, for Fang’s sake.’

  Troy’s gaze examined the small animal. ‘I don’t know why he’d want to come here anyway.’

  The dog had no microchip. Troy had discovered that yesterday when he’d taken it to the vet. Stacie had asked Troy to advertise locally and wait a couple of weeks before he did anything more. But the idea was for the dog to stay with her in the interim.

  ‘Dratted poodle,’ she said.

  ‘Damned Houdini dog,’ Troy said at the same time.

  ‘Oh. That’s a perfect name for him.’ A smile melted Stacie’s anxiety away. ‘And I’ll take him back, get him out of the way while you finish—’

  ‘I’m about done, anyway.’ Troy’s glance moved between her and the dog. ‘It’s just a good way to ease the kinks out after a big day in the orchards.’

  After just two days, his efforts out there were already noticeable.

  In fact, she’d done rather too much noticing as Troy had gone about his work.

  Now Stacie was filled with curiosity and words popped out before she could stop herself.

  ‘Would you like to join me for dinner?’ She should stay away from him, but she wanted to get to know him.

  Stacie wanted to know about those army photos. That could just be a very understandable neighbourly curiosity.

  Except it went much deeper than that. This man had wounds, physical wounds that had changed his life.

  Just as Stacie had emotional wounds that she had to get over.

  Well, she was trying.

  And Troy would probably say no to coming to dinner, anyway.

  Troy glanced at the dog. ‘I feel I’m asking more than I should of you already.’

  ‘I offered to mind him.’ As though the rest really didn’t matter, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s just a slow-cooker meal that I put on this morning.’

  He hesitated for a moment before he inclined his head. ‘A home-cooked meal would be nice.’

  Troy had watched Stacie’s face as she invited him to dinner. He’d known he should say no to the invitation. She owed him nothing and it was better to keep to their boundaries.

  But would it be so bad to spend an hour looking at…sparkling bluebells? What harm would that do, really? Provided he treated the dinner in the way it was intended.

  But just how is it intended, Rushton? Is it an uncomplicated invitation? For you? And for her?

  She’d seen his shattered knee. There’d been no revulsion, and no pity that he could discern. And he didn’t want her pity, hers, or anyone’s. She’d just offered dinner. Maybe out of guilt for losing the dog, though he would never have blamed her for that. So he would have dinner with her.

  Get to know Stacie better?

  Maybe. But that was a neighbourly, appropriate thing to do.

  It wasn’t like him to get bogged down in second-guessing things. Troy set the thoughts aside; he would go. That was all. It would be fine. ‘Ten minutes?’

  ‘Ten minutes.’ A soft smile lit her face. She lifted one hand to tuck strands of silky-brown hair behind a shell-like ear.

  Pink; her nail-polish was pink now.

  He honed his gaze, took a step closer.

  Moons and stars; Stacie had decorated her nails with far away moons and stars. She crouched to call the poodle to her and then she was gone.

  Moons and stars.

  Troy shook his head, and a small, appreciative smile crept across his lips.

  ‘Thank you for this.’ Troy ate another bite of the beef-and-vegetable casserole before he went on. ‘It’s delicious. Just the right kind of food for this cold weather. Where did you learn to cook?’

  They were seated at the dining table in Stacie’s kitchen. Somehow the table had never seemed quite this cosy to Stacie. Indeed, it seated four—six at a stretch. Troy’s presence seemed to fill her home. Stacie felt on edge on the one hand, and oddly relaxed and happy on the other.

  It must be because Troy was easy to talk to, interesting, and a sound conversationalist on a range of topics from local sports to international politics. She hadn’t expected that—for him to put her at her ease with his conversation. Yet there were moments when she thought his gaze lingered on her eyes, and her breath would catch. That was such a dangerous way to feel.

  Don’t go there, Stacie. Don’t start letting thoughts rise that have no place between you and him, and no place in your life any more at all.

  She could not allow herself to be hurt again. She’d made her decision. That meant she steered clear from any possibility of those kinds of entanglements.

  ‘Mum taught me and my sisters the basics of how to cook, and then encouraged us to explore.’ Stacie took another bite of meat and slowly chewed it. ‘We used to take turns picking out a dinner and making it each week when we were all teenagers. One of my favourites was a pie made of polenta and topped with grilled tomato, onion and garlic. For a man who likes meat and three veg in a fairly plain presentation, I’m not sure how Dad survived my experimental phase.’

  She didn’t mention that her sisters were both stunning women. Well, it wasn’t relevant to this conversation, was it? And Stacie didn’t resent their beauty. Of course she didn’t.

  She mi
ssed those family times, but what could she do?

  Troy glanced at his almost empty plate. ‘I can’t imagine you producing anything that wasn’t appealing. How many sisters do you have?’

  It was just conversation, just an exchange of interest. But Stacie’s tone didn’t portray the simplicity it should have as she replied. ‘I have two sisters. The eldest is married and the other is…involved with someone.’

  Troy’s gaze sharpened. He was going to ask something and Stacie didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to feel exposed.

  In the living room beyond them, Fang rolled over in front of the electric heater and gave a doggy sigh. He seemed content with Houdini napping beside him, leaving Troy and Stacie to their heater in the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like coffee, Troy?’ Stacie got quickly to her feet and busied herself filling the jug with water.

  Once they were made, they took the drinks to the living room.

  Troy shook his head over the dogs and sat in one of Stacie’s lounge chairs. He’d let the earlier conversation go easily, and Stacie was grateful for it.

  Now he said, ‘It must be nice to be that easy to please.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think the negative tones of “it’s a dog’s life” apply around here.’ She’d noticed the careful way that he lowered himself into the chair, so asked, ‘Is your leg paining you, Troy?’ Had his exercise routine earlier done that to him? Or the hard work in his orchards? She hated to think of him being uncomfortable. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ After a small silence, he sighed and admitted, ‘It plays up a bit in this kind of weather. The warmth from the heater will help.’

  ‘The cause of the injury, is it something you can talk about?’ Stacie rose and adjusted the temperature on the heater up a bit. When she caught his frown, she bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Troy. You don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to. It’s just that I saw all your army photos, and I thought it might have happened there. Why else would you—?’

  ‘Leave a career I was made for?’ He asked the question emotionlessly.

  Yet Stacie sensed there was passion hidden behind those flat words. She’d wanted to ask, to learn more about him. Now she wondered if she’d intruded too far by doing that. She bit her lip. ‘Yes. I guess that’s what I wondered.’

  The dogs watched her with half-asleep gazes. They were probably thinking she was foolish for bringing up a touchy subject. She returned to her chair and sank into it.

  ‘I took a hit on a mission.’ Troy’s words were calm, at least on the surface. ‘It happened overseas.’

  Should she thank him for the information and leave it at that, or invite further discussion? Stacie wanted to know him, more than just the superficial things. Not in a painful way for Troy, but 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.r />
  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 by hoping to see her. He told himself this, but his gaze still lingered on that soft colour.

  Stacie was a nice woman, kind, determined, and with her own life plan. And, if creating dog-coats and accessories as a successful home-based business seemed a rather unusual goal, it was still a very hard-working one. Particularly while she was holding down another full-time job at the same time. Troy should value her for those things and leave the rest alone.