The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  Lara stiffened. “Don’t bring Mom into this, okay?”

  “Good idea,” Gil agreed. “Let’s not fight. I’m on your side, kiddo. I’m the fun parent, remember?”

  As he said this, Lara saw the hurt in his eyes. She glanced away, ashamed because she knew he had a point. Her father had always supported her decisions, and she’d never disappointed him because he’d never asked anything of her. He loved her unconditionally; didn’t he deserve the same?

  So she backed down and apologized again, and by the time she said good-bye and returned to the parking lot, she’d added a few more items to her type A to-do list: Find crate for Dad, recommend vet to Dad, carve out time for free training lessons with Dad, figure out how to potty train a Rottweiler puppy in seven days or less. . . .

  For a “fun parent,” he sure was a lot of work.

  Chapter 22

  When Lara came home from work on Friday, she was shocked to find her mother already dressed and waiting at the kitchen table.

  “Hurry up—let’s go.” Justine stood up and collected her car keys and handbag as soon as Lara walked in. “We’re late.”

  “Late for what?” Lara assumed the posture of a convict about to be frisked as her mother divested her of her black leather laptop case and started rolling a lint brush over her blazer and wool pants.

  “I made an appointment with a real estate agent. We were supposed to be there five minutes ago.” Justine straightened out Lara’s pants leg and grabbed a dish towel to buff out a stain on her shoe. “It’s terribly rude to keep people waiting.”

  “My last client meeting went long,” Lara replied, automatically going on the defensive. “And I don’t remember asking you to set up an appointment with anyone.”

  “Well, someone had to take charge. The first time you buy a house, you need an agent who knows what she’s doing. Sandra helped me find this place, and she’s a very good businesswoman. Detail-oriented. Not afraid to play hardball.”

  “But, Mom—” Lara began.

  Justine grabbed her by the elbow, then marched her down the hall and into the garage. She opened the car door and slid on a pair of oversize designer sunglasses while the garage door purred open. As she ducked into the driver’s seat, she gave Lara a warning look over the rim of her glasses. “Yes?”

  Lara opened her mouth to protest being treated like a toddler and to list the many reasons why this situation was doomed to fail. Then she took a moment to watch her mother buckling her seat belt and tapping her nails on the leather-bound steering wheel.

  Justine was about to leave the house for the first time in weeks, without a trace of bitterness or self-consciousness. At least temporarily, she was too preoccupied with micromanaging her daughter’s life to wallow in her own.

  “Nothing.” Lara got into the passenger seat and clamped her lips together. “Let’s go.”

  She stole sidelong glances as Justine eased the Mercedes out of the garage and into the driveway. But the bright afternoon sunlight didn’t seem to faze her mother as she reentered the real world. She checked the street for oncoming traffic, then stomped on the accelerator.

  “Now, remember,” she warned Lara as they sped down the hill and waited for the tall wrought-iron gates at the community’s main entrance to swing open. “Let me do the talking.”

  * * *

  “So? What do you think?”

  Lara planted her hands on her hips, gave the living room a thorough once-over, and nodded. “It’s got potential.”

  Next to her, Justine scoffed. “Please. It’s a dump.”

  “It is not! If I updated the lighting fixtures and slapped on a fresh coat of paint—”

  “It’d still be a festering hellhole,” Justine finished. She turned to Sandra, her tone icy. “You should hand out Hazmat suits along with the MLS details of this place.”

  Sandra retreated into the kitchen. “I’ll give you two a moment to chat.”

  Lara shook her head. “Hey, Mom, know what’s even ruder than keeping someone waiting? Snarking about Hazmat suits when they’re showing you one of their property listings.”

  Justine waved this away. “This isn’t her listing. Ugh. Sandra wouldn’t be caught dead representing a seller of this caliber.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Because the arbitrary lowball budget you insist on sticking to leaves her no other choice.”

