A Dog and a Diamond (15 page)

“Quinn,” Nora chastised, “stop being a spoiled brat and listen to your brother's ideas.”

Callum tossed his mom a grateful smile. “Also in the area of entertainment and hospitality is the option of holding events such as weddings and other celebrations on our grounds. We've got plenty of space for a marquee in the summer months and with the new restaurant, we'll be able to offer catering, as well.” He didn't mention that this idea had been Chelsea's, but her face came into his head and he couldn't help smiling at the thought of her.

“This all sounds fabulous,” Annabel said, reaching for another brownie. “I'm almost a little sad I don't work here.”

“You just say the word and we'll find a job for you.”

Annabel grinned. “I'll give it serious thought.” But they all knew she'd never leave the firehouse.

“Area three is distilling.” Callum continued quickly before Quinn could make a snide remark about their whole business being distilling. “I've been talking to Blair about the possibility of expanding our range—maybe starting to sell white dog, marketing it as a good replacement for vodka in cocktails. In the restaurant, we can have a range of cocktails and even the odd demonstration about how to make them. There's also the option of experimenting with more grains and...”

“White dog?” Quinn scoffed. “Dad would never have gone for that. In fact, he'd have hated all of this. He hated change.”

Callum clenched his fists. “And that was fine twenty, thirty or forty years ago when we were the only one of our kind around, but you'd have to be blind not to have noticed all the other boutique distilleries popping up in the region. We're not only competing with the big-brand bourbons now, we're up against the beer, rum and vodka guys to name a few in our own backyard. If we don't start to make a few changes, we'll go under. Is that what you want?”

Quinn glowered back, his cheeks flushing red. Callum realized he was practically shouting and he glanced apologetically at his mom, but she smiled encouragingly and spoke for the first time since the meeting had officially started.

“No one wants that, Callum, and I have to say I'm liking all these ideas. Go on, please.”

He took a quick breath and then hit them with area four. “Grain production. Now hear me out,” he said, when a few of his siblings made noises of surprise. “I've been looking at the farming land adjacent to ours and am in discussions with the owner, who is wanting to ease into retirement. If we lease some of his land and grow our own grain, in the long term, we'll save a huge amount of money and have more control over the quality of the grain we use.”

“I love the idea,” Blair said, “but, just one question—who is going to farm this grain of ours? Aside from Mom, none of us is exactly a green thumb.”

Callum looked across to his sister and winked. “Annabel?”

When the laughter had died down, he took heart that, except for Quinn, everyone seemed enthusiastic about his ideas. “We'll hire a farm manager of course.”

Quinn, although sounding more resigned, had one final bugbear. “All this sounds mighty expensive.”

Callum opened his mouth to reply but Mom got there first. “What's that saying about having to spend money to make money?”

Her enthusiasm surprised him; he'd thought she'd be more reluctant, hold on to the distillery as her husband and his brother had envisioned, but if anything, she sounded as excited as him.

Quinn held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, you've almost convinced me, but can I make one suggestion?”

“Anything,” Callum said, thrilled that it had been a lot easier to win Quinn around than he'd thought.

“These events you want to run? Do you think we could outsource the planning to Bailey? She's hoping to quit working in Bend to start her own events-management company.”

“Really?” It was the first Callum had heard of it, and he couldn't help but wonder why Quinn knew so much about Bailey. Then again, they'd been in the same year at school and still had a number of mutual friends, so that probably accounted for it. Whatever, he didn't have the time or inclination to think about this any further.

“Sure,” he said, “if everyone else is agreeable.”

His family nodded in unison. Working with Bailey could be a good thing—they could reestablish a professional friendship—and if not, well, she'd mostly be dealing with Lachlan and Sophie he imagined.

“Just one more thing, I also had this idea about how we could promote responsible drinking among our customers and patrons of the restaurant.”

Quinn, back on form, scoffed, “You want to encourage our customers
not
to drink?”

“No.” He shook his head, annoyed. But the thought of Chelsea and her background made him continue. While he wasn't about to take responsibility for all the alcoholics on the planet, being with her had reminded him of the vulnerability some people had where alcohol was concerned. “But being seen to be aware of alcohol abuse could be good for business. I was thinking about partnering up with the local taxi company to offer a discount for restaurant diners, or maybe even offering a free dinner to the driver.”

