The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service (5 page)

And Justine’s master plan imploded when Lara declared her major as biology and decided to stay in Los Angeles over school breaks, interning for movie studio animal trainers and studying marine mammal training techniques at SeaWorld instead of working at the Scottsdale salon. Her dog-handling skills improved exponentially. And her human-handling skills deteriorated.

“What exactly is your life plan?” Justine had demanded. “How are you going to make your fortune training dogs to eat Pedigree on command?”

“I’m not going to make a fortune. No one gets into this kind of work for the money,” Lara countered. “But it’s my calling.”

“Who cares what your calling is?” Justine scoffed. “Do you think I get some deep-seated spiritual fulfillment out of providing eyebrow threading and blond highlights? Don’t follow your calling. Follow the money.”

By graduation, Lara had learned not to divulge any details of her internship or her dating life to her mother, because Justine would always say the same thing: “You cannot trust a man. You can only rely on yourself.”

And yet here she was, living with a wonderful guy who wanted to marry her. Proving her mother wrong. She should feel happy and victorious. So why was she constantly edgy and anxious?

“Okay, okay.” She took pity on Linus, who was standing on the other side of the glass door with a worried expression on his jowly face, desperate to get back inside. “You know, someday soon you’re going to beg to get out there. Trust and believe.”

The second she opened the door, Linus bounded inside. It was the fastest she’d ever seen him move. He returned to his crate and immediately went back to sleep with a contented sigh.

Maybe the key to happiness was having a short memory and the conviction that all of life’s problems could be solved with a chew toy, a nap, and the occasional belly rub.

She returned to the kitchen, checked the clock, and determined that she still had two hours before she had to be at her first appointment of the day. So she put on jeans and whispered, “Park,” to the dogs, setting off the canine equivalent of a prison riot.

With the exception of Linus, everyone was leashed, out the door, and loaded into the station wagon in less than sixty seconds. The park was a three-mile drive, during which all the dogs slobbered on the windows and Lara cranked up the radio and sang along with the Go-Go’s at the top of her lungs. Rufus howled along at the chorus.

Upon arrival, she was so busy untangling leashes that she didn’t notice the woman approaching the car until the willowy blonde with the perfect makeup and the determined smile was within handshake distance.

“Are you Lara Madigan?”

Another
parking lot ambush? Lara glanced past the woman, noticed the man with a video camera behind her, ducked back into her car, and grabbed her little metal canister of pepper spray before admitting, “Yes.”

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Claudia Brightling, one of the anchors on the Channel Three morning show. We’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

Chapter 6

“These must be your dogs.” The impeccably attired anchorwoman managed to keep her poker face as Maverick wound his leash around her knees and Zsa Zsa sniffed at the crotch of her charcoal gray pants.

“Yes.” Lara pointed to each furry head by way of introduction. “Maverick, Rufus, Raggs, and that’s Zsa Zsa there, acting very unladylike.” She gave the poodle’s leash a quick tug. “Zsa Zsa. Sit.”

Zsa Zsa sat.

Lara led the pack toward the fenced dog run. “I’m not sure I understand. You said you’ve been waiting for me?”

“Your boyfriend didn’t tell you?”

Lara was feeling more confused by the second. “No, Evan didn’t mention anything about the Channel Three morning show.” She looked over at the camera. “Is that thing on?”

Claudia shook her head. “Don’t worry; we’re not recording you. We just wanted to get a few exterior shots of the park for the show. And yes, I spoke with Evan this morning when I called your house. He said you come here every Friday morning, so we thought we’d kill two birds with one stone. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to appear on the show next week.” The interviewer’s detached smile transformed into a genuine grin as she confided, “I got your contact information from Peter Hoffstead.”

“Murphy’s owner?”

“Yes.” A faint blush seeped into Claudia’s cheeks. “I met him on the jogging path over the weekend, and he described how you hooked him up with Murphy. He said you’re famous all around the city as ‘the dog matchmaker.’”

Lara let the dogs through the gate and unclipped the leashes. “Well, I don’t have an official title, but I do the best I can.”

“It’s a terrific human interest story. You could bring one of your dogs, explain what you do and how you match people up with their canine soul mates.”

“I’ve never been on TV.”

“You’ll do great,” Claudia assured her. “All you have to do is show up, preferably with a well-behaved dog, and be yourself.”

Lara envisioned herself walking onto a television set, with bright lights and cameras and lots of people staring at her—not to mention thousands of home viewers—and her throat closed up.

“Think of it as a chance to get some free publicity for the rescue group you work with. We could list the Web site on-screen while we interview.”

“I don’t work with an official incorporated rescue,” Lara confessed. “We’re kind of a grassroots operation. It’s just me, my friend Kerry, and way too many dogs.”

“Perfect! Together, we’ll find them all great homes.” Claudia whipped out her smartphone and tapped the screen. “Shall we say Wednesday?”

“Um . . .”

“My producer will be in touch with all the details.”

