The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  “He always acts like he’s about to throw the ball, but every time he fakes me out.” Lara pulled her right arm back into a pitcher’s stance, then reared forward, but held on to the ball. Linus galloped off toward the back gate in crazed pursuit of the ball that was still clutched in Lara’s hand. “And after all these years, I still go for it every time. I’m even dumber than Linus.”

  “Well, let’s not get carried away. No one is dumber than Linus.” Kerry got serious when she saw Lara’s expression. “You’re not dumb; you just want to trust your dad. That’s completely normal.”

  “I want to believe that he’s different now. I want to believe that he’s capable of being a more involved parent, even if it takes a different child to get him there.” Lara nibbled her lower lip. “Plus, I don’t think he’ll take it very well if I say no.”

  Kerry mulled this over for a bit. “Let me ask you something: If your father wanted to adopt one of our dogs, would you approve his application?”

  Lara called Linus back from his frantic, fruitless search and handed over the tennis ball. “I wouldn’t have a choice.”

  “Really? You’d send him on his way with Linus here, and sleep well at night? You’d feel confident that your dad would keep up with vet appointments, heartworm preventatives, excellent nutrition?” Kerry cupped her hand to her ear. “I don’t hear a yes.”

  “Children and dogs aren’t the same thing,” Lara protested.

  “Yeah, babies are way more work-intensive and emotionally draining,” Kerry reminded her. “And they get colic and reflux and they don’t potty train till they’re three years old. So if you can’t say in good conscience that you’d trust your dad with a puppy, then I don’t see how you could even consider endorsing him for a human being.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Lara went through all the automatic objections to Kerry’s argument.

  What if he really has changed, like, really for real this time?

  And if he hasn’t, isn’t it enough to have a great mom even if the dad’s unreliable?

  And how dare I dictate what’s best for other people’s families when I can’t commit to one of my own?

  In the end, she simply admitted the truth: “But if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to drop out of my life again, and this time he might not ever come back.”

  * * *

  Lara screamed when she saw the foyer floor. She couldn’t help it. The planks of leather and hardwood by Justine’s front door had been scratched, deeply scored with tiny, close-set hatch marks that unmistakably matched the sharp claws of a Shih Tzu hell-bent on destruction.

  Her mother was going to die. Her mother was going to kill. Her mother was going to—

  “Good Lord, Lara, must you shriek like that?”

  Her mother was in the kitchen, about to step out and see the architectural carnage.

  Lara threw herself in her mother’s path, trying to block Justine’s view by wrestling her into a bear hug.

  “Oof.” Justine gasped for breath. “Get off me.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Then stop assaulting me.” Justine wriggled out of Lara’s grasp and sniffed her daughter’s breath. “Are you drunk?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting strangely ever since you went to your father’s wedding.”

  “I didn’t go to his wedding,” Lara said. “Just the lunch afterward.”

  Justine was in no mood to equivocate. “Pull yourself together, young lady. I’ve answered three calls for you just this morning from neighbors requesting your services. Apparently, Cherie Chadwick and Melissa O’Brien have been singing your praises at the country club.”

  “And people are calling you?”

  “Cherie and Melissa told everyone you’re staying with me.” She smiled with a certain grim satisfaction. “I haven’t even reviewed the official offer of purchase for Coterie and already I’m being dragged back into the work world as your secretary and business manager.”

  “Come on, Mom. We both know you’ll never sell the salons.”

  Justine’s smile went from grim to diabolical. “No one knows what I’ll do. It keeps life interesting.”

  “Well, thank you for passing along the messages,” Lara said. “But I really don’t need a business manager. I’m fine. Truly.”

  “I beg to differ.” Justine frowned down at her cuticles. “And by the way, your hourly rate just doubled.”

  “Mother!” That was when Lara noticed that Justine was wearing real clothes—not pajamas masquerading as “loungewear”—and appeared alert and well rested. She didn’t look glamorous, but she did look content.