“Another innovative idea, big brother,” Annabel said. “I'm in favor of anything that might reduce the number of motor vehicle accidents we have to attend.”

“Thanks. But right now, it's just a thought. I know this has been a lot to take in at once, but does anyone have anything they want clarified?”

It was a stupid question. His mom, brothers and Annabel all opened their mouths and spoke at once. Even Mac seemed to show more enthusiasm for the future of the distillery than he had for anything in quite a while. Callum and Sophie spent the next hour or so answering questions and explaining various things in greater detail.

Then came the vote.

They'd always been an open family, so there was no secret ballot. However, the rules of the distillery were that every member of the family must be agreeable before anything new could go ahead.

Nora took on her role as matriarch. “All in favor of going forward with the five-year plan presented today, raise your hand.”

Callum held his breath, glancing around the table from face to face as one by one hands shot into the air. As he suspected, Quinn was the only one to hesitate, but just when Callum thought all was lost, a slow smile crept onto his younger brother's face and he raised his hand.

“Okay. Let's do this,” Quinn said, and happy cheers burst all around them.

Callum pulled Sophie into a tight hug and whispered his thanks for everything into her hair. There were exciting times ahead for the McKinnels...he could feel it in his blood.

Chapter Twelve

“H
ow was your day?” Callum asked after greeting her with a smoking-hot kiss. The way his green eyes glowed and the smile that stretched almost from ear to ear told her his day had been a great success and she couldn't wait to hear about it.

Her
day
flashed before her eyes in a series of snapshots—there was so much to tell him, but something held her back from including the whole horse manure thing. Not wanting to alarm him or make him feel obliged to protect her, she still hadn't mentioned the phone calls or the fact she felt like she was being followed, so this latest installment would come out of the blue.

“Okay.” She sighed, still feeling a little heavy in her heart. While she was eternally single, her work had felt important, as if she was doing a service to others like herself who were unlucky in love, but now she wasn't so sure whether she
was
single or how she felt about her work. “I dumped a guy...”

“And?” he prompted, leading her into the house and down the hallway into the living room. Muffin had already collapsed on the rug in front of the fire.

“
And
it's hard to explain, but I didn't get the same satisfaction I usually do.”

He frowned.

“
Satisfaction
isn't the right word,” she said, frustrated that she couldn't explain herself well. “But when I'm spending time with someone after I've broken the bad news to them, I usually feel that it is time well spent. That I'm somehow helping them get through a tough time and that, by listening and talking to them, I'm giving them hope for a future. Today, when I told this poor guy, he was fighting back tears, and I felt like... I don't know...a tax collector or something.”

Callum chuckled and pulled her down onto the couch with him. He caught her face in his two big palms and smiled down at her. “You do have an unusual career, but if it's not making you happy, maybe you should think about doing something else.”

She blew air out between her teeth and felt her bangs fly up a little. She felt more unsettled than she had since those days when she'd had no real place to call home.

“But what would I do?”

Chelsea wasn't exactly expecting him to have an answer, but he surprised her by offering one. His expression turned serious and his tone matched. “Remind me again why your friend suggested you start a business of breaking up for people?”

“Because I have personal expertise in dumping men.”

He half smiled. “I meant the other reason. Wasn't it because you were a good listener?”

She rubbed her lips together and nodded. “Yes. That too.”

“I've certainly found that to be true,” he said. “You've listened to me ramble on and on about the distillery for hours and always acted interested.”

“That's because I am interested.”

“Even though you come from a long line of alcoholics?”

And she nodded, realizing the terrifying fact that Callum could be talking about toilet paper designs and she'd still hang on his every word. How many nights over the last few weeks had they stayed up until the early hours of the morning talking? It was no longer just his body she craved when they were apart, but every single thing about him. The way he bit his lower lip and his brow creased when he was concentrating over a puzzle, his devotion to Muffin, his love for his family, his ambition, the way he looked in an apron—she could go on and on.

“You are an excellent listener,” he said, and she took a moment to remember what they were talking about. “That gives you a fair few other career options.”

