The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  As she’d predicted, Murphy had enjoyed every minute of the job. He was clever and outgoing, with an incredible work ethic, and he definitely had “star quality.” He knew that he’d done his job well, and he practically glowed with pride. Even the director had commented on the terrier’s charisma.

  “I think today is the beginning of a long and successful show biz career,” Lara told the tired pooch.

  Cleo the dock-diving begollie might have a cameo or two in her future as well. While Lara had gathered up Murphy’s gear, one of the producers had approached her and asked if she’d be interested in booking a commercial for a flea-and-tick preventative.

  “We need a dog who will run across a wooden dock and jump into a lake,” the producer explained. “Do you work with any who can do that?”

  “I do,” Lara replied. “But you’ll have to pay her in blueberries.”

  She backed out of the parking lot and checked the directions to Peter’s house. He’d been delighted to send Murphy out for the job; he couldn’t have been prouder if a talent scout had offered him a movie role.

  Fifteen minutes later, as she was preparing to turn right at a busy intersection near the mall, a huge brown dog darted across the street directly in front of her car. She slammed on the brakes, missing the animal by inches.

  For a split second, she closed her eyes, her heart slamming in her chest. Then she turned on her hazard lights and jumped out of the car.

  The dog was ducking and weaving through four lanes of traffic, panicking. Lara waited for the light to change again, called out in her most authoritative tone to get the dog’s attention, and headed for the safety of the sidewalk while clapping loudly. The dog’s chase instinct kicked in, and it bounded after Lara, relieved to have a pack leader to follow.

  “Good job.” Lara wrapped her fingers around the dog’s green leather collar.

  The poor thing was wild-eyed and panting heavily, so Lara crouched down next to it and murmured in low tones while she moved her palms in wide, slow circles around its shoulders. This achieved the desired calming effect, but it also set off a river of drool, which hung down from the dog’s jowls in stringy white loops.

  “You look like a bloodhound,” Lara told the dog. “And you drool like one, too.”

  She led the way back to her car, where Murphy was still sacked out in his crate, unaware that anything had happened.

  “Come on. Let’s get you a nice cool drink and we’ll see if we can find your owner.”

  She poured bottled water into one of the collapsible canvas dishes tucked in the seat pocket, then twisted the green collar around to examine the brass tag attached to the buckle.

  Sure enough, the tag listed a phone number and address.

  A phone number and address that she recognized.

  She sat back and stared at the massive, drool-drenched bloodhound. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Chapter 30

  “It’s so good to talk to you, La-la. Come have lunch with me.” Her father’s voice on the phone was conciliatory. He knew she was angry, but he was pretending he didn’t.

  “Dad, I can’t.” She sat in Peter’s driveway, waving good-bye to Murphy and keeping a close eye on the bloodhound, who’d spattered the back windows of the station wagon with speckles of drool.

  “Come meet your pops for dinner,” Gil said. “Just you and me.”

  “Can’t,” Lara said.

  “Important work appointment?”

  “Bloodhound in the backseat.”

  He paused, unsure how to interpret this. Then he tried again. “Just have a quick drink with me. I’m at the place where they have the iced tea you like. We’ll sit on the patio so you can bring the dog, if you like.”

  Because Peter was still standing on his front porch, holding up Murphy and waving to her with his little yellow paw, Lara kept a smile on her face. “Dad . . .”

  “One glass of iced tea,” he pleaded. “Half a glass. That’s all I ask.”

  Lara gave in, started the ignition, and unwrapped the square of dark chocolate she kept in her handbag for emotional emergencies. “If only that were true.”

  * * *

  “I ordered for you,” her father announced before she even sat down at the restaurant’s wrought-iron bistro table. “Cup of clam chowder and the ahi appetizer.”

  She watched in dismay as a server approached, carrying a tray of hot food. “I told you, I can’t stay. I have a random dog sleeping in my car.” By the time she’d arrived at the restaurant, the bloodhound had crashed out in the back of the station wagon, so she’d parked near the patio, rolled down the windows, and let the poor thing nap.

  “Calm down,” Gil chided. “You can make time to slurp a bowl of soup.”

  Lara stopped protesting and simply pushed the steaming mug of soup away. This conversational merry-go-round could keep circling indefinitely if she didn’t force a direct confrontation. “I think I know why you want to speak with me.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. About the adoption letter.” She kept her gaze fixed on the wisps of steam rising from the chowder. The opening lines of her rehearsed little speech were lodged in her throat. It was one thing to make a decision in her own mind, but to give voice to these words, to actually come right out and say, I can’t endorse you as a parent, seemed so harsh.

  But she had no choice. There was no way she could sit down and write the recommendation, and so the end result would be the same.

  She could dash his hopes with a quick, devastating assault or with a slow trickle of empty promises and strategic emotional retreat.

  After years of chasing after a man in emotional retreat, Lara knew the direct approach was kinder.

  So she would get straight to the point. Just as soon as she recovered from her panic attack.

  “Sweetie.” Gil touched her wrist. “Are you all right?”

