“Then you’d better point me in the direction of the dressing room.” She wrapped the end of Wheezy’s leash firmly around her hand and gave it a tug. “Wheezy and I have a lot of work to do.”

Chapter 22

“That dog, I’m sorry to say, is the least qualified golden retriever I’ve ever witnessed in action.”

Ruby stood in the center of the show ring, where Wheezy lay in an unmoving heap. Several hundred people were seated on the bleachers on either side of her—both unfamiliar faces and familiar ones, including Mrs. Orson, her mother, and Eva’s entire family. An announcer in a gold jacket stood poised with a microphone placed to his lips, but for the first time in the hour he’d been at work, he had nothing to say.

The judge was saying it all for him.

“I don’t know who sold you this animal or what convinced you to enter him in a dog show, but he’s an abomination against everything the AKC upholds.” The judge, a woman of about Ruby’s age in a well-cut suit and black head wrap, lifted a finger and pointed it at Wheezy. “He’s sluggish. He has poor stature. His head is well formed and he has intelligent eyes, but he needs some serious grooming before he comes anywhere near this competition again. And don’t even get me started on his training.”

Ruby nodded her understanding and continued to let the wave of criticism wash over her. It felt good, like a baptismal cleansing followed by a painfully deep massage. She knew it. She’d known it all along. Wheezy was the last dog on earth who should be given a trophy, either because she was in a sort-of relationship with one of the dog-show organizers or because he was anything approaching show-quality.

He was, quite literally, the worst.

Ruby braced herself for more feedback along the same lines. It was no more than she deserved. For the past ten minutes, she’d been unable to haul Wheezy away from the show ring. Exhausted with the labors of being brushed and fed and lavished with an inordinate amount of care, he’d had enough.

But when the judge spoke again, it wasn’t to her.

“Then again, I don’t know what I expected from an animal trained by Caleb Wilson. Let me guess… You thought you could charm him into doing your bidding, is that it? A smile and a laugh, and you’d have him eating out of the palm of your hand?”

Caleb nudged Ruby out of the way to take her place in the hot seat. Like her, he’d been unable to get Wheezy to do much of anything once the dog decided that the most ideal place to nap was directly in front of the judging table. Unlike her, he’d been laughing almost the whole time.