A Dog And A Diamond

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“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.

Chapter Four (#ulink_972cffe0-2a38-528f-a93e-f86804dfabf9)

It was late by the time Callum returned to the distillery and all but the security lights were switched off. He contemplated going home, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep without checking that everything had gone okay this afternoon. Although Sophie had a good head on her, his sister was only twenty-six and had rarely been left alone with the responsibility of the office and the tasting room. Sure, they had a couple of employees to help serve customers, but this had always been a family business and they were the ones with their hearts and souls invested in it.

He parked out the front, let himself into the building and then, happy everything looked as it should, he headed into his office where he poured himself a generous shot of bourbon and took a much-needed sip. This had been, without a doubt, the weirdest day of his life and he scratched his head as he leaned back in his chair and thought over it.

Leaving Chelsea shouldn’t have been as difficult as it had been. Sure she was hot and sexy as all that, but so were heaps of women. They’d never made him want to look after them the way she had. It felt more like a compulsion than a want.

The sound of the main distillery door opening broke into his thoughts and Callum sat forward, his muscles immediately on edge. Who the hell would be coming in at this time of night?

“Hey, baby boy, it’s just me,” called a voice he recognized better than his own. A voice that still insisted on calling him “baby” even though he was thirty-five years old and her eldest child. “Mom,” Nora McKinnel clarified a moment later, just in case he’d forgotten.

He rolled his eyes, chuckled and prepared himself for something halfway between a lecture and a sympathy speech. “In the office,” he called back, as he stood and retrieved another glass from the shelf behind the desk.

His mom appeared in the doorway as he was pouring her glass. She was wearing a pink fluffy dressing gown, a scarf, a beanie, Wellingtons and her cheeks were flushed from the cool outside air. She still lived in the main house, which was a hundred yards or so behind the distillery buildings, with his brother Lachlan, Lachlan’s son, Hamish (the second), and his other brother Blair, who’d moved home a couple of years ago after his divorce. Officially Callum lived in a cottage also on the property but he often stayed at Bailey’s apartment in town. He guessed that wouldn’t be happening anymore. And dammit, he’d have to go collect his stuff.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay.” His mom rushed at him, her boots thumping against the solid floor, and threw her arms around him. He just managed to put down the bottle in time.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, although he’d already guessed the answer.

She pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes. Hers were a little puffy as if she’d been crying. “I thought you might have...you know...driven off a bridge or drowned your sorrows in the merchandise.”

So she’d heard about him and Bailey. How good news traveled fast. “I’m fine, Mom,” he said, escaping her embrace and gesturing for her to take a seat and a drink. Perhaps he shouldn’t be okay, but he was. Not that she’d probably believe him anyway. Thanks to Bailey, he could guarantee Mom would be fussing over him for weeks.

“Are you sure?” She frowned as she lowered herself into Dad’s leather recliner; he’d called it his “thinking seat.”

Callum nodded, sat back in his own seat and lifted his glass again. “Damn, we make good bourbon,” he said, trying to distract her. Flavor wasn’t the distillery’s issue, it was the fact that the younger generation of drinkers were into boutique beers instead. He had a few ideas about how to attract them; he simply needed to convince the rest of his family.

Nora took a sip, then, cradling the glass in her hands, nodded. But the expression on her face said he hadn’t succeeded in diverting her thoughts. “Marcia called me this afternoon and told me you and Bailey had split up.”

Although he knew she wanted him to tell her it wasn’t true, he saw no point in delaying the inevitable. “That’s right. We decided we weren’t right for each other. Better now than later, right?” Not exactly the whole truth, but he didn’t think Bailey should take all the blame when she’d been the one with the guts to end it.

His mom sighed and downed the rest of her drink. “I was so looking forward to the wedding after the awful year we’ve had.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked down into his glass.

“Is it too much to want another grandchild?”

Here we go. “Of course not,” he said merely to placate her. Currently she had two—a granddaughter and a grandson, both his brother Lachlan’s kids—but as she herself had seven adult children, she believed this number vastly inadequate.

“I had so much hope for next year with you and Bailey getting married and I’d thought that Mac and Sian would follow soon after. Now all my hopes and dreams have gone up in smoke.”

Used to his mother’s drama-queen tendencies, Callum tried to offer a sympathetic smile, but she barely paused in her rant.