  “My budget may be a little on the low side,” Lara admitted, “but there’s nothing arbitrary about it. I know how much I can spend on a mortgage every month, and I’m not going over that amount. I’m being financially responsible. You should be proud.”

  “You’re being stingy,” Justine countered. “If you’d just let me pitch in, you could afford a much nicer neighborhood and a much nicer home.”

  “I want to do this by myself. I appreciate your offer, I really do, but it’s time I stood on my own two feet. You should understand that better than anyone.”

  “But this hovel!” Justine cringed as she noticed the popcorn ceiling overhead. “The carpet is ancient. Look at those stains. I shudder to think of the filth and bacteria, and I don’t even want to imagine what might be behind the bathroom walls.”

  “It’s not perfect, but it has potential.”

  “Potential to be condemned.”

  “Not everybody needs professional landscaping and silk wallpaper and a shower the size of a 7-Eleven to be happy.”

  “Yes, they do,” Justine said with absolute certainty. “If they’re honest with themselves.”

  They stared each other down for a moment. Lara could hear Sandra rustling papers from the safety of the kitchen.

  Finally Justine stepped closer to Lara and lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “I did not spend the last three decades pulling ninety-hour workweeks so that my only child could live”—she spread out her arms to encompass the perfectly serviceable living room—“like this.”

  “Yes, you did,” Lara insisted, sticking out her chin. “You showed me every day how important it is to set goals and bust your ass to achieve them. You didn’t expect things to be handed to you, and neither do I.”

  Justine pressed her index fingers against her temples. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

  “Can’t help it. It’s in my bloodline.”

  Sandra poked her head out. “Well, ladies? What’s the verdict?”

  “Let’s put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” Lara folded up the listing sheet and tucked it into her pocket.

  “Unacceptable,” Justine said. “We need something with more square footage, a better floor plan, and grass in the yard.”

  Sandra’s gaze bounced from mother to daughter and back again before she made her decision and followed Justine’s directions.

  “Absolutely. I’ve got a place in mind. Just went on the market.”

  “Excellent,” Justine said. “How many bathrooms?”

  “Two and a half,” Sandra reported.

  “And the bathtubs—are they garden tubs or standard?”

  Justine and Sandra led the way out of the starter home and climbed into the front seat of Sandra’s sedan. Lara was relegated to the backseat, where she regressed to a slouchy, sullen adolescent. While the two older women in front discussed mortgage rates, equity, and desirable neighborhoods, Lara dug an ancient pack of Trident out of her bag and proceeded to blow bubbles.

  But Justine was in her element, engaged and electrified with the prospect of ferreting out a bargain. Carpet stains and the promise of garden tubs had done what Lara herself could not—given her mother a reason to venture beyond the gates of silent, sheltered Mayfair Estates.

  And that, Lara reflected, was worth a few wasted house tours.

  Chapter 23

  “We’re going to win the blue ribbon today,” Cherie Chadwick announced when she greeted Lara outside the convention center in Scottsdale. “I can feel it.”

  “We’ll do our very best.” Lara took Eskie’s leash and scratched the bouncing Berner behind the
ears. “Right, girl?”

  “I sent out a card announcing our third-place finish to all the judges. I had it professionally designed.”

  “Which judges?” Lara asked. “The ones from the last competition?”

  “No, no—the ones who will be judging today.” When Cherie crouched down to kiss her dog, the massive diamond studs on her earlobes sparkled in the sunlight. “My darling girl looks especially radiant today, I must say. And so do you—this suit is smashing.” She smoothed down the lapels of Lara’s fringed blazer.

  The smashing suit, featuring black, white, and turquoise bouclé, had cost upward of fifteen hundred dollars. Cherie had taken Lara to visit her personal shopper yesterday morning. Lara had nearly passed out in the dressing room when she glanced at the price tag, but Cherie insisted that she try it on, come out into the mirrored alcove between dressing rooms, and parade around like a show dog strutting her stuff for the judges.

