He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, sniffed the air, and called her bluff. Without paying either of them the least heed, he wandered into the living room and hefted himself into a comfortable spot in the corner of one of her mother’s black velvet couches.

“He’ll shed all over everything!” her mom cried. “Ruby, how could you? You don’t have the time or the space for a dog. I hope you’re not planning on leaving him here.”

Ruby shook her head in a strong negative. Wheezy was a nuisance and a menace, but she wouldn’t subject her worst enemy to life under her mother’s roof—especially once her mom found out Wheezy had started pageant training.

It wasn’t that her mother wouldn’t care about the dog; it was that she would. She’d take over Wheezy’s diet and lifestyle and free time and every waking thought. Nothing drove that woman like a golden trophy looming on the horizon. Ruby had come by her competitive impulses honestly. No one liked winning as much as her mom.

“Don’t worry, Mom. He’s not mine. I’m taking care of him for one of the residents at Parkwood Manor.”

That got her mom to perk up. “Oh? A resident? Have I heard of him?”

Ruby couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly her mother changed face. Laurel had cried the day her daughter landed a job taking care of the elderly. According to her, it was a waste of Ruby’s youth and beauty. She’d disappear into an old persons’ home, she said, smelling of antiseptic and lavender perfume and never seeing anyone who mattered.

Unfortunately for them both, her mom had come across a magazine article a few days later. It told the story of a young woman who took care of the old man who lived next door to her, only to discover that he was a rich miser sitting on millions of dollars and without any next of kin to spend it. A whirlwind romance, an elaborate wedding ceremony, and six months of wedded bliss later, that young woman had become an incredibly wealthy widow.

“Just like Anna Nicole!” Ruby’s mother had cried. “Only without all that messy legal nonsense afterward.”

Since that time, her mother refused to believe that Ruby worked at Parkwood Manor because she genuinely liked the residents there or because it felt good to contribute her meager bit to society. To hear her mother tell the tale—which she did to an embarrassingly exaggerated degree—Ruby was on the hunt for a rich husband with at least one foot in the grave.

“It’s a her, Mom, and no, you haven’t met.”

Her mother was nothing if not resilient. “Does she have a son?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“A nephew? A grandson? A brother?”