A Dog and a Diamond (8 page)

“Mind?” Nora's eyes gleamed. “I'm delighted. Come on in, little fella.”

Muffin didn't need to be asked twice, he bounded inside, following the noise of conversation and laughter. Nora stepped aside so that Callum and Chelsea could enter, and as he closed the door behind them, Chelsea's gaze lingered on the large, framed, happy-family snap on the wall. Beneath the photo hung a sign:
This house runs on love, laughter and a lot of whiskey
. Funny, the houses she'd lived in as a kid had been pretty much the same, just without the love and the laughter.

Nora followed her gaze. “Not a bad-looking bunch, my tribe, are they? Of course this was taken a few years ago now. We're all a little more wrinkly these days. I think it was taken on the twins' twenty-first birthday.” She reached her finger out and touched it on the man that had to be Callum's dad, and Chelsea didn't know whether she could offer sympathies or not. “Anyway, come along. Everyone else is already here.”

Nora took her hand and led her down the hallway into a massive country-style kitchen flooded with people, the biggest table she'd ever seen sitting right in the heart of it. As she took in the beautiful decorations on the table that had already been set, the din died down as everyone else stopped talking to look at her. For a few seconds, Chelsea felt like a new exhibit brought into the zoo, but Nora introduced her as “Callum's new
friend
”—again accentuating the
friend
—and everyone rushed forward to greet her, introducing themselves and talking right over the top of each other.

It was hard to hold on to her nerves when they were all so warm and welcoming. She found herself falling immediately in love with each and every one of the McKinnels, although she didn't know how she was going to keep track of them all. Callum took her jacket, asked in her ear if she was okay and then went off to hang it somewhere as the youngest McKinnel said, “You can sit next to me if you want, Chelsea.”

She smiled at the boy who looked about ten years old and whose speech was slightly slurred. “That would be wonderful.”

He scrambled off his seat and pulled back the chair next to him, crashing it against his own chair in the process. “I'm Hamish,” he said as they both sat back down. “Is this your dog?” Muffin had finished doing the rounds and come to sit between them. “I love dogs.”

“He sure is. I think he likes you.”

“Everyone likes Hamish, don't they, buddy?” Callum said, returning and taking the seat on the other side of Chelsea. The little boy beamed at his uncle's approval, and Chelsea lost another tiny piece of her heart. It had been a mistake to come here.

“Can I get you a drink?” Callum asked, gesturing to the beverage options already laid out on the table. There was wine and beer like at most celebrations but it was a bottle of whiskey, alongside the pumpkin decorations, that took prime spot in the middle of this table. She got the feeling the wine and beer were there more for the benefit of the
non
-family—herself and Blair's ex-wife, Claire, who was sipping a glass of wine. Yes, that situation was weird.

Chelsea shook her head. “I'm fine right now.”

Conversation flowed easily around the big table as the family members took turns taking orders from Lachlan, who wore a white apron and gave directions as if they were in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The only person who didn't say much, the only person who'd merely nodded in greeting at Chelsea when she'd arrived, was Mac, who sat at one end of the table nursing a glass of bourbon. He caught her looking at him and threw her a dirty look.

“Can I do anything to help?” Chelsea asked, glancing away from Mac to Nora.

“Don't be silly,” said the sister who had introduced herself as Annabel. She had a lovely smile and a face like a pretty pixie, similar but not quite the same as Sophie, her twin. She looked very fit, which was likely down to the fact she was a firefighter. “Guests don't have to lift a finger in this house, do they, Mom?”

Nora smiled and shook her head.

At the mention of guests the doorbell rang and perplexed expressions were exchanged among the family. All except Sophie who shot up from her seat and clapped her hands together. “That'll be my
special friend
,” she said, looking at her mother and then winking at Callum as she shot out of the room.

Chelsea leaned close to Callum. “What was that about?”

He leaned even closer and she tried to focus on his reply, rather than the warm, lovely tickle of his breath against her ear. “Sophie's having a bit of fun with Mom,” he whispered. “I'll fill you in later.”

