Morrow Creek Runaway. Lisa Plumley

She didn’t know whether to be impressed by Miles’s accurate assessment of her newest security man or appalled that she cared that Miles apparently did have an interest in what went on with her bustled backside. Otherwise, he couldn’t have made that observation, could he?

      Before she could collect herself, Miles went on.

      “I wanted you to have more security myself, after I saw how feeble yours was yesterday,” he was saying, “so I went with the most reliable and fearsome protector I could get for you.”

      Triumphantly, Miles lifted the thing in his arms.

      It wriggled. Then it gave a tiny yip. A puppy.

      The children went wild. “We want to play with it again!” Agatha cried out. “Please let us play with it again!”

      “Can we name it?” Tommy pleaded. “I have a good name!”

      “In a minute, you can play with it again,” Miles assured them all, his voice a rumble of promise and possibility. “And no, Tommy, you can’t. I’m afraid Mrs. Dancy has naming rights on this little rascal.”

      Rosamond stared. “You brought me a puppy?”

      Miles blinked. “Oh. Is that what this is? I wasn’t sure.”

      At his mischievous tone, the children guffawed. Tobe Larkin elbowed Miles in the ribs. They were obviously chums now.

      “Aw, come on, Callaway. You knew what it was!” he said.

      The bunch of them stared hopefully at Rosamond, awaiting her response. She swallowed hard, wholly unable to muster one.

      This was a serious aberration from her typical morning.

      If she turned away a puppy, the children would be crestfallen. Miles Callaway was devious, indeed. The only thing more irresistible than one of his smiles was this maneuver.

      “She’s not an Irish setter, like you’ve always wanted,” Miles explained into the gap that fell, his voice as intimate as any long-lost friend’s, “but the man I got her from last night promised me she’d be a good guard dog once she grew a little.”

      That didn’t help. “An Irish setter? I’ve always wanted—”

      An Irish setter. Rosamond broke off, her dreamy, innocent past colliding with her practical, safeguarded present. At one time, she’d thought her future would turn out so differently from this. She’d thought she could be safe and happy.

      She’d also thought Miles hadn’t paid much attention to the daydreams she’d shared with him. Evidently, he’d remembered.

      She cleared her throat. “I do not need a puppy.”

      Miles appeared undaunted. “Everyone needs a puppy.”

      Having come closer now, Dylan agreed. He petted the creature’s muzzle with his big, former-Pinkerton-man’s hand. “She’s a beauty, all right. Just look at those paws! Once she grows up, she’s going to be a sizable dog.” Dylan laughed as the critter nuzzled his palm. “Maybe not too fearsome, though.”

      “If I wanted a guard dog,” Rosamond went on tightly, hoping to regain control of this situation, “which I don’t, wouldn’t I want a male dog? Male dogs are stronger. More aggressive.”

      “The right female can be just as ferocious,” Miles argued.

      Rosamond scoffed. “Until a bigger, meaner dog comes along.”

      “When it does, that’s when we’ll see how scrappy she is.”

      “Mmm-hmm.” Dubiously, Rosamond watched the puppy as it wriggled in Miles’s arms. Its tiny tongue lolled. Its small feet scrabbled for purchase against Miles’s muscular, coat-covered forearm. The puppy yawned, then flopped onto its belly, gazing up at Miles through shiny brown eyes. It was so helpless, so adorable...so trusting. “I don’t think she stands a chance.”

      “She stands every chance in the world,” Miles disagreed. “I’m betting on the underdog. All she needs is time and a little help. All those bigger, meaner dogs will be no match for her.”

      His meaning-laden tone referred to far more than the puppy and her care. Evidently, now Miles wanted her to believe he was there to help her. The irony of that was too much for Rosamond.

      Before she could offer a rebuttal, Agatha piped up.

      “He’s right! She just needs you to take care of her!” The girl eagerly pointed at the puppy. Impatiently, she pushed up her wire spectacles. “Just like you take care of all of us.”

      Expectantly, they all regarded her, children and men alike. Even Judah had wandered over, arms crossed, to look at the puppy. He grinned, then scratched beneath its fuzzy chin. It was ludicrous to see such an intimidating man brought to his knees by a puppy. After all, it wasn’t even an Irish setter puppy.

      “I don’t know how to take care of a puppy,” Rosamond protested, feeling backed into a corner. Judging by Miles’s still-sparkling eyes, he’d known this would happen. “I don’t.”

      “You’ll master it eventually,” Tommy chimed. “You will!”

      It was her catchphrase: I’ll master this eventually.

      Just like that, Rosamond’s fate was sealed.

      How could she go against her own oft-repeated motto? The children were counting on her. She had to set a good example.

      She straightened. “Fine. The puppy’s name will be Riley.”

      Tobe made a face. “That’s a terrible name!”

      “No, it’s not.” Miles shook his head, his attention shifting from the puppy. “It means courageous. Valiant warrior.”

      Uncomfortably, Rosamond looked away. She’d forgotten that Miles was every bit as Irish as she was. He knew the same folktales and Gaelic wisdom that she did. He’d grown up with them.

      “I like the sound of it, that’s all,” she told him.

      He didn’t believe an inch of it. “Yes. And I’m here because I like the fragrance of honeysuckle on fence posts.”

      Miles’s wry tone almost made her accept that. She’d missed this. She’d missed sharing jokes with him...smiling with him.

      She gestured at those aforementioned flowered vines on her fence. “You’ll have to thank Mrs. Jorgensen, Agatha’s mother, then. She’s the one with the green thumb in the household.”

      “Mama will love meeting you!” Agatha chimed. “She’s always sayin’ she’s got a soft spot for handsome fellas, and you’re—”

      “He’s sadly not staying for long,” Rosamond interrupted. She gave Miles a straightforward look. “Please follow me.”

      “Anywhere. Anytime.”

      “To my parlor. Right now.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Obligingly, Miles crouched again. He deftly transferred the puppy to Agatha’s waiting arms. Then, while all the children gathered around to take turns petting the tiny tuckered-out critter, he straightened again. “I’m all yours.”

      If only. Rosamond nodded. “Right this way.”

      Compliantly, Miles headed for the gate she indicated.

      Alertly, Dylan stepped up. “I’ll come with you.”

      “There’s no need for that, Dylan. You stay here. Judah will fill you in on the way things run around here.”

      “The way things run isn’t the same since he showed up,” her other protector pointed out, jutting his chin at Miles.

      “Yes, well...I’m about to take care of that,” Rosamond told him crisply. Then she gathered her skirts and went to do precisely that—to take care of Miles Callaway and rid herself of him and all