“Great. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Do we have the footage we need?” Claudia called to the camera guy. Then she turned back to Lara and said, “I’ve got to go home and throw on some spandex and sneakers. I’m going hiking with Peter.”

Lara finally started to relax. “Murphy reeled you in, huh?”

Claudia nodded, laughing. “I couldn’t say no.”

“Watch yourself. Those terriers are trouble.”

“What? No! He’s just a lovable little bundle of scruff.”

Lara couldn’t suppress a triumphant smile as she watched Raggs and Rufus chase each other around. She might never be CEO material, and she was far from the ideal girlfriend, but as a dog matchmaker, she was a virtuoso.

* * *

“I got the blood work results,” Jason reported when Lara walked into the vet clinic after her last appointment of the day.

Lara braced herself for the worst. Linus’s extreme lethargy didn’t bode well for his health. “And?”

“And everything came back normal. Kidney function looks good, liver function’s fine, pancreas checks out. Red and white cell counts are within normal range.” Jason scanned the sheet of paper, nodding. “No sign of pathology at all.”

Lara frowned. Linus had been sleeping almost without interruption for two days straight. “So no valley fever, then.”

“No valley fever.”

“What about his thyroid?”

Jason glanced up. “Thyroxine and triidothyronine are both fine. Why?”

Lara dropped her bag on the counter and rested her chin in her hand. “Well, he just seems exhausted all the time.”

“Maybe he’s traumatized.”

“Maybe.” But Lara sensed shenanigans. “Or maybe he’s just a big faker.”

* * *

Lara crept down the hallway as silently as possible, tiptoeing on bare feet and holding her breath. Since Linus had seemed so mopey that morning, she’d left him in the kitchen with the crate door open so he could explore the room and help himself to a drink from the water bowl if he so desired.

She peeked around the corner to find the big red dog lying next to the patio door, gazing out at the backyard with his head lifted and his eyes open.

As soon as he saw her, his head dropped and his eyes snapped shut.

Then she noticed the faucet. A steady trickle of water dripped from the kitchen sink, almost as if someone had nudged the handle. And there were fresh nose prints on the window behind the sink. And wet paw prints on the countertop.

“Aha!” she cried, pointing at the sink. “You are so busted.”

Linus remained immobile, but started to snore in a very dramatic and unconvincing fashion.

“Give it up. You’re not fooling anyone. You’re totally hale and hearty, and I have the blood work to prove it. On your feet, private. We’re going for a walk.”

She gated the other dogs in the kitchen, put Linus on a leash, and led him out the front door. At first, he dragged along behind her with his head hung low and his tail curled under, but by the time they’d circled the block, he started to show signs of life. His gait picked up, he turned to look at the kids playing in driveways, and he began sniffing signposts and mailboxes.

Once he’d cheered up enough to snatch a stick lying by the curb and wave it around in his jaws, Lara decided to hold a mini training session, just to gauge his potential and intellect.

Ten minutes later, Linus could sit on command and was well on his way to staying. Evan had been right—Linus was kind of dumb, which could actually be an asset, from a trainer’s point of view. He didn’t try to defy her or anticipate her next move. He just stared at her, his brow furrowed and his black eyes bright with concentration as he devoted all his brainpower to figuring out what she wanted. Lara felt the kind of high she imagined a shopaholic might get upon discovering the very last designer dress in her size tucked away at the back of the clearance rack.

This dog was a treasure. This dog was a bargain. This dog was going to be the type of companion that would forever set the benchmark for some lucky family. All their future pets would be compared to Linus—and would probably come up lacking.

“Good boy.” She patted his head and broke into a slow jog. “Ready to go home? You can take another five-hour nap if you want.”

Halfway home, her cell phone rang and her father’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, La-la.” She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “How’s my girl?”

Lara hesitated for a moment, gathering her defenses. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her father; the problem was that she always
did
want to talk to him, no matter how long it had been since their last conversation, or how much had happened. She never, ever learned. “Fine,” she answered. “Thanks for the vacuum.”

“It’s the least I could do. The sales guy said it’s the top of the line, the best for picking up pet hair.” He sounded sheepish. “And I had a year or two to make up for, right?”

“I’m a grown woman, Dad. I don’t expect anyone to make a big deal about my birthday.”

“Hang on. You’re telling me you
don’t
want me to buy you a pony?”

They both laughed, remembering the summer that Justine had signed Lara up for equestrian camp, despite Lara’s protests. Justine had insisted that girls “of a certain background” needed to be comfortable with the English style of riding, while twelve-year-old Lara had maintained that horses were boring and the girls at horse camp would haze her mercilessly. Gil had stepped in at the last minute, allowing Lara to spend the weekend before camp at his house. On Sunday evening, he convinced Justine that Lara had come down with a stomach bug and needed to rest and recover. Father and daughter spent the entire week playing video games and splashing in the pool. That had been one of the happiest times of Lara’s childhood—unstructured, uninterrupted time with a parent who didn’t constantly demand that she look and behave like someone better than her true self.

