Читать книгу A Dog And A Diamond - Rachael Johns - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCallum glanced at his watch, hoping the security company he’d called wouldn’t be too long, and then once again looked around the cottage-sized house surveying the mess. The cops had done their thing—although he didn’t think they were taking this burglary as seriously as they should be—so he could start the cleanup without fear of disturbing evidence. Although this wasn’t his house, he’d never been the type of guy to sit around and twiddle his thumbs. Putting his phone and keys down on the kitchen counter, Callum pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, wondering where to start. Not wanting to overstep the mark by rifling through Chelsea’s possessions, he chose to begin with gathering up the broken glass and other damaged goods.
He found plastic trash bags in a drawer in the kitchen and a vacuum in the cupboard in the hallway. Taking his time not to throw out anything that looked important or of sentimental value, he went through the house collecting the big bits of unsalvageable debris. On the kitchen table were a few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He glanced down and saw hundreds of other tiny pieces scattered on the floor. Collecting them back up into the box took a while and he hoped he’d found them all. Next he righted the furniture that had been upturned in the invasion and put the pieces of her computer back on her desk. As he did so, his gaze caught on a photo—miraculously it didn’t appear to be a victim of the carnage—and he realized something that had been bugging him about Chelsea’s home since he stepped inside. The one-and-only photo Chelsea had on display was of an old man sitting in a tattered armchair with a teenage girl standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his neck. To him, it seemed almost unfeminine not to surround yourself with photos of memories and loved ones; it was just something he’d taken for granted as part of the female way. Until now.
Without thinking, he picked up the frame and stared down at the photo. The young girl had to be Chelsea, all that unruly caramel-blond hair hanging over her shoulders. Yet, although her mouth was stretched into a massive grin, her eyes weren’t smiling—instead they harbored an anxious, unsettled look, exactly the same as the expression she’d been wearing today. He frowned in response and found himself wondering what her story was. Why didn’t she have other photos? Was this man her only family? There were all these prints of affirmative quotations on the walls—All That I Seek Is Already within Me, Allow Your Soul to Sparkle, You’re Never Too Old to Wish Upon a Star—as if she were trying to create a safe happy haven, but there was something missing here. Something warm, something real.
A knock on the open front door startled Callum from his reverie. “Hello! Anyone home?” called an overly chirpy male voice.
Callum rolled his eyes. Exactly how many people left the door open if they went out? And if they did, well, they probably deserved to be burglarized. “Yep. Come on in,” he called, putting the framed photo back down on the desk and turning toward the front door.
A short but very buff guy, dressed in a tight-fitting uniform stepped inside and raised his eyebrows as he looked around. “Someone sure went to town on your place.”
Callum didn’t correct him or comment that he’d already tided up a lot of the mess. He just wanted this man to leave again. Instead, he nodded. “I need you to replace the locks on all the doors, replace the glass that’s broken and,” he added almost as an afterthought, “can you also install proper locks on the windows?” Chelsea’s current locks wouldn’t even keep out a small child, and for some reason, knowing what she did for a job, he didn’t like the idea of her living in an insecure house. Even he, a relatively levelheaded man, had felt a surge of rage toward her when she’d first “dumped him,” so he could imagine there were men out there who might get a little heavy-handed after such mortifying rejection. He didn’t like the thought of that one bit.
“No problemo,” said the security man, dropping a toolbox to the floor and then stooping to open it. He started immediately, and although he whistled while he did so, he worked quickly and efficiently and of that Callum approved.
While the worker changed the old locks and installed new ones, Callum continued tidying up. The noise of the security man’s machine blocked out his whistling and Callum experienced a sense of achievement when he finally switched it off and examined his progress. Callum’s mom would be proud—she always harped on about raising new-aged heroes—and Bailey didn’t know what she’d lost.
Bailey. He was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t done him a favor. She was right—he didn’t have the time at the moment to give her what she wanted as all his energies needed to be piped into reviving the distillery.
He simply wished she’d had the guts to tell him to his face.
Callum sighed at that thought. His dad had done a stellar job of pretending everything was okay, but the truth had startled him when he’d finally gotten his hands on the business’s books. McKinnel’s Distillery wasn’t in dire straits but it was pretty damn close. He put this down to the fact his father refused to move with the times, despite the number of other boutique distilleries and breweries that were popping up all around them. Every time he’d raised this issue when his dad had been alive, every time he’d suggested a new idea that could raise revenue, Conall had pooh-poohed whatever the latest proposal was and reminded his son who was in charge.
