* * *
“They look like they’re about eight weeks old.” Lara inspected the trio of wriggly black-and-white puppies on the kitchen floor while Evan scarfed down frozen waffles and skimmed the Wall Street Journal headlines. She lifted one of the pups up to check for evidence of worms or other parasites, and Maverick nosed her elbow aside so he could get a good look at the new arrivals. “And reasonably healthy. I’ll pick up some vaccines on the way home and get them started on their shot schedules.”
“Mmm,” was Evan’s response as he pored over a market analysis.
“The good news is they’re tiny and adorable, so we should be able to re-home them quickly.” Lara winced as the puppy sank his razor-sharp baby teeth into her knuckle. In the fifteen minutes they’d been inside, the roly-poly hellions had already managed to pee on the tile twice and start gnawing a chair leg. “But you know how much work new puppies are.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“I can run home between appointments to check on them and let them out,” Lara said. “But then I’ve got a client dinner at six. So if you come home right after work to feed them—”
“No can do,” Evan said.
“Why not?”
“It’s Thursday.” He finally looked up from the newspaper and took another bite of his multigrain waffle. “Soccer.”
“Oh.” Lara closed her eyes, put her head next to the rowdy little black guy, and inhaled that sweet, calming new-puppy smell. Infinitely better than any bong hit, she thought to herself and smiled. “Is there any way you could skip soccer tonight? Please?”
“Nope.” He washed his waffle down with a glass of orange juice.
She paused, taken aback by his curtness. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.” Evan seemed impervious to the puppy tractor beam. “I told the guys I’d be there tonight, and I’ll be there.”
“Okay, well, is there any way you could run home, feed them, and then go to soccer? No one will care if you’re twenty minutes late.”
Evan finished off his OJ and set the glass next to the sink with a clink. “I care.”
Lara stared at him, taking in his sullen tone and mulish expression. “Why are you being like this?”
He focused on methodically refolding his newspaper.
She jabbed her finger toward the cocktail napkin contract stuck to the fridge. “You know, according to the terms of our agreement, these are your puppies, too.”
He squinted at the napkin for a moment, then shook his head. “I see slobber and shedding on there. I see nothing about skipping soccer for a bunch of mongrels that are systematically destroying my kitchen furniture.”
Lara put the puppies down and slowly got to her feet. “So what are you saying here?”
“I’m saying no.” He’d gone from heated defiance to a chilly monotone. “You dog people, you’re like a cult. The Cult of Dog. And you pour all your time and money into the cult, but it’s never enough, because there’s always one more dog. Or three more dogs.”
Lara almost laughed. “The Cult of Dog?”
He folded his arms. “I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid.”
“Evan, come on! I didn’t go looking for these puppies. Someone tossed them over the fence in the dead of night. What am I supposed to do?”
He shrugged and checked his snowy white shirt cuffs for stains. “I’m not telling you what to do. What I am telling you is that I’m going to soccer tonight. On time.” His eyes narrowed as he pulled a strand of brown fur off his sleeve. “Enough is enough, Lara. I’m drawing the line.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “‘Enough is enough’?”
He nodded. “I’m done with dogs.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He clenched his jaw for a moment, obviously struggling to censor his thoughts. “It means that I lied. I’m not a dog person and I never will be.” He snatched the cocktail napkin contract and threw it into the trash.
Lara gasped.
Zsa Zsa stuck her head into the trash bin and started chewing up the contract.
Evan marched into the master bedroom and returned moments later with a tiny black velvet box clenched in his hand. “I’ve been hanging on to this thing since you moved in, waiting for the right time to give it to you. Planning the perfect proposal.”
Lara swallowed hard and then asked, “Why are there tooth marks on that box?”
“Because one of your dogs was using it for a chew toy.”
“Why on earth did you leave it where the dogs could reach it? Honestly, Evan, I’ve told you a thousand times you need to crate them when you leave the house.”
“Here we go again. Blame the victim!”
“You don’t love me,” Lara accused.