She assured her father, “I love the vacuum, and I was really surprised.”

“I’ve got another surprise for you.” He sounded triumphant. “Want to have dinner?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “When?”

“Half an hour?”

She slowed her pace, and Linus adjusted his gait to match hers. “Wait. You want to have dinner tonight?”

“There’s a seafood place on Camelback called the Bluewater Grill. Let’s meet there.”

“Dad, I’d love to, but that’s in the middle of downtown, and I already left work. I told my friend Kerry I’d watch
Teen Mom
with her tonight. She’s nine months pregnant and she has a morbid fascination with that show.”

“Oh.” Her father paused. “I’m sorry, hon. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you at the last minute.” He sounded disappointed, but with himself.

“No, it’s okay. Let me call Kerry and reschedule. She recorded it, so we can watch it whenever.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s no problem. But it’s going to take me more than half an hour to change and get all the way downtown. Be there in forty-five minutes?”

“Take your time. We can wait.”

Lara blinked. “Who’s we?”

When her father chuckled, she could picture the mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “That’s the other surprise.”

* * *

“Lara, this is Trina. Trina, this is my beautiful daughter.”

“I’m so glad to finally meet you.” A sweet-faced, dimpled brunette wriggled out of the booth and threw her arms around Lara. “Your father talks about you constantly.”

Trina hugged like she meant it. She was relatively young—maybe seven or eight years older than Lara—but she was probably sensible and secure. Gil liked beautiful women, but he didn’t go for bimbos. His girlfriends tended to be the nurturing type. They doted on him, took care of him in a way that Justine never could.

When everyone settled down and Lara slid onto the leather bench across the table, she noticed the engagement ring on Trina’s left hand. Her eyes widened, and Trina and her father exchanged flustered, fluttery glances.

“We wanted to tell you in person,” her father said.

“It just happened,” Trina gushed. “Last weekend.”

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Lara blurted out. As soon as she said it, she knew she shouldn’t have.

Trina turned to Gil, confused and slightly wounded. Gil reached across the table and covered Lara’s hand with his.

“Sorry. It’s my fault,” Lara told Trina. “I’ve been so swamped at work lately, I haven’t returned any of his calls.”

When the server arrived to take their drink orders, Gil said to Lara, “You look worn-out, honey. You know what you need? A root beer float.”

One corner of Lara’s mouth tugged up in a half smile. “I could definitely go for that.” She asked Trina, “Has he made you one yet?”

“No.” Trina gave Gil a little nudge.

“Well, he’s holding out on you,” Lara said. “He’s worth marrying for the root beer floats alone.”

Gil nodded in acknowledgment. “I hate to brag, but she’s right.”

“You?” Trina kept saying. “Mr. Herbal Tea and Mineral Water?”

“Just because I don’t drink ’em doesn’t mean I can’t make ’em. Prepare to have your mind blown.” Gil called the waiter over and gave him detailed instructions—complete with diagrams scribbled on a cocktail napkin—for proper assembly and ice cream–to-soda ratio. Finally, the server invited Gil to come back behind the bar and oversee the operation himself, which Gil was happy to do.

While Gil manned the soda fountain, Trina stretched out her right hand, admired the little diamond sparkling away on her ring finger, and sighed with contentment. “You look just like him, you know.”

Lara didn’t argue. Although she’d inherited Gil’s blue eyes and thick hair, her features were less pronounced, and she’d never had his charisma. She knew that Trina wasn’t really seeing her right now—she was just seeing reflections of the man she adored.

Trina leaned in and confided, “I know it seems rushed. The engagement and all.”

Lara shifted in her seat, not sure what to say. “Hey, as long as you’re happy.”

“We are. And we have plans, lots of plans, and you know, what’s the point of waiting?”

“Right.” Lara studied the skylights. “Good for you.”

They heard the bar staff laugh at one of Gil’s jokes, and Trina smiled. “He must’ve been a great dad.”

“He was . . .” Lara searched for the right word. “Fun. I didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, but he was fun, and he always let me be a kid. I needed someone like that in my life.” Gil had been the dad who let her go to the movies instead of slaving away on her history paper, who signed the release form so she could have her belly button pierced when she was fifteen.

Of course, Justine had been the one who’d had to meet with the history teacher to deal with the repercussions of the late term paper. Grim-faced and silent, Justine had driven Lara to the emergency room on a Sunday evening when the belly button piercing she’d neglected to clean had started to blister and ooze.

When Gil returned with the root beer floats, he made a big show of swirling the metal serving cup and sniffing it, as though preparing to sample the finest vintage on the wine list.

They all unwrapped their straws and sipped. The moment the cool, bubbly drink hit her tongue, Lara was transported back to her childhood.

“Oh my God.” Trina swooned. “You
have
been holding out on me.”

“See? I told you,” Lara said. “Worth hanging on to him for the root beer alone.”

Gil suddenly seemed self-conscious, almost shy. He fiddled with his watchband while his fiancée and his daughter beamed at him.