Baker leaped up and gobbled the cookies, swallowing as many of them as she could. They were bitter and sweet at the same time. Not nearly as good as Maeve's. But she was so hungry.
Jassie got up and stomped her foot. “No! Get off my cookies, you nasty dog.”
“Eat whatever you like,” Maeve muttered. “If you can stand the taste of carob.”
“Is there a problem here?” A tall man approached. He was dressed all in black.
“Her stupid dog just ate all of my competition cookies,” Jassie said. “I’m the prize winner. I insist you do something about this.”
Baker finished the cookies and sat down, letting out a satisfied burp. Maeve stepped up beside her and put her hand on her head. “She’s not hurting anyone. Jassie wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and tripped over my dog.”
The guy sighed, tugging on his ear.
“How did I wind up here?” he asked under his breath. “Get a job in security, honey. It will be fun. You’ll make a lot of money this way. Thanks, Sharon, thanks for your lovely advice.”
Baker tilted her head to one side, one ear flopping up, confused by the man’s mumbling.
Maeve cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?”
The big guy dropped his hand from his face.
“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “But you two aren’t. Keep it down in here.”
“But what about the dog? It can’t stay. Look at all the chaos it’s caused. My dish is broken.” Jassie bent and picked up the plate’s pieces, which she shook at the man. “I’m the winner of this competition. You’re supposed to do what I want.”
“Look, lady, I don’t care who you are. Or what the dog did. All I care about is that you behave yourself until it’s time to go home. Or I’ll kick both of you out.”
“Well, this is just great,” Jassie said after he left. “Now, I have nothing for my photo op.” She dumped the pieces of plate on the counter above Baker's head.
Baker barked, and Maeve stroked her ears again. “Never mind her, Baker, she’s not worth it.”
“This is so typical of you, Maeve. You were always trying to make yourself look better than me.”
“Huh?” Maeve shook her head. “Jassie, what are you—?”
“You could never stand it that people liked me, so you tried to be this goodie-goodie sweetheart that everyone loves. Now that I’ve finally beaten you at something, you have to try to sabotage me after the fact.”
Maeve didn’t smell like fear at all, just like her normal flowers and cookies and butter. “Don’t act like you didn’t enter this competition just to mess with me.”
“How dare you!” Jassie put her fists on her hips and glared at Maeve.
A growl sat in Baker’s throat, but she caught it between her teeth and held it, tight as prey in her jaw. She wasn’t sure if Maeve wanted her to. But she didn’t like Jassie. Jassie was mean to her human.
“How dare you accuse me of cheating?”
“I didn’t, you said that,” Maeve replied. “The point is, I didn’t do anything to you, and I never have. I don’t know why you have a problem with me, but it doesn’t really matter right now. You got what you want, so leave us alone.”
Jassie opened her mouth to argue, but a tapping noise interrupted her, and she turned away.
“Ladies and gentleman.” A man stood on a wooden stage in the middle of the tables. “My apologies, but it will be a while longer before we can start our party. It appears one of the judges has taken ill. Please be patient and enjoy some refreshments while you wait.”
The sound of retching from somewhere further back in the tent followed his words. He put down the microphone and hurried off somewhere.
“That’s just great.” Jassie threw up her hands. “If you think I’m sitting here with you and that smelly dog, think again.” She marched off toward a man with a black box on his shoulder, who stood talking to more people.
“Good riddance,” Maeve sighed, and patted Baker’s head. “Do you mind staying here with me a while?”
She barked, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.
There was nowhere else she wanted to be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It seemed there would be yet another delay before they could go home. Apparently, the onsite doctor had sent one of the judges to a hospital because of an obscure almond meal allergy.
Maeve had Baker to keep her company, and Jassie had been flirting with the cameraman for the past half hour. She would come over every now and again to say something mean, but it no longer bothered Maeve.
The disappointment of not having made it had yet to sink in. Or maybe, it was that she had still gotten second place. She’d have some money to get started; it would just take much longer and be a lot more difficult.
But it still felt like a slap in the face that Jassie had won with what Maeve thought was a mediocre entry, at best. Carob-chip cookies.
“But you enjoyed them, didn’t you?” She laughed and patted Baker on the head.
She whined instead of licking Maeve's hand or barking. Or even wagging her tail.
“Baker?”
The dog had closed her eyes. She opened them now and looked up at Maeve, whining again. Her body heaved, and she chomped on air.
“Baker? What’s wrong, girl?”
She retched up half-digested cookies.
Panic gripped her heart. She’s sick.
“What’s the matter, Maeve? Your mutt giving you problems?” Jassie stopped next to the counter and folded her arms. “I told you to get her out of here, but you didn’t listen.”
“Shut up, Jassie.”
“Whoa, somebody’s twitchy.”
Maeve ignored her and got up, walking a few steps from Baker. She bent and patted her knees. “Come on, girl. Come over here.”
Baker struggled up, and as she did, she wet herself. And the floor around the counter.
“Oh, ew, what the heck? Your dog is—”
“Sick. She’s sick.” Maeve turned in a circle, desperate for help. There was a physician on site, the very same who’d sent the allergic judge to the hospital, but he wasn’t a vet. And he didn’t know Baker. “I’ve got to get her to Dr. Dale.”