“Don’t do that. You know I love you.”
“No, you love the person you want me to be,” she shot back. “I told you right up front I was a crazy dog lady. Remember our first date? You brought me home from dinner and Maverick had eaten a whole pack of paper towels and gotten an intestinal blockage and you drove us to the emergency vet and stayed there with me for five hours. And still you begged me to move in with you, you bought this ring, and now you come out as . . . what? A cat person?”
Evan shuddered at the very thought. “Cats are even worse than dogs.”
“So you’re just an all-around animal hater?”
“Not everyone has to be a dog person or a cat person. Maybe I’m a people person. Have you ever considered that?”
Lara recoiled as if he had slapped her. “That’s just sick.”
“You know what kills me? I bought this house for us—so we could live here and get married and raise a family.” He shook his head in disgust and slapped the ring box down on the kitchen counter. “But I can’t take it anymore. I’m sick of the constant shedding and the slobber—God, the slobber is the worst.”
Lara’s shock vanished in a flare of rage. “No wonder Mullet hates you. Dogs can sense your true intentions.”
Evan snorted. “Mullet hates everybody!”
“My dogs are my family.” Lara opened her arms to encompass Maverick, Rufus, Raggs, Zsa Zsa, and the pack of pint-size pit bulls dunking one another in the water bowl. “If you love them, a little fur and saliva don’t matter!”
“But I don’t love them.” Evan picked up his briefcase and suit jacket and charged into the family room. “I love you, so I thought that meant I had to love them by association.” He pointed to the couch like a courtroom prosecutor introducing Exhibit A. “I can’t remember the last time I sat down without something squeaking.” He shoved one hand between the cushions and yanked out the limp, fuzzy gray corpse that had been a stuffed squirrel before Maverick had ripped open the seams and strewn tufts of white filling all over the house. “Someday I’d like to come home after work, kick back, watch the play-offs, and not have to deal with a drooly, disemboweled squirrel ruining my best work pants.”
At the sight of his beloved squirrel, Maverick raced across the room, skidded to a halt, and waited for Evan to start a game of fetch.
“Maverick loves Mr. Squirrel. It’s the only thing he brought with him from his previous owner’s house. It’s like his security blanket.” Lara stepped up to the dog’s side in a show of solidarity. The barrel-chested Rottweiler didn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze was locked on the squirrel.
“This thing is disgusting, and I don’t want it in my house.”
“It’s our house!” Lara yelled. The spaniels ran for cover.
Evan raised the sodden, smelly pelt and waved it like a battle flag. “No more Mr. Squirrel!”
The Rottie lunged, planting his hind feet on the ground and his front paws on Evan’s chest. Evan toppled back onto the couch. The stack of books on the coffee table went flying.
“Maverick, down,” Lara commanded.
The puppies raced in from the kitchen, pounced on the paperbacks, and started shredding the pages in a rousing game of tug-of-war.
“What are yo
u doing?” Lara asked as Evan struggled to his feet and stalked past her.
“I’m putting this festering, bacteria-ridden piece of filth where it belongs.” He went into the guest bathroom and threw Mr. Squirrel into the toilet.
“Don’t you dare! You’re mad at me, not Maverick.”
“I’m mad at both of you.”
“No!” Lara cried, but it was too late.
Evan flushed. Maverick whined.
And then . . . an ominous gurgling noise bubbled up from the depths of the plumbing.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Lara said. “I’ll never marry you now.”
He shrugged, but she could see a flicker of shame and doubt in his eyes. Then he drew himself up and said, “Well, if a disemboweled dog toy means more to you than I do, you might as well flush the ring down, too.”
Lara dashed back to the kitchen, snatched up the jewelry box, and returned to the bathroom.
Evan blanched. “Hang on. Let’s just calm down here.”
For a second, Lara hesitated. She plucked the ring out of the little velvet cushion and dangled it with shaking fingers over the toilet bowl. The diamond’s facets caught the light and sparkled with promise and possibility.
