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