  So Lara swallowed her objections. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Justine glanced over her shoulder toward the foyer floor. “Now let’s go back to the kitchen and sit down for a minute, shall we? I need to speak with you.”

  That was when Lara realized how quiet the house was. “What did you do to Mullet? Where is she, Mom?”

  “Calm down. All the dogs are safely tucked away in the laundry room.”

  “The laundry room?” Lara cried, as if the laundry room were a rotting third-world prison instead of a clean, bright area so spacious it could practically double as a dog park.

  “Yes. Or, as I like to call it, the holding cell. Now sit.”

  Lara felt the blood drain from her face as she followed her mother to the table and took a seat.

  Justine took her time pouring a glass of water and arranging herself in the chair across from Lara. “I want you to admit that you’ve overextended yourself with these dogs.”

  Oh God. It was going to be Squirrelgate, Part II.

  “Go on,” Justine commanded. “I want to hear you say it: ‘I have too many dogs.’”

  “I . . .” Lara’s voice lapsed into a wheeze.

  “Have too many dogs,” her mother prompted.

  Lara repeated the words, mumbling low and almost unintelligibly.

  “You have overcommitted yourself, and as a result, you are stressed and the dogs are stressed. And Mullet in particular is acting out. Things cannot go on as they have been.”

  “I know,” Lara told the gleaming granite tabletop. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll pay to have the floor refinished.”

  Justine sighed with impatience. “I should have known you weren’t going to make this easy on me.”

  Lara screwed her eyes shut and waited for the ultimatum: Get rid of the dogs or get out of my house.

  “You want me to beg? Fine.” Her mother shifted in her chair. “I’d like to formally adopt her.”

  “Who?” Lara’s eyes flew open. “Mullet? But you hate each other.”

  “We do not.” As if on cue, Mullet strolled into the kitchen, gave Lara a filthy look, and sank down next to Justine’s chair with a phlegmy snort. Instead of petting the dog, Justine sort of nudged her with her foot. Mullet kicked right back.

  Lara watched this exchange in disbelief. “Yeah, you do. I’ve never seen so much stone-cold bitchery in my life. From both of you. And how the hell did she break out of the laundry room?”

  “She’s very resourceful. Have you ever considered that the reason you have so many problems with her is that you constantly underestimate her?”

  “No. I definitely have not considered that.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know that Mew-lay is extremely bright. Temperamental, yes, but—”

  Lara did a double take. “What did you just say?”

  “Mew-lay,” Justine repeated. “Her name.”

  “Is she French now? Are we going the way of calling Target ‘Tar-jay’?”

  “She’s a dignified dog who deserves a dignified name. Honestly, Lara, Mullet? Can you blame her for being out of sorts?”

  Lara looked down at the furry little thug with the squashed-in face and the permanent sneer. “Are you going to start painting her toenails pink and dolling her up in a diamond tiara, too?”

  “Of cou
rse not. That wouldn’t be dignified, either.”

  “Let me tell you something about your precious Mew-lay. She’s impossible to please. She’s rejected at least five potential adopters.”

  “I would expect nothing less from my little Muumuu.” Justine beamed with pride. “She adheres to the highest standards. She was holding out for the right owner, and here I am.”

  Lara gagged. “‘Muumuu’?”

  “Your jealousy is painfully transparent and frankly unbecoming.” Justine sniffed. “There’s no reason to feel threatened by the bond I have with a helpless dog saved from certain death at the pound. You’re still my daughter.”

  Lara gave up. “And she’s your soul mate.”

  “She is.” Her mother nodded. “I thought you wanted me to be happy.”

  Lara kneaded her face in her hands for a moment, then looked up as the realization struck. “I know why you like her so much—she’s a cat.”

  Mullet stuck out her tongue.

  “In all the ways that count, she’s more feline than canine,” Lara said. “The open disdain for humans, the blatant manipulation and sky-high self-esteem . . . Mew-lay should meow.”

