A Dog and a Diamond (6 page)

“I found the receipt for the new locks.” She cleared her throat. “Replacing every one in the house was quite unnecessary.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. Was she
mad
at him? “I disagree. In your line of business, you can never be too careful. You should be living in a more secure house. Those old window locks might as well have been bought in a toy department because they'd never keep out an intruder.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but my safety
and
my house are no concern of yours. You should have checked with me.”

“It's not a problem, I'll pay for them.”

“No way. I will pay you for the work, but I'm going to have to do it in a few installments.”

He didn't want her money and he resented the tone she'd taken. “As you said, I had the locks fixed of my own accord, so if you can't afford it, don't bother.”

“I didn't say I can't afford it.” She sounded pissed and that made him pissed. So much for going out of his way to help someone.

“Okay, then. Whatever.” Shit, now he sounded like one of his sisters in a mood. “Pay me whenever you can and good luck finding Muffin.” He disconnected the phone before she could say anything more, dumped it on his desk and stared at it.

Well, that was a first. He'd never hung up on anyone in his life. Especially not a woman. But something about Chelsea had him doing crazy things. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned, fighting the urge to call her back and apologize.

Chapter Five

“W
hat do you want?” Callum looked up from his desk a couple of days later at Sophie, who was standing in his office doorway glaring at him, her arms folded across her chest.

“A promotion. To win the lottery. Prince Charming to whisk me off my feet. A never-ending supply of cake. But for you to stop acting like a moody bitch for a couple of days would be a nice start.”

He leaned back in his seat and held his hands out in surrender. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Sophie stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Big brother, I know your heart is breaking and all that and Mom said we all need to treat you with extra TLC. But the way you spoke to that customer you just served...” She paused and raised her eyebrows at him. “Not acceptable. I don't want to have to give you a written warning.”

He rolled his eyes but thought back to that customer. “She had no idea about whiskey, and I didn't have time to listen to her uncle's life history to find out what bottle she should buy him for his birthday.”

“Callum, Callum, Callum...it is our job to
teach
people about whiskey and also to listen. Listening is a skill anyone involved in the selling of alcohol must fine-tune or did you learn nothing from our dear dad?”

“Fine.” He sighed. “You're right. I was a little terse with that woman. Sorry.”

“You're forgiven. Just don't come into my tasting room and act like such a grump again.”

He nodded his acquiescence. Sophie was right, they couldn't afford to lose customers. “Is there anything else?” he asked, when she still didn't make a move to go. Maybe she really did want a promotion; although he wasn't sure how that would work. He guessed he could give her a better title—director of sales and marketing or something—her own office, maybe a gold plaque on the door?

“No, except I just want you to know that I am here if you want to talk. You know...about Bailey and everything. If you ask me it's a crappy time to dump someone, right before Thanksgiving, not long till Christmas.”

“It was a mutual breakup.”

“That's not the way Bailey tells it.” Sophie shrugged. “Look, maybe you should take a few days off to tend your broken heart?”

“What? And leave you in charge?” he scoffed.

She picked a pen up off his desk and hurled it at him.

Grinning, he ducked just in time. “Thanks for your concern, little sis, but I promise you my heart is not broken. I'll be fine. I've been grumpy because of work, not Bailey.” Another lie; he'd been grumpy because he couldn't get that woman—that Breakup Girl, Chelsea Porter—out of his head. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd almost called her these past few days to see if she'd found her dog yet.

“What we all need is to sit down and have a proper meeting about our options,” Sophie said, switching from sister mode to professional mode. “You know I'm on your side and think your new ideas are fabulous; we just need to convince Mom, Blair and Quinn.” Their other siblings, silent partners in the distillery, would go along with whatever the majority decided. That said, Callum had big plans to get Lachlan a lot more involved in the family business, as well.

He nodded. “Do you want to set a date and gather the troops?” Blair and Quinn were more likely to listen to Sophie; as the youngest in the family by three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, she had certain privileges.

“Sure. Consider it done.”

Sophie stood up to leave but as she put her hand on the doorknob to open it, Callum couldn't help telling Sophie what his mom had said. “Do you know Mom thinks you might be a lesbian?”

“What?” She spun around, her eyes sparkling at this news.

He merely nodded, amused.