Maverick skidded up to the porcelain bowl, peered over the rim, and let out a howl of pure anguish.
Lara dropped the ring and flushed.
Chapter 9
Cherie Chadwick’s house—well, house was really an understatement; estate was probably a better term—was a sprawling, modern, Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired compound constructed with lots of angled glass and concrete. The home was perched atop a hill, situated to offer views of the twinkling city lights on one side and the vast, cactus-dotted nature preserve on the other. Lara had been to this neighborhood many times over the years—her mother had moved to Mayfair Estates when Lara was a sophomore in college—but she had never really explored the quiet, winding streets. Apparently, the community had a strict social hierarchy, and Cherie Chadwick was at the very top. Compared to this place, Justine’s custom-built, four-thousand-square-foot spread looked like a falling-down crack den.
When Lara pulled up in her battered old station wagon, she had to announce her arrival at an intercom by the ornate wrought-iron gates, which seemed like overkill, given that Mayfair Estates already had a twenty-four-hour security guard stationed down at the entrance to the community.
But she cleared the gate-within-a-gate, parked her car on the paving stones encircling a fountain in the center of the driveway, and took a moment to get focused. Okay, so she had just flushed her love life down the toilet—literally. So Evan had left the house that morning without a word or a single glance back. There was nothing she could do about any of that now. The die had been cast. The ring had been flushed.
And she had the feeling she was going to be apartment hunting in the immediate future, so a little extra cash would really come in handy.
She approached the massive front door and rang the bell with the wide-eyed hesitancy of Little Orphan Annie arriving at Daddy Warbucks’s mansion.
Given the grandeur of the grounds, Lara was expecting a liveried, British-accented butler to greet her, but instead she found herself face-to-face with the lady of the house, an apple-cheeked, middle-aged woman wearing a violet and lavender tweed blazer, perfectly tailored gray pants, and a whimsical bee pendant fashioned out of yellow and white diamonds. With her silvery white hair styled in a flattering bob and her makeup artfully applied, she seemed warm and welcoming.
“You must be Lara.” Cherie took Lara’s hand in both of hers. “Thank you so much for dropping by. I need to find a handler immediately, and I have a feeling you’re the one.”
Lara glanced around the sun-drenched foyer and sitting room, both of which were done up in subtly contrasting shades of white and ivory. Even though she was wearing her nicest work outfit and had showered not twenty minutes ago, she stood perfectly still, afraid to sit down or touch anything. Every item in this house looked expensive, pristine, and breakable. She didn’t see a single errant strand of pet hair. “You said you have a Bernese mountain dog?”
“A Bernese mountain dog and a housekeeper who vacuums twice a day,” Cherie confirmed with a wink. “Eskie’s in the den. Come along, and I’ll make the introductions.”
Lara followed Cherie down a long hallway. Her voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling and she marveled at the collection of abstract oil paintings displayed in recessed niches.
“What can I get you?” Cherie asked as they passed through a kitchen that looked like a set from the Food Network. “Coffee? Tea? Mimosa?”
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” Lara caught a glimpse of a shimmering pool, complete with rock-lined waterfall, through the patio door. “As I said, I’ve never worked as a conformation handler—I’ve only been to conformation shows once or twice—but I’m happy to answer your questions.”
“No questions.” Cherie glanced back over her shoulder with a smile. “This really isn’t up to me. Eskie will decide if she likes you or not.”
And with that, she opened a pair of varnished pocket doors, revealing a cozy family room and a huge, fluffy black-and-white dog with expressive chestnut-colored “eyebrows,” dainty white-tipped paws, and soft brown eyes.
“Meet Swiss Star’s Evening Escapade.” Cherie clapped her hand to her heart. “The love of my life.”
Eskie greeted Lara with ladylike canine manners—no jumping, no barking, no overly enthusiastic sniffing. The dog seemed friendly and curious, but not hyper or insecure. Clearly she was waiting for Lara to make the first move.