  Justine exchanged a look of cliquish superiority with the Shih Tzu. “She has self-respect and dignity, like me. I could never respect a dog who would debase herself for a bowl of commercially processed food.”

  “But that’s every dog in the world! Debasing themselves is what they do!”

  “Not mine.” Now Justine was just flat-out bragging. “Really, don’t be jealous. Green’s not your best color.” She tapped one finger on the table. “Although I feel compelled to point out that you’ve been slacking in the Scrabble department. You haven’t played a new word in days.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I’m just saying, literacy and opposable thumbs are clearly an advantage in this ugly episode of sibling rivalry. If I were you, I’d put them to use.”

  “So now you’re pitting my own foster dog against me to manipulate me to play Scrabble?” Lara tsk-tsked Justine. “You’re unbelievable.” She turned to Mullet. “And you’re a traitor. After all I’ve done for you . . .”

  Mullet flopped over on her side, stretched out her legs, and started snoring.

  Lara got up from the table. “You two deserve each other.”

  As she stalked out of the kitchen, she could have sworn she heard her mother chuckling.

  Chapter 27

  On Saturday morning, at the latest of what was shaping up to be an endless season of conformation trials, Eskie once again snagged Best in Breed and moved on to the Best in Group competition. Midway through the show, Lara discovered a ruthless competitive streak she’d never realized she had. After years of opening her heart, arms, and wallet to the most filthy, matted, and gimpy dogs in Arizona, she found herself suddenly channeling her inner Justine, hyperaware of cosmetic flaws and dismissive of anything less than perfection. No dog could possibly live up to her standards . . . except, of course, Eskie.

  “Look at the snout on that mastiff,” she whispered to Cherie as they scoped out the competition. “Disgraceful. And that schnauzer’s gait is so bouncy.”

  Cherie tilted her head and joined in. “That Newfoundland is frizzy. And the styling on the Kuvasz? Not cute.”

  When the Best in Group judging began, Lara and Eskie bounded into the ring, full of confidence.

  “Second,” the judge announced, moving on to award the blue ribbon to a young fawn boxer so energetic he appeared to be spring-loaded.

  Lara hurried over to the boxer’s handler, offered up a handshake and a totally insincere round of congratulations, but started fuming the second she left the show ring.

  “We were robbed,” she hissed, covering Eskie’s ears to shield the sweet, innocent pup from the harsh truths of the pageant world.

  “Robbed,” Cherie agreed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “This is nothing but breed discrimination, pure and simple. If you’d been up against all those schlumpy sheepdogs in the herding group, we’d have won hands down, but the working group is so cutthroat. Everyone knows it’s practically impossible to beat a boxer.”

  “We’ll get ’em next time,” Lara promised Eskie, who was too busy trying to play with a Brussels griffon puppy to hear her.

  “You have an admirer,” Cherie whispered in Lara’s ear as she pressed another post-competition “treat” from Tiffany & Co. into her palm.

  Lara followed Cherie’s gaze to a stocky, fortyish guy in a baseball cap across the ring. When he caught her eye, he waved and walked toward her with a brisk, purposeful stride.

  “Oh boy.” Lara shoved the beribboned blue box into her bag, handed Eskie’s leash to Cherie, and edged toward the exit. “I better go.”

  Cherie grabbed her wrist. “Don’t run away. What if he’s nice?” Her eyes gleamed. “What if he’s loaded?”

  And before Lara could make her escape, he was upon them.

  “You’re Lara Madigan?” he asked, his gaze disconcertingly direct.

  Lara nodded.

  The guy nodded down at Eskie. “This your dog?”

  “Actually, she’s mine,” Cherie volunteered. “Swiss Star’s Evening Escapade. Isn’t she a beauty?”

  The guy sort of grunted by way of agreement, then returned his focus to Lara.

  “You have excellent handling skills. How long have you two been showing together?”

  “Just a few weeks,” Lara said. “Believe it or not, Eskie only learned to stack a month ago. She’s a natural.”

