A Dog and a Diamond (14 page)

“Malty?” he suggested.

“Yes,” she shrieked. “That's it.”

They both laughed.

“Do you like it any better?”

“No, I'm sorry but I don't. Although I never thought I could have this much fun tasting alcohol, the good news is, that after doing so, I think it's safe to say I'll never become an alcoholic. No offence but I much prefer hot chocolate or coffee.”

“No offense taken.” He wasn't sure any words that escaped
that
mouth could ever be offensive. “Now, shall we go back to my place and do the jigsaw puzzle?”

She raised an eyebrow and leaned a little across the counter toward him. “Is
jigsaw
puzzle
code for something else, Callum?”

Heat flooded his body at the suggestiveness in her tone. “Do you want it to be?”

In reply, she leaned even farther forward and pressed her lips against his. This time when they kissed, he tasted McKinnel's own sweet whiskey on her tongue and the combination of Chelsea and the liquor he threw his heart and soul into turned him on like nothing ever had before. Taking her home would take too long. She didn't seem to have any complaints when he all but hauled her over to the rug in front of the still-burning fire and pulled her down onto the ground beside him.

“Oh,
Callum
,” she whispered over and over again as he slowly undressed and seduced her. His name had never sounded so sweet as it did on her lips, no woman had ever tasted so good and he couldn't recall ever feeling as alive as he did when he was inside of her. It felt as if he'd known her forever, but a quick calculation revealed they'd barely been acquainted two weeks.

“I hope you don't have security cameras,” Chelsea said, still resting her head on his chest and distracting him from his thoughts.

His arms tightened around her. “Shit. We do.” He'd been so desperate to have her, he hadn't given a thought to such things.

“Oh no,” she squealed, sitting upright and scrambling around them for her clothes.

As much as he enjoyed the view, he chose to put her out of her misery. “Relax, sweetheart, I'm the one who checks the cameras.”

She paused in her frantic efforts and turned back to look at him, relief flooding over her face. “Can we go look now?”

He pretended to misunderstand. “You want to watch us in action? I didn't peg you for the kinky type.”

Chelsea swatted him with her bra and glared. “I.
Meant.
To. Delete. It.”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “That seems a bit of a shame, don't you reckon?” Although he was stringing her along, there was no way he'd ever leave evidence of this night lying around for his family to find. It was hard enough getting them to take him seriously as boss without a sex tape doing the rounds.

“Show me where the recordings are. Now!” Chelsea demanded, standing and dressing quickly. “Or I'll... I'll...”

He laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “Relax. We'll delete them right away.”

They took longer to get dressed than they had to get naked, possibly because Callum kept getting distracted. Then, like a couple of naughty teenagers, they headed down the hallway and snuck into his office to erase all evidence of their sordid shenanigans.

Chapter Eleven

A
fter wolfing down a bowl of Froot Loops, Chelsea opened her door and stepped onto her front porch right into a pile of... She looked down and screwed up her nose in shocked disgust.

Is that horse manure?

Trying not to vomit, she lifted her foot out of the mess and shouted at Muffin, who had all but buried his nose in the pile, to get back. She shoved him inside, closed the door behind her and yanked off both her boots, which were going immediately into the trash. Then she stepped around the poo and peered left and right, trying to see if there were any signs of whoever had left it there.

Nope. Nothing. Not even a car on the road. It was almost eerily quiet out the front of her house. Maybe she should be scared, but right now Chelsea was too furious about her favorite pair of boots to be anxious. She yanked her cell phone out of her purse and almost gagged as she snapped a few shots of her morning delivery, the pungent smell wafting upward as she did so. Knowing she'd need to clean it up before she went out, which would likely make her late for today's job, she went back inside first, shutting the door and then double-checking that she'd locked it. Muffin looked up at her with big wide eyes as if wondering what he'd done to make her punish him.

“I'm sorry, sweet pea, but I think our heavy breather has struck again.” As she admitted her fears out loud, her heart raced a little faster. The last couple of weeks she'd spent a fair few nights at Callum's house. The nights she didn't, he often came to her place. However she'd had an early appointment today and Callum an important meeting, so last night they'd only spoken on the phone. Exhausted from night after night of little sleep, she'd slept like a baby, but the idea that while she'd been slumbering some creep had been lurking around outside her house, leaving presents, took the edge off that sleep. It brought back the fears she'd been trying to swallow since the phone calls had started—the fear that someone was watching her every move.

Not wanting to feel like she couldn't sleep soundly in her own home, Chelsea called up Officer Fernandez, hoping he'd take this latest thing more seriously than he had her reports of threatening calls.

He answered after a few rings.

“Hi, Officer, it's Chelsea Porter here.” She paused a moment, giving him the chance to place her.