Sometimes Callum couldn’t believe he hadn’t cut and run from the family business years ago, but the truth was, he loved the distillery almost as much as Conall had. You had to wonder though whether the stress of declining business had contributed to his father’s fatal heart attack.
If only you’d let me help, Dad. If only you’d given me the chance to prove myself.
But Conall McKinnel had been a hard man, almost impenetrable to anyone except his wife, for as long as Callum could remember. Mom put it down to the tragic loss of his twin brother, Hamish, which had happened not long after the two had established the distillery.
“I’m all done,” announced the security dude, appearing suddenly beside Callum in the living room and offering him a bunch of shiny, new keys. “You’ve done a good job of cleaning up here too.”
At the other man’s tone, Callum almost expected him to give him a pat on the back. “Thanks,” he said, referring to the work done, not the compliment. He dragged his wallet out of his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
The man quoted what sounded like an exorbitant amount, but Callum handed over his Amex without question. “Can you give me a receipt for the insurance company?”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
Callum flinched at the term of endearment and bit his tongue, which wanted to say that they weren’t “buddies” at all. According to his mom, sisters and even Bailey, he had a tendency to be unnecessarily grumpy. Quite frankly, he thought much of the population had an unnecessary tendency to be jovial.
When the workman realized Callum wasn’t the type for idle chitchat, he left, beeping his horn and waving as he reversed out Chelsea’s drive. Once again Callum found himself alone at this stranger’s house. Standing on her front porch, he looked up at the darkening sky and then down at his watch. Chelsea had been gone a few hours now and he guessed this meant she hadn’t found her mutt, but surely she couldn’t stay out all night looking. He’d called the shelters, the cops and neighbors knew the dog was missing—what more could she do?
With this thought, he decided to go look for her himself. Callum found a scrap of paper, scribbled down his cell number in case she returned before he found her and needed to get inside her house, then stuck it onto her front door. Ensuring her house was indeed secure, he locked the door, popped her new bunch of keys into his pocket and then jogged toward his SUV. Although he’d grown up in Jewell Rock, he’d never spent much time in Bend and he’d certainly never driven around this end of town.
He drove slowly down the surrounding streets, getting the occasional odd look from locals who wondered who this stranger patrolling their neighborhood was, but the only woman he wanted to pick up was the intriguing Chelsea Porter. A rush of blood shot south at this thought, catching him off balance. He wasn’t in the market for a hookup. All he wanted was to get Chelsea home safely, so he could get on with his life.
Finally, he saw her and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Miss Porter was a damn sexy woman and he was defenseless against his pounding red blood cells. Calm the hell down, he told them, as he pulled his SUV over to the side of the road and wound down the window.
“Chelsea!”
She turned and blinked at him as if he was the last person she expected to see. Although she didn’t speak, her eyes were bloodshot and mascara was streaked down her cheeks. His heart turned over in his chest at the sight.
“You’ve got new locks on your house,” he said, hoping this might give her a lift. It didn’t. She blinked as if wondering what that had to do with the price of eggs. “How about I take you home? It’s getting dark.” Left unsaid was the fact that if she hadn’t found the dog by now, it was unlikely she would.
Chelsea shook her head, a few golden locks that had escaped her ponytail swishing across her face in the process. “I can’t. Muffin is out here somewhere. All alone. He needs me.”
Her desperation told him she likely needed the dog more than the dog needed her. Callum curled his fists around the steering wheel, but refused to let his frustration show on his face. What was he supposed to do now?
“How about you get in...” He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “And I’ll drive you around a bit more.” Maybe once she was in the confines of his SUV, he could convince her to go home and call it a day.
She looked at him skeptically a few moments, then sighed and climbed into the vehicle. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked as she tugged the seat belt over her breasts and clicked it into place. “After what I did to you today?”
“That wasn’t personal. Besides, I’m a nice guy,” he replied, although the thoughts he was currently having about her breasts contradicted this statement.
She shrugged as if she didn’t believe in the fairy tale of nice guys—smart chick—but at least she was in the car. He didn’t need to win her approval, he simply needed to get her home and hand over her keys, so he could leave in good conscience.
As he steered the SUV back onto the road, Chelsea spoke again. “You can take me home and I’ll grab my car,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll be able to cover more ground that way.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Two sets of eyes are better than one. I’ll help you.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear, and then settled back into the seat.
“How long have you lived in Bend?” he asked as they circled her extended neighborhood a few times. So far they’d witnessed two fat cats having it out in someone’s front yard and a teenager who was learning to drive reverse into a fence, but they’d seen no sign of her cocker spaniel.