  Her airway closed up. She felt as though she was literally, physically choking.

  “I’m all right,” she finally managed. “Sorry. I guess the iced tea went down the wrong way.”

  He offered her a sip of his water. “Better now?”

  “Better.” She inhaled deeply. “So about the adoption recommendation. I can’t.”

  Her father pulled away from her. “Lara.” His voice was layered with surprise and raw, undisguised pain.

  She started shredding the empty straw wrapper by her glass. Anything she could say now would only make things worse. Any defense would be systematically dismantled.

  He waited.

  She waited.

  The silence between them stretched into a standoff.

  Finally Gill sighed and gave in. “I know you’re upset about Teddy. The pet store, the injections, everything. We screwed up—I screwed up. I admit it.”

  “This isn’t about the puppy.” She remembered the feel of Teddy’s soft, warm body starting to cool in her arms. “It isn’t just about the puppy.”

  “I know how you feel about dogs, but a puppy is not the same as a baby. Even you have to admit that.”

  “I do.” She remembered Kerry’s teary, bloodshot eyes as she paced with her infant and pleaded for help. She imagined first her mother, then Trina, experiencing that same exhausted desperation all alone.

  Her father’s eyes went dark with sorrow and disappointment. “I’ve changed, Lara. You underestimate my potential.”

  She nodded. “Maybe.”

  “I deserve another chance from you.”

  “I’ll give you another chance,” she said softly. “I’ll always give you another chance, whether I want to or not. You’re my dad and I love you. But I can’t do this for you.”

  He glanced down at the floor, then took her hand again. “Don’t you see how important this is to me? I can fix my mistakes, make up for all the time I lost with you. . . .”

  For a nanosecond, she considered saying that it must be nice to apply for a do-over child and where could she apply for a do-over father?

  But she k
new he was hurting, maybe even worse than she was. He would never see himself clearly, never recognize his own failings, and it was not her responsibility to make him. Her job was to accept him for who he was and to allow herself to start grieving for the relationship she would never share with him. So she kept her mouth shut and her head down and weathered the guilt trip without comment.

  When he realized she wasn’t going to engage in his debate, he concluded with “I’m disappointed in you.”

  Lara was shocked to realize how much these words stung, how deeply she still craved his approval. Even though she was an adult who told herself she’d given up on him long ago, it hurt to think that he would give up on her, too.

  “We’re going to go ahead with the adoption anyway,” he informed her, his tone defiant.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “I’m still going to get what I want.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why do you have to keep punishing me for things I can’t change?”

  “I’m not, Dad. I . . .” But she couldn’t explain herself. More to the point, she didn’t want to.

  “Are you’re saying I’m a bad father now? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No.”

  “Then why can’t you just let it go?”

  Lara looked up and decided to do exactly that. She gathered her coat and bag. “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re just going to take off in the middle like this?”

  “I have a lost dog to deliver.”

  “If you walk out of here, you’re making a choice,” he threatened.

  She put down cash for her share of the meal and left.

  She’d finally done it: set her limit, stuck to her boundary. And while she knew her father was upset, she couldn’t worry about him anymore. All she could think about right now was the bloodhound waiting to be reunited with its owner.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of a well-kept house in a quiet middle-class neighborhood. She strode across the lawn, taking care not to trip on the hose lying in the walkway.

  When she reached the front stoop, she jabbed the doorbell, tapped her foot, then jabbed it again.

  She heard faint sounds of life from the other side of the door—muffled footfalls and the drone of a televised sportscaster.

  “Give it up,” she yelled through the thick wooden panels. “I know you’re in there. I can hear ESPN.” She turned her fist sideways and pounded on the door, SWAT-team style. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

  She heard the locks unbolting, and then the door swung inward just far enough for Evan to stick his head out.

  For a moment, Lara drew back and took in his bloodshot eyes and thicket-like cheek stubble. He looked as tired and despairing as Kerry had a few weeks ago.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Lara tried to tamp down her instinctive pangs of sympathy as she gave him a thorough once-over. Then she reached out and plucked a single strand of chestnut-colored fur off the collar of his white T-shirt. “Aha! What’s the meaning of this?”

  He ducked back into the house and tried to shut the door, but she blocked it with her sneaker.

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he said.

  “You don’t have to,” she allowed, “but you will. I’ve got something in my car that belongs to you. Or should I say someone.”

  Chapter 31

  “You found Honey?” The door swung wide again, and Evan stepped out onto the welcome mat.

  “I did.” Lara dangled her key fob in front of his face. “But before I unlock the car, you’ll have to start talking.”

  He ducked his head. “Why bother? It sounds like you already know everything.”

  “All I know is that I damn near ran over a giant bloodhound near Scottsdale and Sixty-fourth, and—”

  “Oh my God.” His face went ashen. “She was running in the street?”

  “—and when I coaxed her into my car, I checked her tag. Guess whose address and phone number were inscribed on it.”

  At this, a note of pride crept into his voice. “I got her microchipped, too. You always say dogs should have identification on them at all times.”