She shivered at the way he said
later
and then told herself to get a grip. It was simply a figure of speech—fake dates didn't do
later
.

Sophie returned, her big eyes sparkling and her face lit up with a smile as she glanced at the beautiful redheaded girl attached to her hand. “Family,” she said, “I'd like you to meet Storie. Isn't she just, something else?”

Once Storie had been welcomed into the fold and fussed over by Nora McKinnel, the food was brought to the table. Granted the McKinnels were a large family, but Chelsea reckoned this feast could feed the entire population of Jewell Rock and half of Bend, as well. At the sight and aromas in front of her, she worried about her taste buds going into cardiac arrest.

Lachlan, obviously in his element, gave a rundown of what he'd made, listing classic Thanksgiving cuisine—such as roast turkey and green bean casserole—as well as contemporary dishes that sounded amazing...well, all except the baked ham with bourbon glaze. She'd be steering clear of that. He seemed particularly proud of his fall harvest squash salad and later, when she tasted it, Chelsea could see why. The man truly was a genius in the kitchen.

“I want to thank you all for coming here today,” Nora began before anyone touched any of the dishes. She sighed, a bittersweet smile on her face. “As our first Thanksgiving without your dad, I know it might be hard to find things to be grateful for, but looking around this table at your father's legacy, I consider myself very lucky. You are all my blessings.”

Chelsea blushed when Nora looked her way, seemingly including even her. What would it feel like to be loved like that?

“Anyway,” Nora continued, bending and picking something off the floor by her feet, “you might need to think a little more creatively when you fill this in this year, but remember, there is always something to be thankful for. I can't wait to read your entries. Callum,” she said, looking to him, “can you please say grace?”

He nodded and then reached out to take Chelsea's hand. Hamish took her other one and she followed the family's lead, closing her eyes as Callum led them in Thanksgiving prayer. She'd never been much of a God person but the way Callum sounded when he prayed almost turned her into a believer. She knew his voice would be haunting her dreams—
read, fantasies
—when she closed her eyes that night.

* * *

Callum tried to keep his voice normal as he went through the motions of saying grace, yet inside his chest tightened because he shouldn't be the one doing this. Mom had taken Dad's place in welcoming everyone and now he was taking over in the traditional prayer. Everything felt wrong.

“Amen,” he finished, unable to recall what he'd actually said and hoping it made some kind of sense. He looked up to see a tear strolling down his mom's cheek and accepted her smile of approval by offering one back. Firsts after the death of a loved one sucked big-time and as his father had only died a couple of months ago, they still had many more to get through. Christmas. His parents' wedding anniversary. Dad's birthday. He blinked, not wanting to think further than today, and then he realized everyone was staring at him in expectation.

“What?”

“Aren't you going to carve the turkey?” Annabel asked.

He shook his head. Feeling the burden of being the head of the business was one thing, but Lachlan, as second oldest, could help shoulder some of the familial responsibilities at least. “I think our esteemed chef should do the honors.”

Lachlan was all too happy to oblige and they all watched, mouths watering as he did so. When he was done, it was everyone for themselves as dishes were passed around the table and food served onto plates. Chelsea appeared a little bemused and also somewhat terrified by the way everyone attacked the lunch. Callum smiled, guessing that as an only child she'd never had to fight for her share of much.

“Can I get you a drink now?” he asked Chelsea, gesturing to the wine and whiskey on the table as he realized she was the only person at the table without a glass. Except for Hamish of course; he drank his orange juice from a plastic tumbler.

She smiled but shook her head. “No thanks. I don't drink.”

“What?
Ever?
” He hadn't meant to sound so startled and regretted his outburst the second it left his mouth, especially because it drew the attention of his entire family. They all ceased chewing and looked at her.

“Never.” Chelsea, crimson rushing to her cheeks, shook her head. “I come from a long line of alcoholics. It's not worth the risk.”