“Just over a year,” she said, as if that was the end of the conversation, but stuff it, he was playing chauffeur here and for some bizarre reason wanted to know more. His mom always said he was like a bear with a bee in his bonnet when he wanted something.
“Where was home before?”
She mumbled the name of a suburb in Portland, her gaze never veering from out the window.
“What brought you to Bend, then?” he asked. “Family? A boyfriend?” There hadn’t been any signs of either in her house, and he found himself hoping it was because the latter didn’t exist. Which was ridiculous. It’s not like he wanted to play the part.
She turned her head to glare at him, her nostrils flaring slightly. “Are we playing a game of twenty questions that I don’t know about?” Even with bloodshot eyes and all that runny mascara, especially with the edge of irritation in her voice, she was gorgeous. Quite simply one of the most stunning creatures he’d ever laid eyes on.
His mouth quirked at the edges. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
She sighed and crossed her arms over that delicious rack as he kept driving. “My grandfather—the only family that mattered to me—died fourteen months ago and I needed a change of scenery. I had no boyfriend, a dead-end job, no family, so I saw no reason to stay in Portland. I decided to get in my car and drive until something inside told me to stop and put down roots. I had plans to go much farther afield, but something about Bend got to me. Maybe it was the fact that apparently 49 percent of people here own dogs? Besides, I found out Muffin wasn’t big on road trips.”
He chuckled. Despite being obviously distraught, she had a sense of humor.
“I’m guessing you’ve lived in these parts all your life,” she said, indicating discussions about herself were done.
“Yep. Born and bred in Jewell Rock. I was recently considering spreading my wings a little, but then my dad died and, well, now I’m needed at home. At the distillery.” Which was what he’d always wanted—he just hadn’t wanted his dad to be pushing up daisies in order to make it possible.
“Were you and Miss Sawyer going to move?”
Truth was, Chelsea was the first person he’d confessed to about the fact he’d been considering leaving the family business. Guilt made his gut heavy at the thought. “We were in discussions,” he lied.
Silence reigned a few more moments as they both kept their eyes on their surroundings, then, when they neared a famous chicken fast-food joint, Callum’s stomach rumbled so loudly he felt certain Chelsea must have heard it too. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he guessed she hadn’t eaten in hours either.
Without a word, he pulled into the drive-through.
“Hey,” she exclaimed, “what are you doing?”
“Ordering us some dinner. What do you want?”
* * *
All Chelsea wanted was her dog back and she thought she’d made that perfectly clear, but now that Callum mentioned it, she was starting to feel a little light-headed. Maybe she needed food. Or maybe the dizziness was because of being in a confined space with six-feet-plus of sexy McKinnel. Either way, she found herself asking for a fried chicken sandwich and a serving of french fries. Callum ordered the same, but added some coleslaw. The teenager behind the speaker who took their order giggled ridiculously at the sound of his deep sexy voice.
“Did your mom tell you that you should have veggies with every meal?” Chelsea asked as they waited in front of the window for their food. She thought it kinda cute the way he’d mentioned his mother a few times.
“Something like that.” He almost smiled and something inside her quivered so that she had to glance away. Looking out the window made her realize she hadn’t thought of Muffin in all of two minutes. Not that she wanted to forget him—she desperately wanted, needed to find him—but Callum had given her a few moments’ reprieve from her anxiety.
When their orders were ready. Callum took their food from the teenage attendant and passed it over to Chelsea. The smell of hot, greasy goodness filled the car, making her want to moan out loud. She rarely ate takeout—years of not being able to afford such luxuries had become a habit.
“Let me give you some money for this,” she said, snapping back to reality and realizing she was sitting in a stranger’s car—a client’s ex’s car more to the point—and he’d just paid for her dinner.
He waved a hand in dismissal as he drove away from the restaurant. The warmth of the food seeped through the paper bag, making her thighs hot. She inhaled again and her taste buds begged her for a fry, but Callum couldn’t eat while driving and she couldn’t very well eat hers in front of him.
“We can pull over somewhere a few moments if you like so you can eat,” she suggested.
“Or we could go back to your place and eat there.” His tone was innocuous and it wasn’t that she thought he was about to take advantage, but the idea of eating dinner with a guy in her house was so alien it made her nervous.
“But we haven’t found Muffin yet.” She hated the neediness in her tone but couldn’t help it.
“Look, Chels,” Callum began, turning to look at her so that his deep green eyes sought hers and made her skin hot. Or that could simply be the way he’d used a nickname for her, as if they were friends, rather than recent acquaintances. She was loath to admit it, but she liked it. “I know you’re worried about Muffin, but we’ve both searched high and low. I’ve called every dog refuge in a three-hundred-mile radius of Bend. I think maybe it’s time to call it a night. What if Muffin comes home while you’re not there?”