“Hello, Chelsea. Have you had any more calls? Has the caller identified themselves or made any actual threats yet?” he asked, his tone a little condescending, as if he really didn't have time for this and would much rather deal with something more exciting. Perhaps a murder? Should she try to speak to someone else? Demand Sergeant Moore get back on her case? At least he'd been kind and seemed to take it seriously when Muffin had disappeared.

“I disconnected my home phone, so haven't had any more calls—” Thankfully whoever was behind all this hadn't gotten hold of her cell number yet. “But this morning I got a delivery and I'm sure it's linked to the heavy breather.”

“What was this delivery?” He sounded marginally interested.

“A big, smelly pile of horse poo.”

This announcement was met with a few moments' silence and then the moron exploded into laugher.

Chelsea raised her eyebrows and her grip tightened on the phone. “I fail to see the amusing side of this, Officer. How would you like it if I delivered said pile of manure to your desk?”

He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry. Quite right.”

“I've taken some photos I can send through to you if you like.”

“Send away.” He chuckled again. “Nothing I like better than a few good photos of shit to start my day.”

Chelsea's jaw clenched. “Are you actually going to do anything about this?”

“Of course. I'll come over today and knock on some doors, ask the neighbors if they saw anyone suspicious and then you can let me know if any of the descriptions sound anything like any of the people you've previously done
business
with.” Again, he couldn't hide his amusement when speaking about her work, but at least he'd agreed to investigate this time. Still, she was tired of people not taking her work seriously.

“I've got to go out now to...do some
business
...but I'll be back in half an hour or so. Shall I leave the evidence on the porch or will the photos be enough?”

“I'm sure one pile of horse manure is much the same as another,” Fernandez said. “I'll make do with the photos.”

“Okay.” She uttered reluctant thanks, then said, “I'll send them through in a moment.”

“Great. Have a good morning, Ms. Porter. I'll be in touch.”

Having no confidence whatsoever that Fernandez would even look at the photos, she emailed them to him and then set about removing the evidence and disinfecting the entire length of her front porch. Perhaps she should take comfort from the fact the cops didn't seem overly concerned about her problem. As she hosed down the porch, she decided that if whoever was doing this was a real threat, surely they would have done something more drastic by now.

Chelsea finished the cleanup, then went inside, showered and changed into a whole new outfit. She glanced at her watch, hoping today's dumpee was still at the gym—according to Garth's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, he was a weight-lifting junkie and, without fail, went every morning. She was glad she'd arranged today's meeting for a public place—she didn't always insist on this, but what with the burglary, the phone calls and now the poo, she didn't want to be alone in private with anyone she didn't know.

After the short drive into town, she parked in front of the gym, then checked his photo and the details of the breakup on her phone, before getting out. She left Muffin in the front seat of the car with the window down for air and went over to wait outside the entrance. Somehow she'd made it here five minutes before Garth's girlfriend had predicted he would leave.

Exactly five minutes later, the door to the gym opened and out strode one of the bulkiest guys Chelsea had ever seen. While he had a classically handsome face, she had to try hard not to grimace at the sweaty, bulgy muscles that weren't hidden at all beneath his sweatpants and sweatshirt. Bulky dudes just weren't her cup of tea. Tall and lean like Callum—that was how she liked them.

Garth saw her looking and smiled warmly. “Hey,” he said as he continued on his way.

Chelsea bit her lip and hung back, almost paralyzed. Although Garth seemed like a friendly bloke, she had a vision of exactly what he could do if he wanted to hurt her. But unease wasn't the only thing holding her back. The last week or so, for the first time since she'd started her business, she'd found herself beginning to dread the face-to-face meetings where she had to deliver the bad news to someone's boyfriend or girlfriend. It was hard to be stoic about ending a relationship when she herself was living in a bubble of bliss.

Because that was the only definition for what she had going on with Callum. Granted it was early days—generally she didn't feel the need to detach herself from someone until the two-or three-month mark—but this thing with him felt different already. The shine of her new relationship hadn't even begun to wear off. Her attraction toward him was strong, if not stronger, than that first moment she'd laid eyes on him. But it was no longer simple chemistry that drew her to him, it was much more—they had fun together. She didn't even care that he made his money from making whiskey—and this scared the hell out of her.

For the first time, Chelsea found herself thinking of a future with a man. For the first time, she felt the risk of getting hurt.

Callum and her relationship was still a national secret, due mostly to her fears that her professional reputation would be sacrificed if it got out that they were seeing each other. Of course that wouldn't be a problem if she stopped doing this and did something else instead. But what would she do? She'd enjoyed waitressing but she wasn't passionate enough about it to want to make a career out of it. And, although Callum undoubtedly savored her company, he'd not given any indication of wanting anything more serious. Since Thanksgiving, he'd made no suggestions she meet his family again nor mentioned anything more than red-hot fun.