  “I do say that.” Lara leaned against the tan stucco wall, confused and sad and angry all at once. “But I thought you weren’t a dog person.”

  Evan’s expression went from shocked to sheepish. “That’s what I thought, too. But I guess I just hadn’t met the right one.”

  She took a moment to absorb this. “So you and . . .”

  “Honey,” Evan supplied.

  “You and Honey have been together for how long now?”

  “A few weeks. She showed up in the backyard one morning, same as the pit bull puppies.” He kind of slurred this last sentence together, the conversational equivalent of speeding past a perilous patch of road. “I wanted to call you to take her, or drop her off at the shelter, or something, but she kept looking at me with those eyes, and then I brought her with me to a soccer game, and next thing you know, we were going for a run every morning and watching the Super Bowl together.”

  Lara still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You. Got a dog.”

  “I had no choice.” He raked a hand through his hair. “She liked me. She wouldn’t leave.”

  “And you like her, too.”

  “Yes, okay? Fine. I admit it. I like my dog.”

  “And if she ate a cake off your kitchen counter?” Lara pressed.

  “I’d still like her.”

  “What’s different about her?” Lara glanced back at her car, where the back window was spattered in Jackson Pollock–like dribbles of drool. “Is she perfectly behaved?”

  “No, she’s just as bad as all the rest.” Evan chuckled, apparently amused by Honey’s criminal tendencies. “Worse, really, because of all the drooling. It’s unreal. We’re talking rivers of drool.”

  “I can see that.”

  He ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “Plus, I’m pretty sure she has a death wish. The third day she was here, she ate a bunch of the neighbor kid’s crayons, which gave her kidney stones, and I had to drop twenty-six hundred dollars at the vet’s.”

  “And you’re fine with all that?”

  Evan shrugged. “I can’t explain it. She’s just special. After you left, this whole place was too quiet and empty. I missed you, and it was nice to have someone to come home to after work. I guess”—now he looked really embarrassed—“you know how you’re always saying every dog is a lifeline?”

  Lara nodded.

  “Well, she’s mine.”

  A few weeks ago, Lara would have felt vindicated at this admission, but now she just felt deflated.

  “So you broke up with me and replaced me with a dog,” she said. “Harsh, but fitting.”

  “Lara, I could never replace you. Never. While you were out looking for a new house and becoming the Dog Doyenne, I was sitting around on the couch in my old track shorts, eating bad takeout and thinking about what a jackass I’d been. In fact, the night I saw you by Petco, I was trying to—”

  “Petco?” Lara pushed off the wall and put her hands on her hips. “You told me you were coming out of Home Depot!”

  “What else could I say? When you first saw me, I was carrying a bag full of treats and toys and a stuffed squirrel exactly like the one I, uh, had issues with previously. I had to hide it in my car before I could talk to you.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “So what were you trying to say that night? It seemed like you had a lot of unfinished questions.”

  He reached out to touch her cheek. “I wanted to ask: Can I see you again? Can we start over? I wanted to tell you I’m not seeing anyone else.” His thumb traced her jawline. “What about you?”

  Lara took a breath, then confessed, “I went out on one date. But it didn’t work out.”

  “Jerk didn’t like dogs?” Evan guessed.

  “No, he liked dogs
,” Lara said, sidling forward a bit.

  He took another step toward her, frowning slightly. “Couldn’t bake you a cake?”

  She threw him a devilish little grin. “Oh, he probably would have made me a cake eventually.”

  He leaned forward, his voice deepening. “I’m positive he couldn’t love you as much as I do.”

  “Mr. Squirrel and all?”

  He tilted his face until his mouth almost brushed hers. “You’re perfect for me. Exactly the way you are.”

  “Then yes. Yes to everything. Yes, you can see me again. Yes, we can start over.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a sweet, seductive, first-date kind of kiss. He responded with a hot, demanding, third-date kind of kiss, which left her no choice but to up the ante with a positively scorching fifth-date kiss. But then, before she got entirely carried away, she pulled back and said, “Not so fast. What about the white VW with the sparkly pink heart sticker?”

  Thankfully, he was too busy trying to slide his hand under the hem of her shirt to ask how she knew about the white car. “The dog walker.” His face darkened. “Ex–dog walker. I should have known better than to trust some flighty undergrad. I told her a million times to pay attention on walks and hold the leash with both hands, but noooo. She decided to let Honey off-leash ‘just for two minutes’ to show her friends how Honey can play soccer. I’ve been searching for two days, calling vets, posting flyers.”

  “Honey can play soccer?”

  “She’s the canine version of David Beckham. We’ll discuss it later.” He drew her inside the house and kicked the door shut behind them. They stumbled across the living room, kissing and kissing until they fell back onto the sofa cushions, eliciting a loud squeak from a dog toy buried underneath.

  * * *

  “Admit it,” Lara said, swinging one bare foot lazily in the air as she sprawled across Evan’s bare chest. “I’ve dragged you down to my level.”