  And then Cherie had whipped out her credit card and purchased the suit without a second’s hesitation. A suit that would hang unused in the closet, save for the few hours per month when Lara would put it on to trot around an arena with a dog. But that was the world of conformation shows. Ultimately, Lara knew, Eskie’s scores depended more on good looks and the judge’s personal preferences than structural perfection or obedience.

  “Today is a winning day.” Cherie practically sang as they waited at the edge of the parking lot for Eskie to complete her final pre-show potty break. “There’s nothing like a blue ribbon to accessorize an outfit.”

  “Come on, girl.” Lara took the leash and worked Eskie through a few basic commands and practice stacks. “Let’s go get ’em.”

  And they did. Lara wasn’t sure if it was the energy in the convention center or the way her suit skirt showed off Eskie’s topline or the groomer’s liberal application of Big Sexy Hair, but everything seemed to fall into place. Eskie picked up on Lara’s quiet intensity, and instead of trying to play with the other dogs in the ring and say hi to every living being that wandered by, she focused on the judges. She pranced and preened and showed her teeth in a demure little canine smile.

  “Good girl,” Lara murmured as they awaited the judge’s scoring. She rewarded the dog with an extra bit of beef jerky.

  The judge must have liked what he saw, because he awarded first place to Eskie. Lara beamed as she shook his hand and then filed out of the ring.

  “Mission accomplished.” She handed over the blue ribbon to Cherie, who handed back a sealed envelope, no doubt containing another “treat.”

  “I knew it! I knew my baby was a winner, and I knew you were the right one to handle her.” Cherie threw her arms around Eskie and kissed every inch of the dog’s fuzzy white muzzle. “Oh, I love being right! And now we’re going to sweep the Best in Group title, too, and go on to Best in Show. My darling’s going to be a national champion.”

  “One thing at a time,” Lara cautioned.

  “I can’t wait to tell everyone. Here, go back in the ring and pose with the judge. I need to take some photos for the next campaign ad.” Lara and Eskie smiled for the camera while Cherie snapped pictures and complimented the judge on his exquisite taste.

  Because the Best in Group title couldn’t be awarded until all the working breeds finished showing, they had an hour of downtime. Cherie took Eskie back to the car for brushing and black Vaseline application, then handed the dog back to Lara.

  “You should take her for a while,” she said, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m all keyed up, and I think it’s making her nervous.”

  “No problem.” Lara picked up Eskie’s leash and strolled around the perimeter of the arena. At first Eskie did seem a bit stressed, panting and drooling, but soon she relaxed enough to start sniffing the ground and licking the sides of trash cans.

  As Lara watched a group of Belgian Malinois compete, she noticed a man smiling at her from across the ring. He was so good-looking and gazing at her so intently, it was all she could do not to whip her head around to see if some hottie was standing behind her.

  And then she realized: Oh, he’s checking Eskie out. In a crowd like this, a beautiful Bernese mountain dog caused more of a stir than any supermodel.

  But no, the guy kept glancing directly at her. Once she made eye contact, he started toward her.

  Flustered, she wiped her palms on her skirt and said a quick prayer of thanks that Justine had refused to let her leave the house without mascara, lipstick, and powder.

  She felt a bit fluttery, but her excitement was tempered with little pangs of disappointment and disloyalty. She didn’t want to be thinking about Evan at a time like this.

  But she was.

  As the stranger strode up, tall and broad-shouldered with a boyish dimple in one cheek, Lara returned his smile.

  Before either of them could say a word, Eskie inserted herself between them, sitting directly on the guy’s shoes and leaning against his shins.

  He stumbled backward but laughed as he righted himself.

  “Sorry.” Lara guided the dog back into a sit-stay. “This is Eskie. She must like you—I’ve never seen her do that before.”

  “She’s very pretty.” He bent to pet her, then glanced at Lara for permission. “May I?”

  “Go ahead. She loves meeting new people.” This proved to be an understatement. Eskie reared back on her hind legs, placed her paws in his hands, and lunged forward to swipe at his face with her tongue.