Muffin barked as Garth passed Chelsea's car on his way to hers and the sound jolted her back to the present. No matter if she was questioning her career, she had an obligation to follow through on all current jobs and Garth was one of them. Spurred into action, she called out his name as she started jogging toward him.

* * *

As they didn't have a private room big enough to accommodate the whole family in the distillery buildings, Sophie had called the family meeting at their mom's dining table. It had taken almost a month to find a time when everyone could attend, and Callum was biting at the bit to get started. Unfortunately, the rest of his family didn't appear to share his urgency and right now only his mom and Sophie were here.

“I'll go gather the troops,” Sophie said, pushing back from her seat at the table and hurrying out.

Callum tapped his fingers on the dining room table.

“Relax,” his mom said from across the table. She poured him a glass of orange juice and then pushed it toward him. “They'll be here soon. How's that lovely girl you brought to Thanksgiving? Is it her car I've been seeing parked outside your cottage late some nights? I can't help but notice on the nights her car isn't there, your SUV is often absent also.”

He took a sip of juice and leveled his eyes with hers. “You ever considered a job with the FBI?”

She laughed. “I only notice what matters to me, and you, my darling, matter. While I'm sorry to see you and Bailey go your separate ways, Chelsea seemed lovely. If things are getting serious in that department, maybe you should bring her over for dinner again soon?”

Callum spluttered. “Serious? Who said anything about serious, Mom? I know you're desperate for more grandbabies but my focus right now is the distillery. You know that.” He'd meant it when he said he didn't have time for a relationship—he'd barely seen Bailey the last few weeks they'd been together—but he was making time for Chelsea and enjoying every moment of it. Nora opened her mouth to say something more and Callum prepared himself for a lecture on the balance of work and play, but the dining room door swung open again and Sophie returned, all her siblings bar one in tow.

“I called Mac,” she said, taking her seat at the table again. “He's only a few minutes away.” Mac had a massive, architecturally designed house on one side of the formation in the mountains that gave Jewell Rock its name—from his front porch, he overlooked the whole town—but until recently he'd barely lived there.

“Good,” Callum grunted and took another sip of orange juice as he checked the PowerPoint presentation for the umpteenth time.

While his siblings helped themselves to drinks and Nora encouraged them all to devour the feast she'd laid out on the table, Callum glanced over at the photo of his dad on the mantel.

I promise I'm doing all this for the greater good
, he said silently, knowing that if Conall McKinnel were still alive, none of what he was about to propose would stand a chance.

“How's Hamish doing? I haven't seen him since Thanksgiving,” Annabel said to Lachlan before shoving a piece of Mom's chocolate brownie into her mouth. Hanging around all the guys at the firehouse had taken the edge off her femininity, but he'd heard she had plenty of admirers so it didn't seem to be doing her any harm.

“He's great.” That proud grin Lachlan got whenever he talked about his son came onto his face. “He's just joined the school chess club, so we're living and breathing it at home at the moment.”

Annabel smiled. “I'll have to give him a game. But you'll have to warn him, I'm pretty good—we often play it while waiting at work.”

Listening, Callum bit back a smile. For some reason the idea of all these big, burly firefighters sitting around playing chess caused him amusement.

At that moment, Mac entered the room—looking as grumpy as he had every day since quitting the team. “Sorry I'm late,” he muttered, as he sat down beside Blair and surveyed the table. “Have we got anything else aside from OJ?”

“I can get you some water if you'd like, Owen,” Mom said, and although she sounded perfectly warm, the fact she'd used his proper name let everyone know it was a reprimand. Nothing escaped Mom's notice and, like Callum, she'd observed that Mac had been drinking a fair amount of late.

“Let's get started,” Callum said, clearing his throat. He looked to Sophie sitting beside him and she nodded, pushed a few buttons on his laptop and the first slide of their presentation appeared on the wall behind them. “Thank you all for coming today. With Sophie's help, I want to show you a few ideas I have for the business. We've divided these into four main areas and created a five-year plan, showing how we would like to roll them out. Area one is merchandise, which will be Sophie's baby, so I'll let her talk about that more in a moment. Area two is entertainment and hospitality. You know I want to expand the café into a restaurant and I'm pleased to announce that Lachlan is willing to come on board as head chef. The restaurant, how it runs, its style, et cetera, will all be his vision, but,” he turned to look at Mac, “the café area we currently have is too small, so we'll need someone to oversee the building of an extension. Mac, I'd love you to head this project if you have the time.”

Mac's eyes widened and then he blinked as if he wasn't sure whether to be offended or appreciative of the offer.

“No need to give me a definitive answer right now,” Callum said, “I'd just like you to think about it. And if you're interested, then Lachlan, you and I can talk more later.”

Quinn piped up. “You make this all sound like a done deal. Is there any point the rest of us being here?”