The Man Behind the Pinstripes Page 4

  “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.”

  Confusion filled his gaze. “My grandmother doesn’t lack anything.”

  He sounded so certain, not the least bit defensive. A good sign, but still...

  Becca shouldn’t have brought this up, but her affection for Gertie meant Becca couldn’t back down now. She wanted Caleb to stop blowing off his grandmother. “Gertie thought living here would make it easier for me to do my job without having to drive back and forth all the time. But I also think she wants me here because she’s lonely.”

  “My grandmother lonely?”

  The disbelief in his words irritated Becca. She’d realized this as soon as she got to know Gertie, yet her own grandson couldn’t see it. “Yes.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said without hesitation. “Gertie Fairchild has more friends than anyone I know. She’s a social butterfly who turns down invitations—otherwise she’d never be home. She has the means to go out whenever she wants. She has an entire staff to take care of the house and the grounds. No way is she lonely.”

  What Caleb said might have been true once, but no longer. “Gertie does have a staff, but we’re employees. She has lunch twice a week with friends. But she hasn’t attended any parties since I moved in. She prefers to spend time in her lab.”

  “The lab is keeping her from her friends.”

  “I believe your grandmother would rather spend time with her family, not friends.”

  “You believe?” He grimaced. “My sister and I—”

  “See her every Sunday for brunch at the club, I know. But since I arrived neither you nor your sister have stopped by. Not until you today.”

  “As I said—”

  “You’ve been busy,” Becca finished for him.

  Caleb shot a sideways glance at the house. “All Grams has to do is call. I’ll do whatever she asks.”

  “Gertie asked for your help with the dog care products.”

  “That’s...”

  “Different?”

  A vein at his neck throbbed. “You’ve got a cush job living here at the estate. I’m sure my grandmother’s paying you a bundle to take care of a few dogs and prance them around the ring. What’s it to you anyway?”

  He sounded defensive. She would, too. Realizing you’d screwed up was never easy. Boy, did she know that. “Gertie’s helped me a lot. I want her to be happy.”

  “Trust me, she’s happy. But you have some nerve sponging off my grandmother, helping her with her wild dog-product scheme and then telling me how I should act with my family.”

  Not defensive. Overconfident. Cocky. Clueless.

  Caleb Fairchild was no different than the other people who saw her as dirt to be wiped off the bottom of their expensive designer shoes.

  At least she’d tried. For Gertie’s sake.

  Becca reached out her hand. “Give me your jacket.”

  “You’re going to help me after trying to make me feel like a jerk?” he asked.

  Mission accomplished. If he felt like a jerk he had only himself to blame. “I said I’d help. I only told you the truth.”

  He didn’t look as if he b
elieved her. They were even. She didn’t trust him.

  “As you see it,” he said.

  She met his gaze straight on. “I could say the same about your truth.”

  They stood there locked in a stare down.

  Stalemate.

  “At least we know where we stand,” he said.

  Becca wasn’t so certain, but she knew one thing. Being with Caleb was like riding a gravity-defying roller coaster. He left her feeling breathless, scared to death, and never wanting to get on again. She didn’t like it. Him.

  She held up his jacket. “And just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Gertie.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY THE TIME Caleb changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and then returned to the patio, the table had been transformed with china, crystal glasses and a glass-blown vase filled with yellow and pink roses from the garden. Very feminine. Very Grams. “You’ve gone all out.”

  “I enjoy having company.” Beaming, Grams patted the seat next to her. “Sit and eat.”

  Caleb sat next to her. He stared across the table at Becca.

  What was she doing here?

  He wanted to speak to Grams alone, to talk about Becca and his concerns about the so-called dog consultant and if she was exploiting his grandmother’s generosity.

  Sneaky scam artist or sweet dog lover? Becca seemed to be a contradiction, one that confused him.

  On their way to the kennel, he’d sensed a connection. Something he hadn’t felt in over a year. Maybe two. Not since...Cassandra. But he knew better than to trust those kinds of emotions with a total stranger.

  Becca wasn’t his usual type—Caleb casually dated high-powered professional women—but he’d found himself flirting and having fun with her until she’d had to ruin the moment with her ridiculous grandmother-is-lonely spiel.

  Becca was wrong. He couldn’t wait to prove how wrong.

  He sliced through his cake with his fork. The silver tines pinged against the porcelain plate.

  As if he wanted or needed anything from Becca Taylor other than her lint roller.

  “You must be hungry,” Grams said.

  Nodding, he took a bite.

  Becca drank from her glass of ice water.

  “Do the dogs usually stay in the kennel all day?” he asked.

  A rivulet of condensation rolled down her glass. She placed it on the corner of the yellow floral placemat. “No, they are out most of the time, but if they were here they’d be going crazy over the cake.”

  “Dogs eat cake?” he asked.

  Becca refilled her water from a glass pitcher with lemons floating on the top.

  A guilty expression crossed Grams’s face. “I never give them a lot. Never any chocolate. But when they stare up at me as if they’re starving, it’s too hard not to give them a taste.”

  “Those dogs know exactly how to get what they want.” Laughter filled Becca’s eyes. “They’re spoiled rotten.”

  “Nothing wrong with being spoiled and pampered,” Grams agreed.

  “Not at all.” Becca sounded wistful. “I’d love to be one of your dogs.”

  Her words surprised Caleb. She didn’t seem like the primping and pampering type. But what did he really know about her? He sipped his iced tea.

  She picked up her fork and sliced off a bite of cake. Her lips parted.

  Fair Face made a lipstick that plumped lips, making them fuller and, according to the marketing department, more desirable. Becca’s lips were perfect the way they were.

