Melissa Mcclone - The Man Behind the Pinstripes

“A puppy, huh?”

“A manly pup. Not girly.”

He grinned wryly. “Wouldn’t want to be girly dog.”

His gaze held hers. Becca stared mesmerized.

Something passed between them. A look. A connection.

Her pulse quickened.

He looked away.

What was going on? She didn’t date guys like him. Even if she did, he was too much of a Boy Scout. And it was clear he didn’t like her. “I have to go.”

“I want to see the kennel.”

“Uh, sure.” But she felt uncertain, unsettled being near him. She pointed to the left. “It’s down by the guest cottage.”

Caleb fell into step next to Becca, shortening his stride to match hers. “How did you meet my grandmother?”

She called the five dogs. They followed. “At The Rose City Classic.”

He gave her a blank stare.

Funny he didn’t know what that was, given Gertie’s interest in dog showing. “It’s in Portland. One of the biggest dog shows on the West Coast. Your grandmother hired me to take Snowy into the breed ring. Ended up with a Group third. A very good day.”

Blue darted off, as if he were looking for something—a toy, a ball, maybe a squirrel.

Becca whistled for him.

He trotted back with a sad expression in his brown eyes.

Caleb rubbed his chin. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Dog show speak,” Becca said. “Snowy won third place in the Group ring. In his case, the Non-Sporting group.”

“Third place is good?”

“Gertie was pleased with the result. She offered me a job taking care of her dogs, including the fosters and rescues, here at the estate.”

“And the dog skin care line?”

“She sprang that on me after I arrived.”

A look of surprise filled his eyes, but disappeared quickly. “Sounds like you’re a big help to her.”

“I try to be,” Becca said. “Your grandmother’s wonderful.”

“She is.” He looked at her. “I’d hate to see anyone take advantage of her kindness.”

Not anyone. Becca.

The accusation in his voice made her feel like a death row inmate. Each muscle tightened in preparation for a fight. The balls of her sandals pressed harder against the grass. She fought the urge to mount a defense. If this were a test, she didn’t want to fail. “I’d hate that to happen, too.”

The silence stretched between them.

His assessing gaze never wavered from hers.

Disconcerted, she fiddled with a thread from the hem of her shorts.

Caleb put his hand out to Dozer, who walked next to them. Funny, considering he’d ignored the dogs before.

Dozer sniffed Caleb’s fingers then nudged his hand.

With a tender smile, he patted the dog’s head.

Becca’s heart bumped. Nothing was more attractive than a man being sweet to animals. A good thing Caleb’s physical appearance was pretty easy to overlook given his personality and suspicions.

“You helped me with my grandmother,” he said. “Trying to get me out of the way?”

At least he was direct. She wet her lips, not liking the way he raised her hackles and temperature at the same time. “It’s obvious you don’t want to work with us.”

“I don’t have time,” he clarified.

“There’s never enough time.”

Dozer ran off, chasing a butterfly.

“It’s a valuable commodity,” Caleb said.

“Easy to waste when you don’t spend it in the right ways.”

“Experience talking?”

“Mostly an observation.”

Maurice, the Norwegian elkhound, approached Caleb. The dog could never get enough attention and would go up to anyone with a free hand to pet him.

He bent over.

And then Becca remembered. “Wait!”

Caleb touched the dog. He jerked back. A cereal-bowl-sized glob of dark and light hair clung to his hand. “What the …”

Maurice brushed against Caleb’s pant leg, covering the dark fabric in hair also.

Oh, no. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“This overweight husky is shedding all his fur.” The frown on Caleb’s face matched the frustration in his voice. “Enough to stuff a pillow.”

“Maurice is a Norwegian elkhound. He’s blowing his coat.” The guilty expression on the dog’s face reminded her of the time he’d stolen food out of the garbage can. She motioned him over and patted his head. This wasn’t the dog’s fault. Unlike Caleb, she was used to the shedding, a small price to pay for his love. “They do that a couple times a year. It’s a mess to clean up.”

“Now you tell me.”

His tone bristled, as if she were the one to blame. Becca was about to tell him if he spent any time here with his grandmother he would know about Maurice, but decided against it. If she lightened the mood, Caleb might stop acting so … upset. “Look at the bright side.”

His mouth slanted. “There’s a bright side?”

“You could be wearing black instead of navy.”

He didn’t say anything, then a smile cracked open on his face, taking her breath away. “I guess I am lucky. Though it’s only dog hair, not the end of the world.”

If he kept grinning it might be the end of hers.

Caleb brushed the hair away, but ended up spreading it up his sleeve and onto the front of his suit.

“Be careful.” She remembered he had to return to the office. “Or you’ll make it …”

“Worse.” He glanced down. Half laughed. “Too late.”

It was her turn to smile. “I have a lint roller. I can clean up your suit in a jiffy.”

Amusement filled his eyes. “I thought you liked dog hair.”

“Huh?”

“Your T-shirt.”

She read the saying. “Oh, yes. Dog hair is an occupational hazard.”

“Yet you keep a lint brush.”

“You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

“Do you make a habit of cleaning men’s clothing?”

His tone sounded playful, almost flirty. That made no sense. Caleb wouldn’t flirt with her. She rubbed her lips together. “Not, um, usually.”

Something—interest or maybe it was mischief—flared in his eyes. “I’m honored.”

Nerves overwhelmed her. A guy like Caleb was nothing but trouble. He could be trying to cause trouble for her now. She took a deep breath. “Do you have other clothes with you? Getting the dog hair off your pants will be easier if you aren’t wearing them.”

“Easier, but not impossible.”

Becca pictured herself kneeling and rolling the lint brush over his pants. Her temperature shot up ten degrees. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can use the roller brush yourself.”

He grinned wryly. “My gym bag is in the car.”

An image of him in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest and arms rooted itself in her mind.

Wait a minute. Did he say gym bag? That meant he had time to work out, but no time to spend with Gertie.

Becca’s blood pressure rose, but she knew better than to allow it to spiral out of control. Judging him wasn’t right. People did that with her and usually got it wrong. Maybe his priorities had gotten mixed up. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Go change,” she said. “I’ll put the dogs in the kennel and grab the lint brush out of guest cottage.”

“Using the guest cottage as your office?”

“I live there.”

His mouth dropped open. He closed it. “You live here at the estate?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The one word dripped with so much snobbery Becca felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on her head. He waited for her to answer.

A hundred and two different answers raced through her mind. She settled on one. “Because Gertie thought it would be for the best.”

“Best for you.”

“Yes.” But there was more to it than that. “Best for Gertie, too.”