Ruby could only stare as Mrs. Orson took both cups and saucers in her firm, unshaking grip and moved toward the living room.

“Peek in the bathroom to check on Wheezy before we settle for our chat, would you? You’ll find antihistamines in the second drawer down if you want to do something about that face—or, if you need something stronger, I think there’s morphine inside the douche box. It might be expired, though.”

Ruby couldn’t find it in her to be shocked or outraged by any of the words coming out of Mrs. Orson’s mouth. The fact that she stored out-of-date morphine inside feminine hygiene product boxes was no more surprising than the fact that her dear, departed husband was neither dear nor departed after all.

And both of those things had no power over her while Spencer’s words were still rolling like pinballs inside her head. He’d offered to throw his dog show for her. He’d offered to throw his dog show for her for no reason other than the fact that they were sleeping together.

And worse than that, he’d offered her forgiveness for it.

She bit back a sob as she searched through the bathroom drawers for the promised antihistamines. It was more of an angry sob than a sad one, even if her eyes were having a hard time getting the message. She dashed a hand at the back of her cheek with one hand while searching through a trove of medications with the other. There was a good chance that what she ended up taking was yet another baby aspirin with the letter scraped off, but it wasn’t like it mattered. She was going to be a bloaty, itchy mess no matter what she ingested.

As if in solidarity, Wheezy let out a high-pitched whine, his legs twitching with dreamy sleep. Ruby put a hand on his heaving side to calm him. She was surprised to find that the warm bulk of him—that hefty, stubborn mass—did more to calm herself instead.

“I know, Wheezy,” she murmured, careful not to wake him. “It’s been a rough day, but we’ll get through it. Fighters like you and me always do.”

With a deep, resolute breath and a quick adjustment of Wheezy’s blanket so he was better tucked in, she headed out of the bathroom to face Mrs. Orson. She had no idea what that woman was going to throw at her next, but she was strangely eager to find out.

“I’m not going to tell you where I got Wheezy’s papers” was the first thing Mrs. Orson said as soon as Ruby walked into the living room. “If you don’t know, then you can’t be held liable for any inaccuracies that may have accidentally slipped in. Let’s get that clear right away.”