  She raised the fork.

  Like a moth to a blowtorch, Caleb watched her, unable to look away. He placed his glass on the table.

  She brought the fork closer to her mouth until her lips closed around the end.

  The sweat at the back on his neck had caused the collar on his T-shirt to shrink two sizes in the past ten seconds.

  She pulled out the empty fork. A dab of enticing frosting was stuck on the corner of her mouth.

  A very lickable position.

  What the hell was he thinking? Caleb wasn’t into licking. At least not his grandmother’s employee, one who claimed to know more about Grams’s than he did.

  The woman was dangerous. Caleb forced himself to look away.

  If making him feel worse had been Becca’s goal, she’d succeeded. Not only worse, but also aggravated. Annoyed. Attracted.

  No, not attracted. Distracted. By the frosting.

  His gaze strayed back to the creamy dab on Becca’s face.

  Yes, that was it. The icing. He placed his fork on the plate. Not the lick...

  “Please don’t tell me you’re finished?” Grams asked, sounding distressed he hadn’t eaten the whole slice.

  The last thing Caleb wanted was more cake. He needed to figure out what was going on with Becca, then get out of here. “Letting the food settle before I eat more.”

  He sneaked a peek at Becca.

  The tip of her pink tongue darted out, licking her top lip to remove the bit of frosting before disappearing back into her mouth.

  Caleb stuck two fingers inside his collar and tugged. Hard. The afternoon heat was making him sweat. Maybe he should head to the gym instead of back to work. Doing today’s workout at the gym might clear his head and help him focus on the right things.

  He wiped his mouth with a yellow napkin. Becca should have used hers instead of her tongue to remove the icing.

  Maybe Becca was trying to be provocative and flirty. Maybe Becca saw dollar signs when she looked at him as Cassandra had. Maybe Becca didn’t want him to object to her involvement with Gertie. His grandmother had to be the mark here, not him.

  “The cake is delicious. Moist,” he said. “The frosting has the right amount of sweetness.”

  Eyes bright, Grams leaned forward over the table. “I’m so happy you like it. I’ve been working hard on the recipe.”

  With a sweet grin that made him think of cotton candy, Becca motioned to her plate. Only half the slice remained. “I think you’ve perfected it.”

  Grams chuckled. “Took me enough attempts.”

  “I’ve enjoyed each and every slice.” Becca patted her trim waistline. “As you can tell.”

  “Nonsense,” Grams said. “You have a lovely figure. Besides, a few slices of cake never hurt anybody. Men like curves, isn’t that right, Caleb?”

  He choked on the cake in his mouth. Becca’s curves were the last thing he should be looking at right now. Not that he hadn’t checked them out before. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  “See,” Grams said lightheartedly.

  Warm affection filled Becca’s eyes. “I’m sold.”

  Caleb’s gaze darted between the two women. Grams treated Becca more like a friend than an employee. That was typical of his grandmother’s interactions with her staff, including the dowdy Mrs. Harrison, a fortysomething widow who preferred to go by her last name.

  Still, Grams and Becca’s familiarity added to his suspicions given the differences in their social status, personalities and ages. His grandmother always took in strays and treated them well. Becca seemed to be playing along with her role in that scenario, but adding a twist by making sure she was becoming indispensable and irreplaceable.

  Something was definitely off here. “Grams is an excellent baker.”

  “You should have been here on Monday,” Becca said. “Gertie knocked it out of the park with her Black Forest cake. Seriously to-die-for.”

  “Black Forest cake?” he asked.

  Grams nodded with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Your favorite.”

  That had been only three days ago. Caleb stared at his plate.

  Carrot cake was Courtney’s favorite. Grams had made his favorite earlier in the week. Puzzle pieces f
ell into place like colored blocks on a Rubick’s Cube. A seven-layer lead weight settled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. “How many cakes do you bake a week?”

  “It depends on how long it takes us to eat one,” she answered.

  The question ricocheted through him, as if he were swinging wildly and hitting only air. “Us?”

  “Becca. The estate staff. My lab assistants. Whoever else happens to be working here,” Grams explained. “Sometimes Becca takes the leftovers to the vet clinic when she covers shifts there.”

  Wait a minute. He assumed his grandmother paid Becca well and allowed her to live in the guest cottage rent-free. Why would Becca work at a vet clinic, too? Especially if she was running a con?

  “Sounds like a lot of cake.” Caleb tried to reconcile what he was learning about Becca as well as Grams’s cake. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed baking so much.”

  Grams raised a shoulder, but there was nothing casual or indifferent in the movement. “Can’t have one of my grandchildren stop by and not have any cake to eat.”

  But I also think she wants me here because she’s lonely.

  Damn. His chest tightened. Becca was right. Grams was lonely. Regret slithered through him.

  Thinking about the number of cakes being baked with anticipation and love and a big dose of hope made it hard to breathe. He figured Grams would be out and about doing whatever women of her age did to pass the time. Lunches, museums, fundraisers. He’d never thought she would go to so much trouble or imagined she would be sitting at home and waiting for her grandchildren to stop by.

  His promise and his efforts blew up like a fifty-megaton bomb.

  So much for taking care of Grams. He’d failed. He hadn’t taken care of her. He’d let her down.

  Just like his...dad.

  Guilt churned in Caleb’s gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry” wasn’t enough. He pressed his lips together.

  “Did you have something you wanted to say?” Grams asked.

  Caleb looked up. His grandmother was speaking to Becca.

  Of course that woman would have something to say, a smug remark or a smart-aleck comment to expose his failure aloud. Anything so she could rub a ten-pound bag of salt into the gaping hole over his heart.