“Oh?” Chelsea tried to focus on what he was saying when inside her heart was threatening cardiac arrest having just been told by her brain that she'd fallen in love.
Really?
She could hardly believe this alien concept, but it was the only explanation for the way she felt about Callum. The only reason the shine hadn't even begun to wear off their fling.

He counted off the possibilities on his fingers. “You could become a hairdresser or you could host your own talk-radio show.”

She felt her lips lift at the edges. “Are you simply plucking random careers from nowhere?”

He shook his head. “No, these are jobs where you're required to be a good listener. Or you could become a counselor and really make a difference with your wonderful talent for listening and knowing the right things to say to make people feel better.”

“A counselor?” She tried the words on for size. “That would involve going to college or something.”

“Which you'd excel at, I'm sure.” Callum gave her an encouraging smile that not only melted her insides but boosted her confidence. He sounded like he actually believed in her. Aside from Rosie and her grandfather, when he wasn't blind drunk, no one else ever had.

“Hmm... You know, I would love to work with kids and teens who come from similar backgrounds to my own. Maybe you're on to something.”

“Of course I am.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, which resulted in all sensible thought vanishing from her head. She could barely think straight, never mind seriously plan her future when Callum's lips and hands were bestowing such attention upon her.

As was the way whenever she came to his place or he to hers, conversation waned for a while as other things,
wonderful
,
earth-shattering
things, took over. She let the physical sensations wash through her and tried to forget about the disquieting emotional ones.

After thoroughly ravishing each other, they turned their attentions to food. Callum outdid himself this time, managing to throw together a satay beef and noodle stir-fry without burning any of it. While they ate, she finally remembered to ask him about
his
day.

“Hey, how was your family meeting?” she asked between mouthfuls.

“Magic.” He grinned, sounding like an excited schoolboy as he told her all about it.

“Everyone was really open to the new ideas. I feel awful admitting this, but it was such a different vibe to those meetings when Dad was at the head of the table, pooh-poohing anyone else's suggestions. I think I could have been sixty-five and he still wouldn't have given me any real responsibility; I just wish he didn't have to die to give me the chance.”

“I guess it was hard for him to relinquish control of the company he and his brother had put their everything into. Maybe handing over any part of the business would have felt like losing even more of his brother?”

“Yeah, I get that, but it felt more like he didn't trust or believe in me. Sometimes I think he still saw us all as little kids. Hell, I was willing to get married to prove to him I was a grown-up.”

“What do you mean?”

He blinked and ran a hand through his hair as if he hadn't meant to admit this, but then said, “I'm not proud to admit it, but I doubt I'd have asked Bailey to marry me if I hadn't thought maybe it would help Dad see me as more of an adult. He was very traditional, and I got this idea in my head that if I had marital responsibilities, he'd see it as time to hand me some of the business responsibilities, as well. Don't get me wrong—I like Bailey and we had fun together, but there wasn't enough between us to build a lifetime. We were both going into marriage together for the wrong reasons. Thank God she saw sense.”

Chelsea swallowed, uneasy at the reference to her client, but at the same time wanting to pry deeper. Was he against marriage in general? Or just marriage to Bailey?

She forced those questions from her head. “You know, I'm sure your dad is looking down from wherever he is up there and he'll see the success you make of the distillery and he'll be proud.”

Callum chuckled. “I'm not sure I believe in all that ‘up there' stuff, but right now he's probably turning in his grave at some of the things I'm planning to do.

“Sounds like you're going to be very busy indeed.”

He winked. “Don't worry, I'll make time for you.”

And then he stood and began clearing the table. As Callum carried their dishes over to the sink and started filling it with water, Chelsea watched, wondering if his feelings for her were growing at the same crazy rate as hers were for him. She refused to ask him, because if he ever confessed his love to her, she wanted him to do so of his own free will. She never wanted to feel like a burden or an obligation to anyone ever again.

She'd wondered if he might ask her to Christmas dinner with his family, but Christmas was only a week away, and he hadn't mentioned it once. It was quite obvious that turning the distillery around was his prime focus right now.