  “Berners in general aren’t known for their brainpower, but Eskie’s smart as a whip!” Cherie crowed. Eskie panted up at them, looking sweet but vapid.

  “Mm-hmm.” The man didn’t spare the dog another glance. “I’m Harold Jenkins, and I’m involved with a production company shooting a feature film here in town.” He handed Lara a business card. “We’re scheduled to shoot a few scenes featuring a dog, and our trainer dropped out of the project unexpectedly. We’ve been using the same animal-handling agency for the last few years, but they can’t get us a replacement on such short notice. I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of working with us over the next couple of weeks.”

  “Oh, wow,” Lara said. “I actually did an internship with a studio trainer when I was in college. What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, it’s an outdoor scene that requires the dog to run up to a picnic table, grab a hamburger, and run away. We’re slated to shoot in about ten days. I know that’s not much time to train—”

  “Especially since she’s booked every Saturday morning,” Cherie interjected.

  Lara stepped between the film producer and the socialite, feeling absurdly like the prom queen trying to juggle two varsity-football-playing suitors.

  “That’s going to be tight, but it might be doable, given the right dog,” she told Harold. To Cherie, she said, “And you know I would never let another job sidetrack me from Eskie.”

  Harold checked his watch and held out his hand. “Great. So if you could just give me your contact information, I’ll have my people start drafting the offer.”

  Lara fished a pen out of her bag. “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “I called everyone I knew out here who’s in the TV and film business, and one of them recommended you. Claudia Brightling, from the local news affiliate.”

  “Oh, right. She just interviewed me about my rescue group.”

  “Yeah, she raved about you and passed along your number. When I called, your mother answered and told me you were working the show here.” He launched into a rapid-fire explanation of script demands, call times, per diem salary rates, and something about force-adding Lara to a union, but Lara was thinking about only one thing: “Do you have a dog in mind for the role?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t need a specific breed, but we’re hoping to find a scrappy little terrier.”

  Lara started to smile. “A scrappy little terrier.”

  “Yeah. Any chance
you could dig up one of those? Already trained and ready to work?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She walked Cherie and Eskie back to their car, reassured Cherie that she was still Lara’s first and most favored client, then got in touch with a guy who knew what it felt like to root for the underdog.

  “Hi, Peter. It’s Lara. How’s everything going with Murphy? Great, I’m so glad to hear it. Listen, is there any chance I could borrow my old buddy for a few days?”

  * * *

  “I have a new job,” Lara announced as soon as Justine walked through the side door. She’d rushed home from the conformation show to find the huge house empty, and had been waiting (and practicing her online Scrabble game) for more than an hour.

  “I’m aware.” Justine took off her sunglasses and winced slightly as she pried off her wig. Mullet sauntered in behind her with the air of a tragically hip high schooler forced to be seen in public with her parent. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. By the way, what’s up with answering my cell phone?”

  Justine peered into the hall mirror, examining the arch of her penciled-in brows. “I got my start working the salon phones. What did you expect?”

  “I’m going to make a ton of money on this job,” Lara informed her. “I get a per diem, the dog gets a per diem, and they said if this goes well, they’ll recommend me to the other production companies that film commercials and movies out here.” She glanced down at the trio of shopping bags in Justine’s hand. “Where have you been?”

  “Oh, Mew-lay and I hit up some of the boutiques in Old Town. I needed to find her a leash and collar better suited to her personality, and it’s just so hard to tell what things really look like on the Internet.”

  “How’d it go?”

  Justine puckered her lips and dabbed on another coat of gloss. “Oh, fine, except there was a bit of a scrap with a wretched little Yorkie.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “It was entirely the other dog’s fault. Mew-lay was just minding her own business.”

  “I’m sure.” But Lara shot the snotty little Shih Tzu a look of thanks. She had motivated Justine to leave the house without bribery, coercion, or bloodshed. “Anyway, this whole film thing is very exciting because I know exactly what I’m going to do when I get paid.”