And with that one simple question, he got her. The thought of her dog finding his way back to the house and her not being there to welcome him tore at her heartstrings. “Okay.” She gave one nod of defeat. “If you could take me home, that would be great.”
He gave her a warm smile and turned the SUV in the direction of her place. The closer they got, the more nervous she began to feel. Not nervous that maybe she would never find Muffin, but nervous about Callum McKinnel coming into her house. Granted, he’d already spent a good deal of time there earlier in the day, but this now felt like the closest thing she’d had to a date in months.
Don’t be ridiculous, came a voice inside her head. The man just got dumped by his long-term fiancée.
Actually you dumped him, said an opposing voice, but she blocked her ears—that was simply semantics. Besides, he likely wouldn’t stay long—just enough time to scarf down his dinner and, as he was a guy, that could be merely a matter of minutes.
Ten minutes later, Callum parked in her driveway for the third time that day. Chelsea got out of the vehicle and carried their takeout up the path to the front door, all the while trying to act calm, cool and collected. Callum was a few steps behind her and only when she read the note he’d stuck to her door did she remember he had her new house keys. She spun around and almost slammed right into him.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as his hands shot out to steady her.
“Not a problem.” That smile again. Quite aside from the fact Callum was a client’s ex, as a McKinnel, he was also way out of her league.
She swallowed a groan of disappointment as he let her go and then retrieved a bunch of shiny keys from his jacket pocket. Stepping past her, he selected a key and slid it into the lock, then turned it and opened the door to her house for her. Bamboozled by his touch, she let him usher her inside and take the lead.
“Shall we eat in the kitchen or do you prefer the couch?” he asked, shutting her door behind them.
Silence echoed around the house, reminding her of Muffin’s absence, but in spite of the aching hole in her heart, she couldn’t help notice the state of her house. All clean and tidy now, barely any evidence of the burglary. “Did you do this?” She gaped around and then turned her attention on him.
He nodded and shrugged. “Had to do something while I waited for the security company.”
No, actually, he did not. He owed her sweet eff all, but for some reason unknown to her, he’d gone out of his way to look out for her today. That Bailey Sawyer needed her head read. Who cared if Callum wasn’t all that between the sheets? He was kind and thoughtful, not to mention hotter than the sun itself; these traits weren’t ones to be scoffed at in a man. All she could think to say was “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looked away because she could no longer handle his intoxicating smile. “Let’s eat in the living room. It’s more comfortable there.”
He followed her to the couch, where he sat beside her as she handed out their food. She’d taken a bite into her sandwich before she remembered her manners. Dammit, she wasn’t used to hosting guests. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, putting the sandwich on the coffee table and shooting to her feet. “I’ve got club soda or cola.”
“I’ll have a cola, thanks.” He smiled again and then sank his teeth into his own sandwich. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Maybe I’m the one who needs her head read? With that thought she scuttled away to the kitchen, wishing it was farther away so she’d have a little more time to pull herself together.
Chelsea opened the fridge, pulled two cans of cola out and pressed one against her forehead, thankful Callum had his back to her. She could see him from the kitchen, sitting back against her couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She shook her head—was this some kind of weird dream? Nightmare? Maybe she’d wake up and discover Muffin sleeping by her feet as he always did and find out Callum McKinnel was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Yet the pain when she pinched herself to check this spurred her into action and she carried the cans and two glasses back over to him. No one in her family had ever drunk soda out of glasses—unless the soda was mixed with something stronger, which it usually was—but Callum had a mom who made him carry a hanky, so the glasses felt necessary.
“Thanks,” he said as she cracked open a can and poured it into a glass for him. She tried not to drool as he lifted said glass to his lips and took a sip, the thick columns of his neck muscles flexing as he did so.
Right, time to get a grip on reality. She poured cola into the other glass and downed approximately half of it. Although she hadn’t eaten since this morning, the butterflies dancing in her stomach put her off eating. She racked her brain for something to say and then remembered how she’d fled from his office without offering her full service.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” she said.
Callum raised an eyebrow. “About dumping me?” He made it sound like they’d been in a relationship and she’d ended it.
She shook her head. “Usually after I’ve delivered a message to someone, I hang around to chat and see if they’re okay.”
His other eyebrow lifted. “Good customer service? I approve. So why did you not follow through on that promise this morning?”
The way he spoke, the way he looked at her, made her think he knew the reason and heat rushed to her cheeks. “I’m...not...sure.”
