A Dog and a Diamond (17 page)

Chapter Fourteen

C
allum stared at the range of sample merchandise Sophie had spread over his desk and tried to feign some kind of enthusiasm. As she rattled on about each item and how it would work to enhance their new image, he rubbed a hand against his forehead, wishing like hell his damn headache would take a hike. He'd drunk too much last night. Hell, he'd drunk too much every night since Chelsea had dumped him. Always with the aim to obliterate thoughts of her—it worked to an extent for a fraction of a time, but in the mornings he always regretted it.

If he wasn't careful he'd be sliding down the same slippery slope he worried about Mac traveling, and after all those conversations about Chelsea's parents, he should know better. He needed to get a grip or all his innovative ideas for the distillery were going to be ruined in the aftermath of his self-destruction.

It was time to find another vice. He'd thought work enough but...

“And this,” Sophie said, pointing to a little box with a postcard-perfect image of the distillery printed on the top, “is quite possibly my favorite product.”

Positively beaming, she lifted the box, removed the lid and upturned it. He watched in horror as what looked like hundreds of little pieces of card fell onto his desk, scattering across everything else.

“What the hell is that?”

Sophie half frowned, half smirked. “It's a puzzle, brother dear. They're very popular at the moment believe it or not. They're experiencing some sort of resurgence, a bit like adult coloring books, which I also think we should consider selling—McKinnel branded of course. A guy Storie knows has started up this company in Bend, creating high quality, personalized gifts and he can do these puzzles for us at an awesome price.”

Callum heard nothing of what she said—glancing down at all the puzzle pieces, his heart squeezed so hard he was certain he was having a heart attack. Whatever he did, wherever he went, there were reminders of Chelsea and they were suffocating him. He pushed back his office chair, opened his desk drawer and grabbed his car keys.

“I need some fresh air” was all the excuse he gave his sister as he strode past her and out of his office. He barely registered the customers milling around the tasting room or Mac and Lachlan outside starting to take measurements for the restaurant extensions—all he could think about was his escape.

He crunched over the frosty ground to his SUV, climbed inside and then he drove, having no destination in mind, simply needing to get away from the distillery and from the memories. Less than a month he'd known Chelsea and now wherever he looked there were memories of her—in his house, in the distillery, even in his goddamn office where they'd laughed their heads off together as they'd erased the footage of their naughty night.

Callum drove aimlessly—or so he thought—until he found himself slowing in front of the animal shelter where he'd rescued Muffin. He recalled his thought to get a dog a few weeks back and it made more sense now. A dog would make his house less empty when he stepped inside, and taking it for runs would be a better way to spend his spare time than staring into a bottle of bourbon. Besides, he'd gotten used to having a dog around the last few weeks. And he'd liked it.

His decision made, he parked his vehicle and as he strode toward the building, he felt a sense of déjà vu. The little bell above the door ding-donged as he stepped inside and he inhaled the scent of disinfectant mixed with animal smells. As he crossed over to the counter, he passed by the row of cages holding cats and paid no attention whatsoever until a paw stretched out and some claws snagged on his woolen sweater. Frowning, he stopped and turned to see a mammoth ginger cat peering at him with big, pleading, green eyes. It let out a long meow, which sounded so sad it shot right to Callum's heart.

“Hi there, how can I help you?” An elderly woman, her clothes covered in animal fur, appeared beside him. “You seem to have made friends with Bourbon. Would you like to know more about him?”

He shook his arm free of the cat. “Bourbon?”

The woman smiled warmly. “That's what we named the ginger cat. Are you looking for a new feline friend?”

“Definitely not.” No matter what the cat was called, he was in the market for a dog. “Have you got any German shepherds?”

“We're a refuge shelter, sir,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him and crossing her arms over her large bosom. “If you're looking for a purebred—”

“I'm not,” he interrupted, setting her straight. “I'm just looking for a dog who needs a lot of exercise. I want a friend and a running partner.”

