already know it. Can I fix you a drink? A coffee or maybe something stronger? I’d offer you a whiskey but I left in a bit of a hurry and didn’t bring any.”
Wasn’t she supposed to be the one offering him a drink? She shook her head. “Thanks, but all I care about right now is finding Muffin.”
And she didn’t drink—not that he needed to know that.
“I know you’re concerned about your dog,” he said, his tone soft and understanding, “so let me call this in to the cops and then I’ll help you work out what to do about Muffin.”
She sniffed and looked up at him properly. Lord, he was delicious, but she didn’t even know him. “You’re being very kind to me, considering...considering what I did to you.”
He shrugged. “I have two little sisters. I’m used to female hysterics.”
She noticed he made no comment on his now ex-fiancée. “I can guarantee I’m not usually like this.”
His lips curled up at the edges and she couldn’t help but smile a little too. “Besides, my mom would have my guts for garters if I left you alone to deal with this.”
“I like the sound of your mom.”
“She’s not bad. But if you’d prefer, I could call a friend to come and be with you.”
She should tell him that he could go and she would call a friend herself, but the truth was she hadn’t made any real friends in her time in Bend. Acquaintances yes, but no one she’d call on in an emergency, and however pathetic it made her, she didn’t want to be left alone right now. This burglary had shaken her up, reminded her that no matter how hard she worked to achieve the things she wanted, she still didn’t have complete control over her life. “I haven’t been in town long enough to make many friends.” Then she added, “But you don’t have to babysit me. I’m a big girl.”
“You are tall,” he said. “I haven’t met many women who are up to my chin without wearing heels, but I wouldn’t call you big.”
He’d noticed she was wearing flats? She couldn’t help being impressed—in her experience most men noticed nothing unless it was naked—and also a little flattered. Which was ridiculous. He’d just been dumped by his fiancée and Chelsea’s priority right now was finding Muffin. Her heart rate quickened again and she swallowed, trying to halt another wave of tears.
“But,” he continued, hopefully oblivious to her thoughts, “you shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. Let me call the police and then we’ll work out what to do next.” Without another word, he stepped back outside onto her porch and a few moments later she heard his illegally sexy voice on the phone.
She sighed and flopped down onto the sofa, unable to believe this had happened. It felt surreal—Callum whom she’d only just met here helping her, yet Muffin achingly absent. Since she rescued Muffin from a shelter almost three years ago, he’d always, without fail, met her at the door with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out when she’d returned home. It was true what they said about no one loving you quite as much as a dog did; she’d never had anyone who even came close.
She’d tried to make this house a home by filling it with bright cushions, bookshelves, funky ornaments and life-affirming, happy quotes, but without Muffin, it felt empty.
“A patrol unit will be here as soon as they can,” Callum said, coming back into the room.
“Oh, thank you.”
He sat down on the other end of the sofa and her belly did a little flip at his proximity. She hadn’t had a man in her house for... Well, not since she’d moved to Bend actually.
“Now,” he continued, not at all affected by her proximity to him, “the police suggested you make a list of what’s been taken for when they arrive. They don’t want you to move or touch anything, if possible. While you do that, I’m going to call the local vets and animal shelters and give them Muffin’s description. Have you got a photo?”
“Um...” She nodded and gazed around the mess, looking for her framed photos, but in the end, gave up and dragged out her cell. “Here,” she said after a few seconds of scrolling through photos. The majority of her photos were selfies of herself and Muffin—walking in the park, chilling on the couch—but she didn’t want to show Callum those photos. Eventually she found one of Muffin standing on the front porch looking out onto the street at something. It was one of the rare moments that her hyperactive dog had stood still.
“He’s a cutie.” Callum took her phone to look at the photo and his fingers brushed against hers in the exchange. Something warm and tingly curled low in her belly but she tried not to show it on her face.
“He is.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll go make that list.”
* * *
The first call Callum made was to a local security firm, asking them to stop by Chelsea’s house ASAP to fix her windows and change her locks. He hoped she had insurance to cover this disaster, but if not, he’d foot the bill—call it his good deed for the day. Then, he called every refuge and vet clinic he could find on the internet in the vicinity of Bend, leaving his cell number as a contact because, as he realized when speaking to the first place, he had no idea what Chelsea’s was. Besides, he guessed her contact details were on Muffin’s collar, so if anyone found him, they’d likely call her first anyway.
As he was disconnecting the final call, a police patrol car rolled to a stop on the curb. He shoved his cell in his pocket and went over to meet the cops.
“You call in a burglary?” asked cop numero uno as the two officers climbed out of the car.
“Yes, I did,” he said, trying not to smirk as he eyed the pair who were each other’s opposites in almost every possible way. One was short and fat with gray hair and smile lines around his eyes. The other was tall and thin, looked like he’d gotten his police badge from the toy section in Kmart and wore a scowl on his face as if a mere neighborhood burglary wasn’t at all the excitement he’d hoped for when he’d signed up.
“Your place?” asked the young guy.
“No,” Callum explained as he led them through the sparse front yard to the house. “It’s owned by Chelsea Porter. She’s a...” What the heck was she besides a woman who’d walked into his workplace and dropped a bombshell on his world? Or what should feel like a bombshell but after the initial shock didn’t make him feel anything much more than annoyed. At Bailey, not Chelsea. “She’s a friend,” he concluded, deciding the officer didn’t need to know their exact relationship as it had no bearing on the case.
They stepped in through the front door to find Chelsea staring at the mess in the living room, a notebook in her hand, a pen caught between her lips and a frown on her face. Even with this expression, she was gorgeous, and the fact he could think such thoughts made him wonder if perhaps he owed Bailey a favor. While he loved her—they’d known each other since they were in diapers and had a lot of fun together—he couldn’t deny he’d gotten engaged to show his dad he could settle down. Also because he wanted a family and was traditional in the sense that he believed children should be raised within a marriage. He didn’t believe in the type of love his mom and sisters gushed about while watching sappy made-for-television movies, but he did believe any relationship could work if you put in the hard yards.
“Jeez, what a freaking