“It’s okay,” he said, half chuckling. “I’m not a big talker and Bailey probably did me a favor.”
“Really?”
“Sure, I wouldn’t want to be with a woman who didn’t consider me Mr. Right.”
Callum sounded so lighthearted, but she guessed there had to be pain behind those words. She was about to offer to talk about it now, but he asked a question before she could.
“This breakup business? Is it seriously what you do for a living?”
Surprisingly, she detected none of the repulsion he’d had earlier in his tone.
“Yes. Until recently I also waited tables.” She named a well-known establishment in Bend. “But it was either hire another employee to take on some of the breakup load or quit my second job. I chose the latter.”
His eyes widened. “No offense, but I’m surprised breaking up with other people’s partners is such a lucrative profession.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t say lucrative, but I take pride in my work and my reputation is spreading. Breaking up is never easy to do. My service is much like hiring someone to clean your house or mow your lawn. Only cleaners and landscapers don’t usually offer counseling, as well.”
“How many of these gigs do you get a day?”
She did a quick mental tally. “One or two in-person breakups a week—I only offer that service to customers in Bend and surrounding areas, but I do a lot of online work. Emails, et cetera. Follow-up phone calls for the brokenhearted. Business is good enough that I’m thinking of expanding and looking for freelancers to do face-to-face breakups in other areas.”
“You learn something new every day.” He popped a french fry into his mouth and she ate one, as well. Then he said, “How exactly did you get into this business?”
Chelsea took a deep breath and surprised herself by telling him pretty much the truth. “My best friend, Rosie—she lives back in Portland—actually suggested it. I have this thing where I can’t manage to hold down a relationship for long. Rosie believes I’m just dating the wrong guys, but whatever the reason, at about the three-month mark, I always lose interest and we break up. But we always manage to stay friends. So far this year, I’ve been to five weddings of ex-boyfriends. Anyway, Rosie once joked that I was the queen of breaking up and could do it for a living and then a friend of hers actually asked me to do so. I only did it as a favor, but it went so well someone else asked me to do it. And...”
“The rest as they say is history?”
She smiled as she nodded. “Yes. I’ll admit it’s not a very common profession but I honestly think I’m doing a necessary service. Do you know how many people stay in bad relationships because they’re too scared to get out?”
He shook his head and she guessed he came from one of those perfect families. She didn’t know much about the McKinnels, but his father’s obituary had definitely painted him as the ideal family man. And Callum had how many brothers and sisters? She racked her brain but couldn’t come up with the number. It was a lot, anyway, reminding her again what different worlds they came from.
“Well,” she said, “it’s a lot.” Then she said, “Thanks for the dinner. It was good.” Hopefully he’d take the hint that it was time for him to leave. That she no longer needed babysitting, even if a tiny part of her wanted it.
He nodded toward her sandwich still sitting on its grease-proof paper on the table. “You barely ate.”
“Sorry.” She bit her lip. “I’m too worried about Muffin.”
He nodded grimly. “Fair enough. I guess I’d better be going.” But he didn’t make a move to stand—for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t appear in a hurry to abscond.
“Thanks for everything,” she said, trying to encourage him. She just wanted him gone so she could ignore her hormones and get back to worrying about Muffin.
Callum reached out and wrapped his long fingers around hers, then gave a little squeeze. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. You’ll find him.”
“Thanks,” she said again, slipping her hand out of his for self-protection and then standing. If the guys she’d dated before had all been as lovely as him, maybe she wouldn’t have felt compelled to dump them.
He stood, as well, and awkwardness buzzed between them. What was the protocol here? This wasn’t a date. He wasn’t going to kiss her good-night and ask when they could see each other again. Likely they’d never see each other again and tonight would become some distant memory and she would one day wonder if it had ever actually happened.
“Well.” He cleared his throat and looked down at her—not many men looked down on her and she liked the thrill it gave her. “Maybe call me when you find Muffin. Just so I know.”
She rubbed her lips together, loving the confidence in his voice that she’d find her dog but also joyful at the prospect of an excuse to call him. Her tongue twisted at the thought, so she nodded.
“You’ll need my number,” he said.
“I think it’s on my front door.”
“Right...of course it is.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “In that case, good night.”
Chelsea followed him out, waved as he reversed out of the drive and then closed the door behind her, the thud echoing around the now empty house. Having Callum here had been so bizarre, it had given her a few minutes’ pardon from missing and worrying about Muffin, but now that he was gone, she had nothing left to do but worry. She retreated to the couch, collapsed into a heap and wished there was something more constructive she could do than cry.