Lara held her ground and used her most authoritative tone. “Eskie, sit.”
Eskie’s haunches hit the floor.
Only then did Lara offer her palm for sniffs and licks. “Good girl.”
Eskie opened her mouth, eyes dancing, in the canine version of a giggle. Lara continued to pet her and Eskie continued to sit, soaking up the affection and offering a paw for a shake.
“She adores you,” Cherie murmured. “I knew it.”
“She’s gorgeous,” Lara said. Though Lara had a weakness for unconventional-looking mutts, this Berner was a classic beauty, a real showstopper. “Has she had any obedience training?”
“I took her to a puppy class when I first brought her home from the breeder last year. She can sit, shake, fetch, and lie down.”
“Any issues with socialization?” Lara asked. “Is she anxious around other dogs?”
“No, my little Eskie’s a social butterfly, aren’t you?” Cherie cooed.
Eskie’s tail thumped against the priceless Oriental rug, sending flurries of black fur through the air. In the next few minutes, Lara continued to dole out affection and Eskie gave up any semblance of dignity, collapsing on the floor and rolling over for a belly rub.
Cherie clapped her hands together. “Well, it’s settled. She has to have you. How much?”
Lara glanced up from her tummy-scratching ministrations. “Sorry?”
“How much to put you on retainer?” Cherie asked. “I want you to handle Eskie exclusively.”
Lara planted her palms on her thighs and pushed herself up. “Oh, I can’t commit to only one dog. I already have five fosters at home—eight, actually, as of this morning—and several clients I work with on rally and obedience training.”
Cherie waved this away. “Yes, of course, your charity efforts.”
“I also have a full-time job,” Lara said. “I’m a veterinary drug rep, and I don’t have a typical nine-to-five schedule, but I still put in at least forty hours per week.”
“Fine, fine.” This seemed to be the upper-crust-rich-lady version of “whatever.” “But I don’t want you to handle any other dog on the conformation circuit.”
Lara thought of Mullet and Linus and had to smile. “Don’t worry. The dogs I normally work with aren’t really the beauty pageant type.”
“Perfect. Then let’s get started as soon as possible.”
&n
bsp; Something about Cherie’s purpose and pluck seemed forced, and Lara stepped back to examine what was going on underneath all that cheeriness.
She let the room go quiet for a moment, then asked, “You’ve never entered one of these shows before?”
Cherie toyed with her diamond earring. “No.”
Lara nodded. “May I ask why you’ve decided to take the plunge now?”
“Well, just look at my darling girl! Her markings are perfect. Her personality is delightful. And she’s bred from championship lines, you know. Her grandfather placed at Westminster. It would be a waste for her to just sit around at home.” At this, Cherie’s smile faltered just a bit.
Lara waited.
The older woman sighed. “My husband spent his whole life traveling for work. We had always talked about the trips we would take, the things we’d do together after he retired.” She cleared her throat and placed her palm on Eskie’s head. “Well, now that he’s finally retired, he’s taking all those trips we talked about . . . with a twenty-eight-year-old flight attendant.”
Lara reached out and touched Cherie’s sleeve. “I’m so sorry.”
“And you know, I want something young and beautiful, too. I’m not ready to give up on having goals and projects and surprises.”
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” Lara promised. “The three of us will be a team. But since we’re brand-new at this, I’m not sure all the surprises will be good ones.”
“I’ll think of it as an adventure.” Cherie slipped a check out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Lara. “Are you available to come by tomorrow morning, same time?”
Lara glanced down at the figure written on the check and almost collapsed. “I’ll be here at nine.”
* * *
Lara came home from work as early as she could that night, hoping that she would be able to pick up the dogs, pack her bags, and leave the scene before Evan returned from soccer practice.
No such luck.
When she opened the garage door, his Audi was parked in the usual spot and she could hear the dogs on the other side of the door, waiting to welcome her with the usual fur-and-drool-drenched festivities. Evan must have let them out of their crates.
The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service Page 7
