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.”
“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,