She rubbed her hands together in obvious glee. “I could have a
lot
of fun with this. Thanks, brother dear.” And then she opened the door and practically skipped through it.

Callum let out a heavy breath and turned back to his computer screen, wondering which idea he should push on, or rather
sell to
, his family first. Some of his innovations would require more time and planning, like expanding the restaurant and also starting to grow their own grain; others wouldn't take much to get started but could increase revenue almost immediately. If they acted quickly and launched a McKinnel's Distillery merchandise line, they might even be able to cash in on the upcoming festive season or maybe that was rushing things.

Still, he'd start with that idea. It wouldn't affect Blair in the production department or Quinn in their warehouse as sales would be made in the shop—Sophie's domain—where they already sold their various types of bourbon.

He'd opened PowerPoint to start a presentation for the meeting when his cell rang. Not planning to answer, he glanced nonchalantly at it to see another unknown number. It wasn't Chelsea because, against his better judgment, he'd saved her number after the last time she'd called. But dammit, he was curious and thus snatched it up to answer before it rang off.

“Hello, Callum McKinnel speaking,” he barked down the line, irritated by the interruption.

“Hello,” came a hesitant voice. “I'm Lee, calling from the animal shelter in Sisters about your dog. Someone found him wandering in a field not far from here and has just brought him in.”

His heart shooting to his throat, Callum sat bolt upright. “You've found Muffin? Is he...okay?”

“He was a little ravenous, so we fed him, and a little dirty—he's obviously been living rough for a few days—but aside from that, he's healthy. Would you like to come in and pick him up?”

“Are you sure it's him?” Callum didn't want to call Chelsea with the good news if he wasn't 100 percent sure. “Is he wearing his name tag? He's not actually my dog, he's a...friend's, but there's a contact number on his collar.” Probably best if they called Chelsea directly. Probably best if he stayed well clear of the dog and its owner.

“I'm sorry, he wasn't wearing a collar when he was found. But he matches the description you left with us perfectly.”

Callum sighed and tapped his pen against the desk. “I'll be there in half an hour.”

“We'll see you then,” said the woman before disconnecting.

Wondering what the hell had come over him, Callum ran a hand through his hair and stood, grabbing his keys and checking his wallet was in his pocket as he headed out. He went through the tasting room on his way outside and called to Sophie who was counting stock.

“Can you put any calls through to my cell?”

Sophie glanced up. “Where are you going?”

He winked at his little sister. “Taking a few hours for my broken heart. Back soon.” And then he left before she had the chance to ask any questions.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Callum parked his SUV in the lot at the front of the animal shelter. As he climbed out of the vehicle and strode toward the front entrance, a cacophony of barks, squawks and mewls grew louder.

“Hi, how may I help you?” asked a woman behind a counter the moment he stepped inside. He recognized her voice as belonging to the person who'd called him.

“I'm Callum McKinnel, here to collect... Muffin.” Why couldn't Chelsea's dog have a more masculine name?

“Fabulous.” The woman beamed. “I'll go grab him.”

As he waited, Callum glanced around the reception area. There were a couple of cages on one wall with kittens inside and across the other side of room, one entire wall was plastered with pictures of animals in need of adoption, all of which looked bedraggled and lonely. Their sad eyes felt as if they were looking directly at him and a lump formed in his throat. He found himself speaking to the photos on the wall.

“Sorry, but I'm not in the market for a pet. I'm rarely home and I wouldn't have the time to walk you.”

“You could always adopt a cat,” said the woman, startling him as she returned. “They are quite content with their own company for a few hours a day and don't require you to exercise them.”

Ashamed to be caught talking to himself, he ignored her words, lowering his gaze to the mutt at her feet. A gorgeous golden cocker spaniel that looked up at him with wide, wary eyes.

“Muffin?” he said, and the dog cocked his ears up slightly. Well, as much as was possible with those long, floppy, furry things. Callum dropped onto his haunches and held out his hand. “How you doing, buddy? Ready to go home?”

The word
home
seemed to win the dog over and he launched himself at Callum, almost knocking him backward as he started licking his face. The animal-shelter woman laughed as she handed him the dog's lead. “Someone's happy to see you.”

