Page 24 of I Hate You More

“Oh no.” Ruby cast an anxious glance at the golden retriever. “Is it bad? Caleb was trying to groom Wheezy, but he didn’t like it. He howled.”

“Men always do.” Eva clucked her tongue. “You should see what happens when I try to give the boys a haircut. Speaking of, my husband will be here any minute with the pack of them. Spencer invited us over for a barbecue. Will you stay? Please stay you’ll stay.”

Ruby did her best not to watch for Spencer’s reaction as this invitation was offered, but she was acutely aware of him as he drew close. He stopped short of the white-painted line in the yard, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable.

“Of course she’s staying,” Caleb said. His brother’s arrival seemed to have sparked some life into him. Like the two dogs, he was suddenly restless and excited, eager for attention. He didn’t have a tail, but the spirit of it wagged within him. “Whatever Eva wants, Eva gets.”

“If that’s the case, then Ruby is coming to any and all gatherings until one of you brings home a girlfriend.” Eva rolled her eyes in Ruby’s direction. “You have no idea what it’s like to be the only female at these things. It’s penises everywhere I turn. No, don’t laugh—I’m serious. The little ones will whip it out any chance they get, and as for the big ones, well, I’m sure I don’t have to tellyouthe lengths they’ll go to show it off. You probably get more dick pics than a syphilis hotline.”

“Some of us are able to control ourselves in public, thanks,” Spencer said tightly. “No matter what the provocation.” He nodded toward the stage platform. “What’s all this about?”

Just like that, Ruby decided to stay. She wasn’t sure if it was the reference to Spencer’s iron will that did it or if it was the way he glared at the stage as though it had personally offended him, but there was no way she was going to bow out and give him the field.

She was a paying customer. Wheezy needed training. And since the platform was on Caleb’s side of the yard, she was well within her rights. If anything,hewas the one getting in the way ofheropportunity to transform Wheezy into a star.

“I’m improvising.” She cocked her head at him. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

“What is it?” he asked, diplomatically choosing not to answer.

“This is how Ruby and I are going to get Wheezy his championship title,” Caleb said. “It’s a stage.”

Spencer sighed and scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “Yes, I can see that. What I meant was, for what purpose? You know as well as I do that the dogs don’t appear on a stage—they show in the ring. You’ll only confuse the poor animal if you make him prance around on this thing.”

“Wheezy is a highly intelligent animal and a natural showman,” Ruby retorted, feeling nettled. The stage wasn’t forprancing. It was for performing. “He only needs the right setting—a little something extra to light his theatrical fire.”

Considering that the dog in question was trying to bury his tree root underneath his own body right now, her theory was a hard sell.

“I didn’t give permission for this to go up in my backyard,” Spencer said.

“But it’s not technically in your backyard, is it?” Ruby glanced at the line separating them. Since now seemed as good a time as any to show how far they’d come in the training, she released a sharp whistle. The sound had the effect of causing Caesar to waddle obediently up, but Wheezy didn’t lift his head.

Becauseof coursehe didn’t.

She was about to make excuses for him—the trauma of the haircut, the deliciousness of the tree root, all that hammering sending his senses into disorder—but Spencer beat her to it. With his usual air of command, he said, “Wheezy, come.”

When the dog didn’t do more than twitch one of his curly golden ears, Spencer snapped his fingers and added, “Now.”

With only a mild grumble at being thus summoned, the golden retriever got to his feet and trotted over to his side.

“Wheezy!” Ruby cried. “You’re making us look bad!”

“Spencer does that at the office, too,” Eva said. “All he has to do is clap his hands one time, and the dogs just line up.”

“Don’t get too excited” was Caleb’s contribution. “There’s probably roast beef in his pocket.”

Whatever magic Spencer kept inside his pants remained a mystery. After offering some low-voiced praise to the animal at his feet, he turned his attention to Ruby. “You’re more than welcome to stay for the barbecue,” he said, sounding surprisingly like he meant it. “Caleb doesn’t seem to be doing much with your dog, so the least we can do is feed you.”

Since the alternative—to take Wheezy back to Mrs. Orson, still untrained and now boasting a lopsided haircut—wasn’t very appealing, Ruby decided to take him up on the offer. Besides, the ease with which Spencer got Wheezy to comply with his orders was giving her an idea. There was more than one Wilson man in this world capable of issuing orders.

“I’d love that, thanks,” she said. Eva jumped and clapped her hands, which sealed the deal. “But someone had better grab a hammer and help me finish this stage. I know just how we’re going to get Wheezy to start acting like a show dog.”

“Unless the answer is hard work, years of training, and carefully curated breeding, there’s no point,” Spencer warned.

Her only reply was to hoist the hammer and return her attention to the stage. She’d been curated since the day she was born, and hard work and training were in her blood.

Along with a spark that delighted her as much as it burned.

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