Melissa Mcclone - The Man Behind the Pinstripes

Grams tsked. “I can’t believe you think I’d resort to such a tactic.”

Yeah, right . Caleb remembered looking at what colleges to attend and Grams’s reaction. Naval Academy, too dangerous. Harvard, too far. Cal Berkeley, too hippy. She’d steered him right where she’d wanted him—Stanford, her alma mater. “I’m sure you’d resort to worse to get your way.”

That earned him a grin from Becca.

Glad someone found this entertaining. Though she had a nice smile, one that made him think of springtime and fresh flowers. An odd thought given he had little time to enjoy the outdoors these days. Maybe it was because they were outside.

“I shouldn’t have to resort to anything,” Grams said. “You promised your grandfather you’d take care of us.”

Something Caleb would never forget.

That promise was directing the course of his life. For better or worse given his grandmother, his sister, Fair Face and the employees were now his responsibility. He grimaced. “I’m taking care of you the best way I know how.”

Grams rubbed a gray dog named Blue, but she didn’t say a word.

He knew this trick, using silence to make him give in, the way his grandfather had capitulated in the past. But Caleb couldn’t surrender. “Grams—”

“Gertie, didn’t you mention the other day how busy Fair Face keeps your grandson?” Becca interrupted. “It might be better to find someone else to help us, since Caleb is so busy.”

Whoa. Becca wanted to be his ally?

That sent Caleb’s hinky-meter shooting into the red zone. No one was that nice to a total stranger. She must want him out of the way so she could run her scam in peace.

“Good idea,” he said, playing along. Maybe he could catch Becca in a lie or trip her up somehow. “I’m not sure I’d have a few minutes to spare until the baby product line launches, if then. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I do.” Grams tapped her fingers against her chin. “But I like keeping things in the family.”

So much for taking her formulas to a competitor. “You wouldn’t want me to ignore the company, would you?”

His grandmother’s gaze narrowed as if zooming in on a target—him. “Who’s trying to guilt who now?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

“Maybe Caleb knows someone who can help us,” Becca said.

He would rather his grandmother drop this whole thing, but once Grams saw what starting her own business entailed, she would decide retirement was a better alternative. He would get someone he trusted to advise them, someone to keep an eye on Becca, someone to steer his grandmother properly. Caleb would still be in control, by proxy. “I’m happy to give you a few names. I know one person who would be a good fit.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Gertie said.

“Definitely worth a try.” Enthusiasm filled Becca’s voice. “We can do this.”

We? Us? Caleb straightened. Becca acted more like a partner. He needed to talk to his grandmother about what sort of contract she had with her “consultant.” Something about Becca bothered him. She had to be up to no good. “I’ll text you the names and numbers, Grams.”

“Send Becca the list. As you said, I’m a chemist not a businesswoman.”

“Will do.” Caleb glanced at his watch, bent and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I need to get back to the office.”

Grams grabbed hold of his hand. Her thin fingers dug into his skin. “You can’t leave. You haven’t had any cake.”

The carrot cake. Caleb had forgotten, but he couldn’t forget the pile of work waiting for him on his desk. He checked his watch again.

“Gertie baked the carrot cake herself. You need to try a piece.” Becca’s voice sounded lighthearted, but her pointed look contained a clear warning. Caleb had better stay if he knew what was good for him.

Interesting. The consultant was being protective of his grandmother. Usually that was his job. Becca’s concern could be genuine or a ruse—most likely the latter—but she was correct about one thing. Eating a slice of cake wouldn’t take that long. No reason to keep disappointing Grams. He could also use the opportunity to ask his grandmother for more information about her dog consultant.

Caleb placed his arm around his grandmother. “I’d love a piece of your cake and a glass of iced tea.”

Dogs raced around Becca, jumping and barking and chasing balls. She stood in the center of the lawn while Gertie went into the house to have Mrs. Harrison prepare the refreshments.

Playing with the dogs was more fun than sitting with Caleb on the patio. Becca saw no reason to make idle chitchat with a man eager to eat his cake and get out of there. At least, she couldn’t think of one.

She much preferred four-footed, fur-covered company to dismissive CEOs. Dogs were her best friends, even when they were a little naughty.

“You’re a mess, Blue.” Becca picked strands of grass and twigs from the Kerry blue terrier’s gray hair. “Let’s clean you up before Gertie returns.”

Dogs—no matter a purebred like Blue or a mutt like Dozer—loved to get dirty. Gertie didn’t mind, but Becca tried to keep the dogs looking half decent even when playing.

Blue licked her hand.

Bending over, she kissed his head. “Such a good boy.”

“You like dogs.”

Becca jumped. She didn’t have to turn around to know Caleb was right behind her, but she glanced over her shoulder anyway. “I love dogs. They’re my life.”

His cool gaze examined her as if she were a stock he was deciding to buy or sell, making her feel exposed. Naked.

Her nose itched. Her lungs didn’t want to fill with air.

He stepped forward to stand next to her. “Your life as a dog consultant?”

“Gertie came up with that title,” Becca said. “But I am a dog handler, groomer and certified vet tech.”

“A jill of all trades.”

That was one way to look at it. Desperate to make a living working with animals and to become a full-time professional dog handler was another. “When it comes to animals, particularly dogs.”

Snowy and Maurice chased each other, barking. Dozer played tug-of-war with Hunter, a thirteen-inch beagle, growling. Blue sat at Becca’s feet, waiting. “I need to put the dogs in the kennel.”

Confusion clouded Caleb’s gaze. He might as well have spoken the question on his mind aloud.

“Yes, Gertie has a kennel.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Your face.” Becca almost laughed. “I’m guessing you don’t play a lot of poker. Unless you prefer losing money.”

Caleb looked amused, not angry. That surprised her.

“Hey,” he said. “I used to be quite good.”

“If the other players were blind.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Well, you don’t have much of a poker face.”

At least not with his grandmother. Or with Becca.

He puffed out his chest. “We’re not playing cards. But you’re looking at a real card shark.”

She liked his willingness to poke fun at himself. “I believe you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Heat rushed up her neck. “Okay, I don’t.”

“Honest.”

“I try to be.” He wasn’t talking about poker any longer. She picked up one of the balls. “It’s important to play fair.”

Caleb’s eyebrow twitched. “Do you have a good poker face?”

“You realized I didn’t believe you, so probably not.”

“No aces up your sleeve?”

“Not my style.”

“What is your style?”

“Strategy over deceit.” Becca couldn’t tell if he believed her, but she hoped he did. Because he was Gertie’s grandson, she rationalized. “That’s why I’d never sit at a poker table with you. You’re too easy to read. It would be like stealing a bone from a puppy.”