Awkward silence descended across the table. Callum could have kicked himself, but his mom did the honors for him, no doubt thinking he should know this about his date.

“Fair enough,” he said, reaching under the table and squeezing her hand to show he understood her decision. And strangely he felt a prick of guilt, as if somehow her family's addiction was on him. Which was ridiculous—the McKinnels produced whiskey for people who appreciated good flavor and enjoyed a social drink. It wasn't his fault if some people couldn't hold their liquor. “Can I get you a soda or something instead?”

“Thanks.” She squeezed back and then extracted her hand, reminding him this wasn't real. “A club soda would be great.”

He stood, went to pour her a drink and was thankful that by the time he returned, chatter had resumed around the table. Claire, who sat across from Chelsea, had engaged her in conversation and they were talking about their favorite chick flicks or something. He'd always liked Claire, from the moment Blair had brought her home in high school, and he had no idea what had gone wrong with their seemingly perfect marriage.

The meal progressed as it always did in the McKinnel household—everyone talking loudly, multiple conversations taking place across the table like multiple games of tennis on one court. Chelsea appeared to be enjoying herself, smiling at the jokes and politely answering all the questions asked of her, not that they were all that personal. The only hiccup was when Mac spoke for the first time in at least an hour and asked how the two of them had met.

She looked to him for clarification and Callum cleared his throat, buying time. “Through Bailey actually. Chelsea worked with her once.” And he left it at that, despite the few raised eyebrows. Let them all think what they wanted to think; he was simply glad her presence meant his mom hadn't used the opportunity of having everyone around to harp on about his needing to find another girlfriend if he didn't want to end up old, gray and alone. There was no such thing as letting the grass grow in his mom's mind, at least not when the possibility of grandchildren was involved.

In between the clearing of the main meal and the bringing of dessert to the table, Mom's Thanksgiving journal landed in Chelsea's lap. She shook her head and made to pass it on to him, but Mom objected loudly.

“Oh, Chelsea, you have to fill it in too. It's tradition that whoever eats at this table does so.”

Callum knew it was futile to argue.

Chelsea looked uncertain, but then raised the pen and, after a few moments, started scrawling something. He was glad he was next in line as he found himself curious to see what she had written. Normally he wasn't much of an inquisitive soul—unless it involved work—but for some reason he wanted to know anything and everything about her. While eating he'd kept thinking back to their conversation in the car and wishing he'd jumped on the chance to ask about her parents, to find out what had happened to them and why she'd ended up living with her grandfather.

When she passed him the book, their fingers brushed against each other. He smiled as he took it and then looked down at the open page. She had beautiful handwriting. Neat and easy to read yet flowery at the same time.

I'm thankful for the opportunity to share a meal with this wonderful family.

Hah!
She might not think they were so wonderful if she spent much longer with them, but her comment warmed his heart nonetheless. It took him a lot longer to decide what to write.

I'm thankful that I'm finally controlling the reins of the distillery
, seemed in bad taste and would break his mom's heart. Besides, he wasn't thankful for his dad's death. He glanced at Lachlan.
Thankful for a brother who can cook?
Then to Sophie, who was now practically sitting in Storie's lap.
Thankful for a sister with a sense of humor?
Finally he turned his head and found Chelsea watching him. He settled on “I'm thankful for life's surprises and unexpected twists,” and then passed the book to his mom.

She read all the entries, a massive grin on her face. After the thankful journal came dessert and, once again, Lachlan had outdone himself with far more food than necessary: pumpkin and ginger aqua fresca to drink and grilled stuffed caramel apples, pumpkin pie and, the best dish of all, bread and butter pudding with bourbon glaze. Tasting it only confirmed what Callum had been thinking these past few months, and he couldn't contain his excitement.

“I think this could be one of the signature dishes in our new restaurant,” he said to Lachlan. “Would you consider quitting your job in town and expanding the distillery's café into something truly special? Sophie and I have been talking and we believe a proper restaurant at the distillery could really take us to the next level.”