“Now you and Bailey have followed Mac and Sian instead of the other way around...” Mac had also recently been dumped by his long-term girlfriend. What a sorry lot they were. “Lord knows Quinn can’t keep a woman longer than a weekend, or he doesn’t want to—either way, I failed dismally with him. Lachlan married a selfish cow, who broke his poor heart, and as much as I adore Hamish, not many women are prepared to become a parent to a special-needs child. Annabel seems destined to mourn Stuart forever.” She sighed and took a quick breath. “Why the heck Blair and Claire got divorced is a mystery to us all considering they still live in each other’s pockets. I love her like she were my own daughter, but he’ll never meet someone else if he stays best friends with her, and Sophie doesn’t show any interest in men whatsoever. Do you think she’s a lesbian? I have been wondering quite some time if that’s the issue.”

Callum almost choked on his last sip. “What? No. I don’t know. Maybe?” He shrugged. To be honest, he’d never given it much thought. Sophie was almost as much of a workaholic as him and that left little time for dating.

“Not that I would care,” Nora said, waving her hands dramatically as she spoke. “Homosexuality runs in the McKinnel family, after all...” She was referring to his father’s twin, who’d died before Callum was old enough to remember him. “And I haven’t got a problem with lesbians. I just wish she’d open up to me. I am her mother!”

“Yes, indeed, you are.” Callum stifled a smile, knowing his mom didn’t think this conversation amusing whatsoever. She continued on, lamenting her children’s foibles, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He hoped Chelsea would find her dog and wished there was something he could do to make sure of it. He wondered how she was coping now she was alone, and once again, his ribs tightened as he regretted leaving her by herself. Maybe he should call and check in on her? But it was late—what if she’d managed to fall asleep and he woke her? They didn’t have the kind of relationship where he could phone at all hours; they didn’t have a relationship at all. Tomorrow; he’d call tomorrow. And then, goddamn, he remembered he’d given her his number but he hadn’t asked for hers.

His mom’s heaving herself noisily off the recliner brought him once again back to the moment. “I guess if you’re okay, I better head home to bed. Don’t stay up too late working though. Promise me? All work and no play makes Callum a very dull boy.”

“Are you calling me dull, Mom?”

She came toward him, grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “You are a number of D words, my son—determined, driven, discerning, droll, dependable to name a few—but you could never be dull.” She frowned a moment. “Is that what Bailey said? Because if it is, my best friend’s daughter or not, I’ll have to kill her.”

Callum chuckled. “Thanks, Mom, and no, Bailey didn’t say that.” Although she had said he was bad in bed, which irked him, especially since she’d said it to Chelsea.

“Just as well.” Nora started toward the door but turned back as she got there. “So if you weren’t off plotting your own death, where have you been all afternoon and evening?”

He swallowed, not wanting to answer this question for fear he wouldn’t be able to explain why he’d gone out of his way to help a stranger. Also not wanting to go into the whole Breakup Girl thing. Such a concept would fascinate his mom and then she’d want to spend all night hearing about it.

“I was checking out some business...stuff,” he lied.

She sighed and shook her head sadly, buying this excuse immediately. No doubt she blamed his obsession with the distillery for his split with Bailey; perhaps to a certain extent she was right.

* * *

After waving Callum McKinnel goodbye, Chelsea had tried to distract herself with a little TV. She now lay on the couch, mindlessly flicking through channels—something that had always irritated her when her granddad did it—but nothing could take her thoughts away from Muffin. And Callum. Both the couch and the house felt awfully empty without them here.

Missing Muffin she could understand—it had been years since she’d watched TV or gone to bed without his furry body to keep her warm and his heavy breathing as background noise. But missing Callum? What the heck was that about?

She’d known the man less than twenty-four hours and he was head of a freaking whiskey distillery. After the role it had played in her childhood, there wasn’t much in the world she despised as much as alcohol, and whiskey, bourbon, whatever you wanted to call it, was one of the worst offenders. Interestingly enough, Callum hadn’t smelled of whiskey, and she should know. She’d sat close enough to him in the car and again on the couch to have memorized his unique and delicious smell. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure it now—something woodsy and sweet. She licked her lips and took a quick breath, then aimed the remote at the TV and switched it off.

Perhaps going into her bedroom where she hadn’t been with him, would help exorcise him from her mind. Besides, she needed her sleep so she could continue looking for Muffin first thing. Standing, she stooped to gather their takeout wrappers, empty soda cans and glasses from the table and then took them into the kitchen. Although exhausted, going to bed and leaving such a mess was something Chelsea would never do. Not after a childhood of living with drunks who couldn’t care less about hygiene or tidiness.

In the kitchen, she dumped the trash in the can and the glasses in the sink and then her eyes came to rest on a piece of paper on the countertop. It was an invoice for the locksmith. She eyed the price and... Hells bells! Was her new lock made of pure gold? Picking up the receipt, she took a closer look, noticing that, not only had the front door lock been fixed, but Callum had also had the back door lock and all her window locks replaced. Without her consent.