As was becoming their habit, after dinner they retreated to his bed to watch late-night television until Callum finally drifted off to sleep. Chelsea took a while to fall asleep—instead, she took the time to admire his naked form beside her. He truly was a work of art and this felt more like a relationship than anything she'd been in before. Usually when things started to head this way with a guy she was dating, she freaked and ended it, but the closer she got to Callum, the more she didn't want it to end.

* * *

After a taxing day, which included a long drive to do a face-to-face breakup in a town on the very boundary of her face-to-face region, Chelsea returned to her place exhausted. She and Callum had made no official plans to meet that evening. In fact, he hadn't sent her so much as a text message today. She guessed he was just busy with all the new plans for the distillery, but she missed the messages he often sent her, which brightened her days. And she couldn't help worrying that maybe there was more to his silence. Was he getting bored with her? This feeling of anxiousness in relation to a man was a new one and she didn't like it one bit.

Not knowing whether he'd turn up later or not, she'd bought enough Indian takeout in case he did and a big tub of their favorite ice cream for dessert. Their love of nutty coconut was another one of the many things they'd found in common.

“Muffin, come inside,” Chelsea called to her dog. He was sniffing something over by the fence and eventually trundled over to her with a raw piece of meat in his hands.

“Gross,” she exclaimed, leaning down to grab it out of his mouth. She hurled it toward the street, then with her unbloody hand opened the door. Muffin skulked off to the kitchen, obviously angry at her for stealing his treasure. Chelsea followed, dumped the takeout on the counter and the ice cream in the freezer and then went into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes.

She'd taken two steps into her bedroom, when the door slammed shut behind her. Frowning, she looked to the window, wondering if she'd left it open and the breeze had blown the door shut, and then her heart thudded in her chest at the sight of broken glass. Someone had thrown a brick into her house; it now lay in the pile of shattered glass on her bedroom floor.

“Hello, Chelsea,” said a menacing voice, and she spun around to come face-to-face with a man she vaguely recognized. He smiled creepily at her and she suddenly placed him as a guy she'd dumped a few months back. A man who'd been on the list she'd given the police of people who could potentially bear a grudge against her, but who, like all the others, had been ruled out as dangerous. She remembered his girlfriend had cited his neediness as one of the main reasons for the breakup.

“Finally I have your attention,” said the guy.

Her whole body trembling, Chelsea somehow managed to say, “Freddie, isn't it? What are you doing here?”

“You hurt me” was his reply and she swallowed, not knowing how to respond. “I loved Lara and
you
split us up.”

On the other side of the closed door, Muffin started barking like a crazy dog and Chelsea silently prayed her elderly neighbor Maureen didn't have her television turned up too loud and would hear him.

“Did you leave that piece of meat out front for my dog?” she asked, her tone equally as accusing as his. Her heart turned icy as she wondered exactly what this lovelorn man was capable of. “Was it poisoned?”

“It wouldn't have killed him, just made him sick. I'm not an animal hurter. I just...”

His voice trailed off and, hoping her words wouldn't aggravate him further, Chelsea changed her form of attack. “I'm sorry you've been hurting,” she began. Her spray deodorant was only an arm's length away from her on the dresser. If she could grab it without him seeing, then she could spray him in the eyes, which would hopefully stun him enough to give her time to escape.

“My life isn't worth living without Lara in it,” Freddie said, his unnerving gaze on her never wavering. “Since you told me it was over, she won't take my calls or see me. How am I supposed to win her back if she won't even talk to me?”

You're not. That's the whole idea of breaking up.
Of course Chelsea knew better than to say this to him.

“Do you want my help? Is that why you've been calling me?” she asked.

Freddie blinked, as if wondering whether to admit to this or not. Then he said, “Yes. But also to make you stop doing what you're doing. You're going to hurt other men too. But you didn't listen. You didn't stop. Even after I broke into your house a few weeks back and left poo on your porch yesterday, you still keep dumping men like me. I've seen you.”

She failed to see how she was supposed to get his message from a pile of horse manure, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was that he knew about the breakups she'd done lately and had all but confessed to following her. So she hadn't been imagining it after all. This thought brought little comfort, and she glanced again at the deodorant. “If you'd left a message instead of hanging up all the time, I could have talked to you, Freddie. We could have worked something out.”

“It's not
my
fault you do what you do!” he shouted, spittle shooting from his mouth.