“Of course.” For the first time since Malory had met her, Rowena seemed distracted. She already had a hand on Flynn’s arm as they started down the hall. “What kind of a dog is he?”

“That’s debatable.”

Malory slipped into the powder room and counted to five. Slowly. Heart pounding, she opened the door a crack and did her best to peer up and down the corridor. Moving quickly now, she dashed back to the portrait, dragging out the little digital camera in her purse as she ran.

She took half a dozen full-length shots, then some of smaller details. With a guilty look over her shoulder, she shoved the camera back into the purse and pulled out her glasses, a plastic bag, and a small palette knife.

With her ears buzzing, she stepped up on the hearth and carefully, gently, scraped flakes of paint into the bag.

The entire process took less than three minutes, but her palms were slick with sweat, her legs loose and wobbly by the time she’d finished. She took another moment to compose herself, then strolled—with what she hoped was casual ease—out of the room and out of the house.

The instant she stepped outside, she stopped dead. There was the regal and magnificent Rowena sitting on the ground with a mountain of dog sprawled over her lap.

And she was giggling.

“Oh, he’s wonderful. Such a big sweetheart. What a good boy you are.” She bent her head and nuzzled Moe’s fur. His tail beat like a jackhammer. “What a kind, pretty boy.” She looked up at Flynn and beamed. “Did he find you or did you find him?”

“It was sort of mutual.” One dog lover recognized another. Tucking his thumbs in his pockets, Flynn scanned the expansive lawns, the slices of woods. “Big place like this, lots of room to run. You could have a pack of dogs.”

“Yes. Well.” Rowena lowered her head again and rubbed Moe’s belly.

“We travel considerably.” Pitte laid a hand on Rowena’s hair, stroked it.

“How long do you plan to stay here?”

“When the three months is up, we’ll move on.”

“To?”

“That will depend. A ghra.”

“Yes. Yes.” Rowena cuddled Moe another moment, then with a wistful sigh got to her feet. “You’re very lucky to have such goodness in your life. I hope you treasure him.”

“I do.”

“I see you do, yes. You may be cynical and suspicious, but a dog like this knows a good heart.”

“Yeah,” Flynn agreed. “I believe that.”

“I hope you’ll bring him if you come back. He can run. Good-bye, Moe.”

Moe sat up and lifted one massive paw with unaccustomed dignity.

“Wow. That’s a new one.” Flynn blinked as Moe politely allowed Rowena to shake his paw. “Hey, Mal! Did you see—”

As he said her name, Moe’s head swiveled, and he was off at a sprint in Malory’s direction, bringing a distressed yip to her throat as she braced for the onslaught.

Rowena called out, a single indecipherable word in a calm, brisk tone. Moe skidded to a halt inches from Malory’s feet, plopped onto his butt. And once more lifted his paw.

“Well.” Malory expelled a relieved breath. “That’s more like it.” She reached down, obligingly shook the offered paw. “Good for you, Moe.”

“How the hell’d you do that?” Flynn wanted to know.

“I have a way with animals.”

“I’ll say. What was that, Gaelic?”

“Mmmm.”

“Funny that Moe would understand a command in Gaelic when he mostly ignores them in plain English.”

“Dogs understand more than words.” She held out a hand for Flynn’s. “I hope you’ll all come back. We enjoy company.”

“Thanks for your time.” Malory walked to the car with Moe trotting happily beside her. The minute she sat, she tucked her purse on the floor like a guilty secret.

Rowena laughed, but the sound was a bit watery as Moe stuck his head out of the backseat window. She lifted a hand in a wave, then leaned against Pitte as Flynn drove away.

“I have real hope,” she murmured. “I can’t remember the last time I felt real hope. I—it frightens me. It actually frightens me to feel it.”

Pitte wrapped an arm around her, drew her tighter to his side. “Don’t weep, my heart.”

“Foolish.” She dashed a tear away. “To cry over a stranger’s dog. When we get home . . .”

He shifted her, cupped her face in his hands. His tone was gentle, yet somehow urgent. “When we get home, you’ll have a hundred dogs. A thousand.”

“One will do.” She rose on her toes to brush her lips across his.

IN the car Malory let out a long, long breath.

“I take that sound of relief to mean you got the pictures.”

“I did. I felt like an international art thief. I guess I have to give Moe points for being the main distraction. So, tell me what you thought of them.”

“They’re slick, smart, and full of secrets. But they don’t seem crazy. They’re used to money—real money. Used to drinking tea out of antique cups brought in by a servant. They’re educated, cultured, and a little snobby with it. The place is full of stuff—fancy stuff. They’ve only been here a few weeks, so they didn’t furnish those rooms locally. They had it shipped in. I should be able to track that.”

Frowning, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “She went goony on Moe.”

“What?”

“She turned into a puddle the minute she saw him. I mean, he’s got a lot of charm, but she melted. I have this impression of her from inside. Cool, confident, aloof. The kind of woman who’s sexy because she knows she’s in charge. Strolling up Madison Avenue with a Prada bag on her arm, or running a board meeting in L.A. Power, money, brains, and looks all wrapped up in sex.”

“I get it. You thought she was sexy.”

“Last checkup, I had a pulse, so, yeah. But you should’ve seen her face when Moe jumped out of the car. All that polish, that sheen just vanished. She lit up like Christmas morning.”

“So, she likes dogs.”

“No, it was more. It wasn’t the coochee-coo that some fancy women do with dogs. It was fall down on the ground, roll in the grass, and gut-laugh. So why doesn’t she have one?”