The lines around her eyes softened again as she smiled. “I'm not sure we have anything that fits your bill exactly, but we do have a lot of lovely dogs. Come and have a look.”

He followed her through a door, down a corridor and past rows and rows of cages filled with more cats. It was like an animal prison.

“Why is the ginger cat out front?” he asked, racking his head for anyone else he knew who could do with the company of a pet.

“Bourbon?” She sighed. “He's been with us a long time. We rotate the animals in the foyer so they're always ones in dire need of a new home.”

“Right.” Callum ignored what felt like barbed wire twisting around his heart and followed her outside to even more cages. The noise of yapping dogs assaulted him, yet after doing two rounds of the canine yard, he hadn't found any animal that met his requirements. Most of the pups available barely stood taller than his ankle and no way in hell was he getting a dog that would fit in a purse. He might end up stepping on it in the dark.

“I'm going to need to think about this some more,” he said.

“Of course.” Although the woman smiled at him, her shoulders sagged and the sparkle left her eyes. “I'll see you out.”

* * *

Chelsea had lived on her own a long time and had become accustomed to quiet nights in; in fact, she loved nothing more than coming home at night, cooking herself some dinner and relaxing in front of the TV with a jigsaw puzzle to stimulate her mind and Muffin warming her feet.

Loved
as in past tense.

It had been a matter of days since she'd said goodbye to Callum for the final time and now she dreaded coming home at night almost as much as she dreaded leaving the house for work. She'd done two face-to-face breakups in that time and made a total botch of both of them. One poor guy had ended up comforting her when she'd burst into tears while telling him his girlfriend didn't want him anymore. She felt other people's pain more strongly than she ever had before.

Her little house no longer filled her with joy and a sense of achievement. Muffin, still his energetic adorable self, no longer satisfied her craving for company. It was Christmas in a few days and the prospect of spending it alone left her cold. She was desperately close to falling into a black funk that would be almost impossible to climb out of. Nothing she could think to do felt like it would cure her. She couldn't even summon the enthusiasm to put up a Christmas tree when no one but she and Muffin would see it.

Finally, deciding it was unhealthy to spend the holidays alone in her little house, she called Rosie in Portland to ask if she could visit.

“Long time no speak,” Rosie said when she answered the phone in her usual jovial tone. She was such a vivacious soul and Chelsea only hoped a few days with her friend would be the boost she needed.

“Sorry, I've been busy with work.” It wasn't a lie. The breakup business was booming—unfortunately she found no solace from the fact that hers was only one of hundreds of broken hearts floating around.

“What's wrong?” Rosie's tone turned serious and Chelsea's grip tightened on her cell.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound like she meant it.

“I know you and I can tell from your voice that this isn't just a friendly catch-up. What's the matter?”

“How do you
do
that?” Chelsea asked.

“It's a talent. I have a sixth sense where my best friends are concerned.”

So Chelsea hit her with it: “I've fallen in love.” This announcement was met with protracted silence. “Are you still there?” she asked eventually.

“Yes. Sorry. Just give me a second to pick my jaw back up off the floor.”

At Rosie's words, Chelsea almost smiled, which proved that some friend therapy was exactly what the doctor ordered.

“So let me get this straight,” Rosie said. “You have met a guy you still want to be with after a few months?”

“Yes. Well, it hasn't even been a month yet but...it's different this time.” Chelsea sniffed as she tried to fight the tears that threatened at this confession.

“Oh. My. Freaking. God! Tell me all about him. Who is this man of men? When do I get to meet him?”

“That's just it,” Chelsea admitted, “I dumped him.” And then she succumbed to more tears.

* * *

Callum stared at the cat, who had made itself at home from almost the moment he let it out of its box and now sat on the kitchen table, surveying the sights around him as if he were a king. He'd totally lost his head thinking that a cat could fill the void Chelsea had left in his life. He guess this proved his worst fear—he hadn't been with her because he was lonely, he'd been with her because he didn't want to be without her.

