“He calls it a dog,” Malory said under her breath.

Flynn merely gave her a sorrowful look before speaking to Rowena. “You like dogs?”

“Yes, very much. Could I meet him?”

“Sure.”

“Ah, while you’re introducing Rowena and Pitte to Moe, at their peril, could I take a minute to freshen up?” Casually, Malory gestured toward the powder room. “I remember where it is.”

“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.”