Page 25 of Once a Scoundrel

Chapter Six

“Here you go.”

Faith placed the leftover slices of ham from her dinner into a bowl, then set it onto the floor of the stall where she was temporarily housing the wolfhound. Papa had agreed to let her keep him only until she could find him new home. She smiled victoriously at that. He’d said the same thing about the three ducks, five cats, two geese, and a tortoise she’d also brought home in the past year, and all of them still lived at the old dairy barn. He’d come around to accepting this one in time, too.

The dog rushed forward.

“Slow down,” she warned.

The dog didn’t listen, and within seconds, the meat slices were gone. Faith sighed. If he wasn’t sick before, he might very well be after this dinner.

“That was honey-glazed ham with pieces of pineapple that Mama sent for all the way from the South Pacific, I’ll have you know.” She scratched behind his ear, but the dog was more interested in sniffing at the plate she’d used to carry out the ham. He rose up on his hind legs, begging to lick it. She sighed in defeat. “Oh, all right. But don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Cook will never forgive me.”

She set the plate down. As the dog happily licked it clean, his tail swinging so hard from side to side that all of him pivoted in a half-circle around his front legs, she sank onto the hay beside him and stroked her hand over his back.

“We really must come up with a name for you. How about Sam or Charlie?” The dog ignored her. “George?” Thinking even less of that name, he wiped his mouth against her arm, leaving a streak of ham juice on her coat sleeve. “Maybe we should name you Hartsfield.”

“I don’t think Strathmore would find that amusing,” came a deep voice from behind her.

Faith narrowed her eyes but refused to glance at Stephen as he stood at the stall’s half-door. “Well, then,Stephenit is.” She arched a brow and pointed at the dog. “Sit, Stephen, sit!”

The dog stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

And the mongrel at the stall door had the gall to laugh.

She glared over her shoulder at him. “He doesn’t listen any better than you do.”

“That’s because we strays are all alike.” Risking her temper, he opened the door and stepped inside. “I knew I’d find you here. Couldn’t resist visiting that dog before you went to bed, could you?”

She was caught. With a peeved sniff, she explained, “I came out here to check on the colt and thought I’d look in on him, too.”

Stephen glanced at the empty plate and arched a disbelieving brow. “Just look in, hmm?”

Blast him. With growing aggravation, she bit out, “I wanted to make certain he wasn’t upset at being in a strange place. I knew he would have trouble settling down for the night.”

At that, the dog let out a wide yawn, circled twice, then dropped to the straw. He let out a loud snore.

“Seems to be settling down just fine,” Stephen drawled.

Faith rolled her eyes. Even the hound was against her. But at leastthisanimal she could manage. “Shouldn’t you be inside,” she asked brusquely, “smoking cigars and drinking port with the rest of the men?”

“And pass up the chance to be alone with you in the hay?”

She froze, her hand pausing in mid-pet. His comment was nothing more than meaningless flirtation; her brain knew that, yet her foolish heart skipped just the same.

Not rising to the bait, she narrowed her eyes and asked directly without any amusement, “Why are you here?”

“I need your help.” He knelt beside her and set the small basket he was carrying next to her in the straw.

“With what?” she asked suspiciously. She trusted him as far as she could throw him, and looking at him now, all muscle and broad shoulders, that certainly wouldn’t be far.

His blue gaze rose to find hers. “I’m upset at being in a strange place and am having trouble settling down.”

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Stephen to use her words against her. Just to prick at him, she held out the plate and asked with a saccharine smile, “Would you like to lick it, too?”

He said quietly, “I meant in England.”

Faith caught her breath. She should have rolled her eyes again, shoved him away, laughed—but something about the sober way he said that gnawed at her. “You don’t like being home?” she asked softly, with more concern than he deserved.