“If you leave now, you’ll miss out on your prize,” Jassie said, grinning. “Be my guest.”
A judge had stepped onstage. He lifted the mic from its stand. “All right, everyone, we’re just about ready to get started handing out the checks. If the first, second, and third place winners could come forth to the stage now, we’ll get started.”
Baker whined again, retching next to the counter.
Jassie flounced off, swaying her hips and pressing a triumphant smile at anyone who looked her way — which was just about everyone since she drew so much attention.
“There’s our first place,” said the judge. “Now, where’s second and third?”
Maeve couldn’t do this. If she stayed, she’d get her money, but Baker would get worse. What if she died? This looked serious.
Go with your gut. That’s what Mom would say.
“Contestant 987?” The judge’s voice rang through the speakers and sweat gathered on the back of her neck.
Goodbye, bakery. Maeve couldn’t risk Baker’s life, even if it meant risking her dream.
She grabbed Baker’s leash and led her down the aisle. The dog walked painfully slow, stopping to retch every now and again. This was bad. Maeve dropped the leash and bent over to pick her up. Thankfully, she wasn’t too heavy. Baker shuddered against Maeve's chest.
“Hang on, Baker, I’m going to get you to Dr. Dale. Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” She prayed it was true.
Tears welled, but she didn’t let them escape as she ran for the exit.
“There she is.” Jassie’s voice through the speakers. “See there? She’s leaving. She’s disqualified. Ha!”
“Ma’am, give me the microphone, please,” the judge said.
Maeve blocked out Jassie
’s laughter, the whispers and shouts following her as she ran from the tent and out into the parking lot. She made it to her car, put Baker down, then unlocked the door and helped her into the back seat. The poor dog vomited all over the floor. Maeve stroked her back.
“It’s going to be okay.” She got in and miraculously the engine started on the first try. She tore out of the parking lot as fast as the tires would carry her. “We’re going to see Dr. Dale. He’ll help you. It’s going to be okay.”
She had to keep telling herself that, or she would fall apart.
She couldn’t lose Baker now that she finally had her back.
Maeve paced the length of the Pretty Paws lobby, grinding her teeth.
Dr. Dale had rushed Baker through the minute he’d seen her. He hadn’t given Maeve any information at all, but his expression stayed with her. He’d gone wide-eyed, his lips drawing into a thin line.
What’s wrong with her? How did this happen?
She was fine one moment, then sick the next. Maeve didn’t understand. What could it have been?
She marched up to the receptionist desk and placed her palms on it. “Hi.”
“Yes?” The receptionist, the redhaired young woman who had been here during the fight with the Rottweiler, glanced up at Maeve, then glanced back down at the computer screen and frowned. “No, nothing yet.”
“I’ve been waiting over half an hour. I need to know what’s going on with my dog. Can you please find out from Dr. Dale?”
“He’s with Baker right now. He’ll be out as soon as she’s stable.”
“But I have to know. You don’t understand, Baker is … she’s important to me. Please.” Maeve pressed her hands to her stomach. The panic cramped her insides with fear.
The woman rose from her desk and rounded it, coming out and placing a hand on Maeve’s shoulder.
“I understand,” she said softly. “But you have to be patient. Dr. Dale is taking care of her. He’s not going to let anything happen.”
“You’re sure?” Maybe questioning this woman was a bad thing to do — she did seem to know what she was saying, and she’d helped with the Rottweiler before, too — but Maeve couldn’t help it. She needed to know.
“Take a seat. Let me fix you some green tea for your nerves.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Maeve sat. The chairs were threadbare, like they’d been clawed one too many times, or like a million other worried people had picked at them. She placed her hands in her lap and tugged on her fingers. “I just — she’s been in there so long.”
“He’s not going to let anything bad happen,” the redhead said again, and this time, it sounded like a promise. She disappeared briefly behind a door, then came back out with two steaming cups of tea. She handed one to Maeve and kept the other for herself, and they sipped together in silence.
Maeve waited for what felt like an agonizing eternity.
Then the door to the back opened, and Dr. Dale stepped out, hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. He beckoned to Maeve, and she practically jumped from her chair in her hurry to reach him.
“What is it?” she asked, jerking to a stop. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine now. Or she will be. She’s stabilized,” Dr. Dale said. “Would you like to see her?”
“Yes, yes, please!”
He led her down a short hall and through another door, this time into a wide-open room lined with countertops around three walls and a stack of cages against the fourth. There was a pole holding fluids and lines running into one of the cages at the bottom. Dr. Dale nodded toward it, and Maeve dropped to her knees in front of the door.
Baker was there, half-curled at the back of the cage, breathing quietly and not looking up, but also not vomiting and whimpering, so that was probably progress. The line from the fluids was taped down tight on her front paw.
“What’s going on?” Maeve whispered, not wanting to disturb Baker’s rest. “What happened to her?”
“Chocolate poisoning,” he said.
She blinked. “Chocolate? How?”