He'd be even happier to see Chelsea, Callum thought, his heart rate accelerating at the thought. Once he'd signed a few papers and made a donation to the shelter in lieu of adopting half a dozen strays, he and Muffin were finally in his car ready to go. The moment he turned the ignition to start the SUV, Muffin leaped across the gearbox and into his lap, once again slobbering all over Callum's face.

“Buddy,” he said, pushing the dog away. “Boundaries.”

But it appeared Muffin didn't have such things and somehow Callum managed to drive all the way back to Chelsea's house with her dog sitting in his lap. By the time he arrived at her place, he was halfway to falling in love with the stupid mutt, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

“Come on, you,” he said, holding tight on the lead as Muffin jumped down from the SUV. He closed the door behind them and they started up the short path to Chelsea's door. Only as he was about to ring the bell did he consider the fact that she might not be home. She could be out, busy dumping some other poor dude. He found he didn't like that idea, and not because of the actual task, but rather because some other guy would be spending time with her.

Shaking his head of that thought, he jabbed his finger into the doorbell. Approximately ten seconds later, the door opened and Chelsea appeared. Their eyes met, and heat washed over him at the sight of her in skinny jeans and a fitted sweater, but she did not seem so happy to see him. Then Muffin yanked forward and assaulted his owner in much the same manner he'd assaulted Callum at the shelter. The annoyance in Chelsea's eyes was quickly replaced with joy and delight as she wrapped her arms around the dog. Tears, he assumed of the happy variety, streamed down her face as she and Muffin reacquainted themselves.

Callum stood awkwardly on the porch, feeling like a third wheel, yet at the same time pretty pleased with himself for reuniting Chelsea with her beloved mutt. Finally, after what felt like a couple of decades at least, she looked up and the smile she gave him almost knocked him off balance.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone dripping with genuine appreciation.

He steadied himself on the doorjamb, feeling as if finding this dog was the best thing he'd done in all thirty-five years of his existence. “My pleasure.”

“Where was he?” She straightened, but kept one hand caressing Muffin's head. The dog made a sound almost like a cat purring and Callum couldn't blame him. Who knows what kind of noises he'd make if Chelsea ran her hands through his hair.

He cleared his throat. “At a shelter in Sisters. A jogger found him this morning in a field. He wasn't wearing his collar and I didn't know your number the other day when I called all the shelters, so they rang me.” Why the heck did he sound like he was trying to explain himself?

“Oh thank God. That must have been the only shelter I didn't call.” She looked almost as if she were about to kiss him, but...no such luck. “And thank
you
. Again. I'm sorry I was a little rude the other day when I called. It's just... I'm not good with needing people. I don't like to feel indebted, but that was no reason to be awful to you when you were just trying to help. Can I blame my rudeness on being worried about this boy?”

“What rudeness?” he asked with a smile.

“Thank you. And it looks like once again I'm in your debt. How am I ever going to repay you for reuniting me with Muffin?”

It was possibly just one of those things people said, but his mind couldn't help conjuring all sorts of ways she
could
repay him. Heat crept to his cheeks and other less visible parts of his body; at least he hoped they weren't visible but with the effect she had on him, who could tell?

“Come to lunch with me on Thanksgiving,” he blurted.

She blinked. “Where would we go?”

Jeez, he hadn't thought this one through at all. He'd be ostracized from the family if he didn't show at home for their traditional lunch. Then again, maybe bringing a date would prove to his meddling mother once and for all that he really wasn't too cut up about the whole Bailey thing. “My parents' place. Mom's house now, I guess. You'd be doing me a massive favor as Mom is hell-bent on finding me another girlfriend ASAP. I want to show her I can get my own dates.”

She rubbed her lips together. Then, “So this would be a
date
?”

A big part of him wanted to say yes but he didn't want to lead her on. “A fake one, to keep my mother from worrying about me. I'm not ready for another relationship yet, but she can't seem to get that into her head.” This part was true—he needed to put everything he had into the distillery for the foreseeable future and that didn't leave time for love and romance.

“Oh. Okay. Because I couldn't date a client.”

He smirked. “Isn't Bailey technically your client? And is that a yes?”

She shrugged. “You have a big family, don't you?”

“Pretty big, but don't worry, they're not too scary. My little sister hasn't bitten anyone since she was three.”

Chelsea laughed at that and he honestly couldn't recall anything ever sounding quite so beautiful. He wanted to tell her a joke and hear that sound again. “Okay.”