“At least you have a cool name,” Callum said, reaching out and rubbing Bourbon under the chin. In adopting a fat cat instead of a manly dog, he'd basically given his brothers an open invitation to tease him for the rest of his days. He could hear them now—
Callum the crazy cat lady
—but he didn't care. That would take effort. And, although he'd gone out today to get a pet in the hopes that it would distract him from his continuous thoughts of Chelsea, it hadn't worked.

And thinking about her all the time was simply exhausting.

He turned back to his laptop screen and tried to exorcise her from his mind for the hundredth time that evening.

A knock sounded on his front door and he groaned. “Shh,” he told Bourbon. “If we're very quiet, maybe they'll go away.” He guessed it might be Sophie come to confront him about his weird behavior today and, although he owed her an apology for running out, he couldn't face that right now.

Instead, it was his mom, which was far, far worse. Her knock was merely a formality and two seconds later she let herself into the house. “Callum!” she called as her boots click-clacked along the corridor toward him. “It's Mom. Are you in here?” He closed his eyes and wished he'd thought to lock the door.

“No,” he shouted. “Go away.”

She appeared in the doorway and frowned at him. “That's no way to speak to your poor old mother. Sophie warned me you were in a mood. What's going—” Her question died on her tongue as her eyes came to rest on Bourbon.

“Is that a cat?”

“No, Mom, it's a horse.” It appeared his wounded heart amplified his tendency toward sarcasm, but she ignored this and crossed to the feline, stooping down to stroke him.

“Hello, gorgeous girl,” she cooed as she scratched under his chin.

“
He's
a boy,” Callum said, although judging by the sound of Bourbon's purrs, he wasn't too fussy about little things like gender.

Nora looked back to Callum. “I do like him, but if you're hoping he'll fill the hole in your heart left by Chelsea, I think you'll be sadly disappointed.”

“What?” he scoffed, instinctively glancing down at his chest, almost expecting to see a gory wound there.

She smiled tenderly at him. “I should have realized that you and Bailey weren't marriage material because being near her didn't light up your whole face the way Chelsea did when you sat beside her at Thanksgiving. I'm sorry if I pushed you into that. And I know you don't think you have time for a relationship—I admire your dedication and commitment to McKinnel's—but...” She paused and cleared her throat. “I don't want you to make the same mistakes your father did.”

“Huh?” Callum frowned at her—that wasn't the direction he'd been expecting.

“I loved your father,” Nora said, “but he was single-minded. He did love us in his own way, but the distillery was all that ever mattered to him. I'm not sure, in the end, if it made him as happy as he wanted us to believe.”

“What?” His mom's words stunned him. It was the first time in all his life he'd ever considered that his parents hadn't had the perfect relationship.

“I want you to have more in your life than work,” she continued. “Was that the problem with Chelsea? You didn't think you had room for her?”

He shook his head and found himself confessing everything. “Maybe at first I didn't think I had time for a real relationship, but I guess I'm not quite as driven as Dad was because Chelsea got under my skin in a way I never imagined. And now, no matter how much I try to focus on work, I can't forget her.”

“So what happened then? Why are you sitting here alone with a big, gorgeous furball when you should be with her?”

“My feelings weren't reciprocated. She dumped me,” he confessed. “That's two times in a month—I guess I'm not much of a catch after all.”

His mom frowned and then sat down at the table, all the while tickling Bourbon under the chin. “Tell me everything, sweetheart.”

And the way she looked at him had Callum opening up like he hadn't done since he was a kid with a scraped knee sobbing for his mom to make things better. He told her about Chelsea's work, the way they really met and about Freddie and his threats. And how seeing her in danger made everything real for him.

“You love her.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Yes.” He nodded—it was the first time he'd admitted it to himself, never mind anyone else. It was the only explanation for the way she made him feel. “More than I thought I ever could.”