“Eating it, I would guess,” he said, not unkindly. “You got her here fast enough that we don’t need surgery, but she’ll have to stay here overnight for fluids and observation.”
“I don’t get it. She didn’t have any chocolate.”
“Are you sure?”
“She came with Emma from the shelter, who said Baker hadn’t eaten anything yet, then she hung out with me at the contest. I didn’t feed her anything—”
The blood ran straight out of her head, leaving her dizzy.
How dare you accuse me of cheating? Jassie’s words echoed through Maeve’s head.
Guilty much, Jassie?
“What is it?” Dr. Dale asked, crouching down beside her and looking intently at her. He had very blue eyes that pierced, even through his thick round glasses.
“Carob-chip cookies.” The words tumbled out of her as she thought them. “Jassie cheated. She said her cookies were carob chip, but she must’ve been lying. And I let poor Baker eat them, because I was mad at Jassie. I should have stopped her.” Maeve buried her face into her hands. “I’m the worst dog owner ever.”
“It’s not your fault. You believed they were carob, not chocolate.”
But if she hadn’t been so petty about Jassie beating her, Baker would be fine right now.
And she’d have a ten-thousand-dollar check in her purse.
It served her right. Maeve would happily take this as karma, as long as Baker was okay.
She lowered my hands to peek up at Dr. Dale.
“Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”
“As sure as I can ever be.” Dr. Dale smiled. “You did right getting her in here fast enough. It’s good to see Baker finally has an owner who cares about her.”
Maeve opened her mouth to correct him — she wasn’t technically her owner — but she planned to fix that.
Tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Baker’s mouth tasted ashy and her eyes were scratchy, but none of that mattered. Maeve was here.
Her voice broke through the sleepy haze of sickness and drugs, then she was reaching out and opening the cage door and encouraging her forward to sprawl across her lap.
Baker went willingly, trying to ignore the annoyance of the needle in her leg and the line trying to tangle in her paws. She laid her chin on Maeve’s thigh.
“There you are. You had me really scared.”
She wagged her tail, although it took some effort. Earlier, she barely been able to move and she’d made a mess on the floor. Dr. Dale had lifted her with gentle hands and done things she didn’t like, but now, she felt a lot better. Especially with Maeve here.
Maeve stroked the fur on her neck. “There you go, puppy. I’m here.” Her blue eyes glimmered with tears.
Was she upset?
Baker lifted her head, and Maeve kissed her right between the ears. “This is my fault, Baker. I should never have let you go back to that shelter. I’m so sorry. If you hadn’t gone back, you wouldn’t have been so hungry and you wouldn’t have eaten Jassie’s cookies.”
She poked at Maeve’s chin with her nose, and Maeve laughed softly.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said. “I can’t believe this happened. Chocolate poisoning.”
She licked her hand.
“Those cookies.” Dr. Dale’s voice cut through the quiet moment. Baker hadn’t even noticed him crouching nearby, she’d been so fixed on Maeve. “They were meant to be carob?”
“That’s what Jassie said. She had to list all the ingredients on her entry form, just like the rest of us.” Maeve sighed, shaking her head. “Jassie actually cheated. She nearly killed Baker. It makes me so mad, I could just … ugh.”
“Don’t get mad, get even,” Dr. Dale said. “You should report this to the folks who hosted the contest. If someone who can’t eat chocolate tried one of Jassie’s cookies, they might wind up getting sick, too.”
&nbs
p; “You’re right,” Maeve said sternly. “I’ll speak to them about it. I won’t let Jassie get away with something like this. She cheated, but worse, she hurt Baker. You know what? I’ll go back tomorrow once Baker’s well. I can fetch her tomorrow, right?”
“Bright and early.” Dr. Dale patted her on the arm. “Go home and get some rest.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” And then Maeve wrapped her arms around Baker again. She didn’t flinch anymore, and the smell of fear had faded completely.
She stroked Baker’s ears with her fingers and kissed her head again.
“I have to leave you here for the night. Dr. Dale will look after you, but I’ll be back tomorrow to take you home. All right?”
Baker wagged her tail.
“I promise I’ll be back.”
Maeve promised.
None of the other humans she’d met kept their promises.
But she believed Maeve.
Baker was going home tomorrow.
She would eat shredded chicken and watch more movies and tolerate that annoying Macavity because it made Maeve happy.
And she would never, ever eat another cookie again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Arthur Jacobson, the CEO of HealthNut, was the judge who’d fallen ill the day before. He’d agreed to meet Maeve at her favorite coffee shop — or at least it had been her favorite before she’d broken up with David and stopped going there to avoid running into him.
She’d gotten here early, enjoying the opportunity to sip some coffee while Baker sprawled near her feet, chewing on the toy she’d bought for the dog this morning, on the way to the vet.
“Maeve.” Arthur Jacobson approached her table. He smiled and extended a tanned hand. “Glad to see you again. And sorry to hear you had to leave before the awards ceremony.”
Maeve shook his hand, rising from her chair. “Thanks for coming to see me. I have something troubling to discuss with you.”
He took a seat across from her, and the waitress ran over with a menu for him. “Just a coffee, thanks.”
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