Page 1 of I Hate You More

Chapter 1

“That is, without question, the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Ruby gave a start of surprise at the unexpected voice so close behind her and jerked the leash in her hand. Predictably, the dog on the other end—a poodle shaved and trimmed into a series of white puffs like a Q-tip—didn’t move. Ruby had been holding on to her for over five minutes, and she had yet to see the dog do anything but blink. Her owner had commanded her to stay, so stay was what she intended to do.

“I shouldn’t say that,” the voice continued in a low, flirtatious rumble. Its owner, a tall, well-built stranger with shoulders like a linebacker, smiled as he stepped close. “I’m not supposed to play favorites, but you’ve obviously put a lot of time and effort into this dog. What’s his name?”

“Her,” she said. “It’s a girl dog.”

“Well, she’s got something special, that’s for sure.” The man extended a hand, his eyes smiling down into hers. They were gorgeous eyes, so dark they were almost black and ringed with the kind of long, curling eyelashes that Ruby had regularly pasted on when she was kid. “I’m Spencer Wilson, by the way. In case you can’t tell, I’m one of the judges.”

In studded jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretched a little too tight for Ruby’s tastes, he didn’tlooklike much of a dog-show judge, but she knew better than to be deceived by appearances.

“Ruby,” she said, shaking his hand. “Ruby Taylor. Only there’s been a mistake. I’m not—”

At the sound of her voice, the only other dog in the room sent up a howl of dismay. They were in a hallway of sorts, waiting to submit their entry to the West Coast Canine Classic, and the golden retriever wasn’t happy with the delay. He wasn’t happy aboutanything, especially the fact that Ruby was giving all her attention to the perfectly poised poodle that had been left in her care. The poodle’s owner had forgotten some papers in the car and dashed out to grab them, begging Ruby to keep an eye on her precious darling in the meantime.

Unfortunately, Wheezy wasn’t a dog who shared. Wheezy wasn’t a dog who did much of anything except make Ruby’s life difficult.

“Yikes,” the man—Spencer—said as he took in Ruby’sactualcharge. It didn’t help that Wheezy had met with an accident on the way in, which mostly involved the discovery of a mud puddle and a determined effort to reach the bottom of it. “What happened to him?”

“It rained this morning,” Ruby said, feeling defensive. Okay, so Wheezy didn’t look his best rightnow, but the competition hadn’t technically started. They were just here to drop off their paperwork and pay the entrance fee. There were still a good two months until the actual dog show. “There are puddles all over the parking lot.”

“And yet you managed to get your dog inside without falling into any.” Spencer grinned at her. It was agoodgrin, the kind that started in his eyes and crinkled into laugh lines around his mouth, but something about it felt off. Probably because the man was mocking poor Wheezy before they’d even managed to get a foot in the door. That didn’t seem like very professional dog-show-judge behavior to her. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how many of these we get every year.”

“How manywhatsyou get?” Ruby asked, suspicious.

He heaved a mock sigh. “Everyone with a beloved family pet seems to think they can just roll up here and enter the show. No training, no grooming, no pedigree… I mean, come on. Wouldyoubring an animal like that to the most prestigious dog show on this side of the country? To compete against a gorgeous girl like this one?”

Spencer placed a reverential hand on the poodle’s head, but his gaze wasn’t focused on the dog. Instead, his wide, obvious smile took Ruby in from top to bottom.

She pretended not to understand him.

“He’s notthatbad,” she said with a nod at Wheezy, who’d given up howling to scratch at an itch on his neck. Enthusiastic flecks of mud splattered all over the white linoleum. “A little rough around the edges, maybe, but he has something this poodle doesn’t.”

“Fleas?” Spencer suggested with a laugh.

Ruby wasn’t impressed. “I was thinking more along the lines of personality.”

To be fair, the man wasn’t entirely wrong. Wheezy—a golden retriever of questionable parentage, zero formal training, and the personality of a slug—was the last animal on earth who should be enteringanydog show, let alone the West Coast Canine Classic.

Yet here they were, doing it anyway.

“Why, dear—don’t you think you can help Wheezy win?”Wheezy’s owner had asked. Mrs. Orson, who weighed all of a hundred pounds soaking wet, had been in bed at the time, which was Ruby’s excuse for giving in so easily. Mrs. Orson always looked her frailest while she was lying down. And she knew it, too, the old sneak. Of all the residents at the retirement community where Ruby worked as a nursing assistant, Mrs. Orson was the wiliest.“I was so sure you could manage, with all your experience in pageants… No matter. It’s only a dying woman’s last wish. I’ll ask Harry if he can do this one small thing for me instead.”

Harry, who’d never set foot on a pageant stage in his life.Harry, who’d once thrown Mrs. Dewan’s Maltese into the community pool after Ruby had spent two painstaking hours combing the tangles out of its hair.Harry, who’d gladly let Ruby do every bit of work around the retirement community and then proceed to take credit for it.

If Ruby had stopped to think for five seconds, she’d have seen Mrs. Orson’s tactics for what they were. The older woman had been threatening to die for as long as Ruby had known her and always rallied the moment she got her way. But Ruby, with her pride on the line and the image of Harry Gunderson in her stead, had ruffled up, hotly defended her ability to claim any crown no matter the odds, and accepted the task set before her: to bring home a dog-show trophy for the world’s most useless animal.

In theory, putting Ruby in charge of a golden retriever’s show-dog debut was a sound plan. For the first eighteen years of her life, she’d been a show dog herself. Okay, she’d technically been a showhuman, but the idea was the same. She’d been primped and curled and trained to jump through the right hoops. She’d spent hours every day on grooming and deportment. She’d gazed longingly out the window at the other children chasing balls and going for walks.

She’d won, too. Her childhood bedroom—untouched by time or her mother’s hands—was a testament to all she’d once been and would ever be. The walls were lined with obscenely large tiaras, stacked and organized by size and weight. Should the Big Quake ever hit Seattle and raze it to the ground, no one standing inside that room would survive. They’d be buried under a mountain of Ruby’s gilded—and wasted—potential.

“Where’s his owner, anyway?” Spencer asked with a glance at his watch. “It’s past ten. The show’s probably closed to new entries by now.”

“Probably?” Ruby echoed. “Shouldn’t you know? I thought you were one of the judges.”

“I am,” Spencer was quick to say—almost too quick, if you asked her. “Which is why you’re in luck. For the small price of dinner with me, I’d be willing to fudge the time stamp in your favor.”