  To his credit, he neither retreated nor grimaced in disgust. He let Eskie down easy, one paw at a time.

  Lara reinstated the sit-stay, pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket, and reached up to dab at his cheek. “Well, now you know my secret: I’m the worst dog trainer ever.”

  “On the contrary.” His fingers grazed hers as he took the tissue and finished drying his face. “I can see that she respects and fears you.”

  Lara had to laugh, and while Eskie didn’t launch another full frontal assault, she wagged her tail and lifted one paw in an offer to shake hands with her new crush. Lara could practically see the red cartoon hearts in place of her eyeballs.

  “I’m Tim.” Much to Eskie’s dismay, he opted to shake with Lara instead.

  “Hi, Tim. I’m Lara.” She put her hand in his and they both held on just a moment longer than necessary. “Is your dog showing today?”

  “No, I’m here with my sister. She’s showing a couple of her Jack Russell terriers. I was helping her out with the grunt work like setting up crates and keeping an eye on the dogs who aren’t in the ring.” He flexed his bicep. “I’m the Jack Russell roadie.”

  “What a nice brother.”

  “Well, I still owe her for scalping all her Barbies when we were kids. But we’re done for the afternoon, and . . .” For the first time, he seemed unsure of himself. “There’s no witty way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it. Is there any chance I could take you and Eskie to dinner?”

  Lara had never been very good at flirting. She kind of laughed and sighed simultaneously, then said, “I’d love to, but we have to stick around for the Best in Group judging.”

  “How about tomorrow, then?”

  Lara hesitated. She knew she should say yes. “Well . . .”

  “Next week?” He grinned again, flashing that dimple. “Stop me if I start to sound desperate.”

  “You sound delightful,” she said. “I have to ask you one question, though. Are you a dog person?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied, without a moment’s hesitation. “Love dogs. Don’t have one currently, but that’s just because of recent changes in my life.”

  Lara leaned in. “What kind of changes?”

  “Let me give you my card. Call me if you want to get together and talk.”

  He pressed a card into her fingers with another lingering squeeze, then patted Eskie and walked away.

  Lara and Eskie watched him go, both of them drooling slightly.

  She felt a slow, stunned smile spreading acr
oss her face.

  Evan who?

  * * *

  Oh my God, it’s Evan Walker!

  On Sunday afternoon, Lara agreed to attend an urban scent class with Helen and Frank Years and their two foxhounds. The class was held in a public park next to a big outdoor shopping center, and the parking lot was crowded with weekend shoppers. Lara had to circle Target, Petco, and Home Depot until she finally found a spot. As she hurried across the asphalt, she noticed a man matching her stride in the next aisle of cars. A man who looked a lot like Evan.

  She stopped in her tracks, trying to determine if it was really him.

  It was.

  Her whole body froze up, and she inhaled sharply, so loudly that the guy—the guy she’d been living with and sleeping with and planning a future with until Squirrelgate—glanced her way.

  Evan froze up for a moment, too. Then he ducked and covered and ran back to his car like he was fleeing sniper fire.

  Lara kept her gaze straight ahead and her facial muscles locked into what she hoped was a neutral expression. But her initial humiliation quickly twisted into red-hot rage. How dare he ignore her? And flee? After all they’d been through together, she didn’t deserve to be treated like—

  “Lara?” She heard his voice behind her. He sounded slightly out of breath and teeth-gratingly jovial. “What are you doing here?”

  She refused to turn around. “I’m on my way to a dog training class. You?”

  “Home Depot run.”

  She couldn’t resist. “Need a few plumbing supplies?”

  He tried to laugh this off. “No. Just fixing some drywall.”

  She closed her eyes and waited for some pointed comment about how he was still repairing all the damage her dogs had done to his house, but he surprised her by changing the subject.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Great,” she said, matching his cheery tone. “I’m thinking of buying a house.”

  “Really?” He didn’t sound quite so jolly anymore. “Good for you. It’s a great time to buy.” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you staying with Kerry?”