Page 13 of I Hate You More

“I’ll swing by the office this afternoon with the payment in full,” Ruby promised. She lowered her voice and added, “And in the future, it’ll be better if you call my number instead of this one. You might as well forward the bills to me while you’re at it. They aren’t going to get paid otherwise.”

She rattled off her phone number and her address, unsurprised when the woman didn’t protest this unorthodox billing method. Over the years, Ruby had learned that most companies didn’t care who did the paying, as long as the check didn’t bounce.

It took some careful budgeting and more overtime than she cared for, but Ruby’s checks never bounced.

“That feels better, doesn’t it?” Her mother smiled brightly before pressing a kiss on both of Ruby’s cheeks. Ruby could feel the print of her signature rose lipstick leaving a mark and was oddly comforted by it. Some things would never change—and her mother, no matter how frustrating she could be, was one of them. “Bless you, love, for taking care of your poor old mom. Would you like some iced tea?”

“Yes, but only if you put sugar in it. You know I can’t stand it unsweetened.”

Her mom shuddered but didn’t protest, which said a lot about the current state of their relationship. Like Ruby only sticking her tongue out when she couldn’t be seen, her mom did her best not to comment on Ruby’s eating habits. It had taken ten long years to reach this precarious balance, not to mention Ruby threatening not to pick up the tab when her mother inevitably fell behind on her bills, but they’d reached it.

To Laurel Taylor, Ruby was and always would be the daughter who could have reached the top…but didn’t. Instead of the famous actress/model/arm candy for some rich millionaire that her mother had hoped she’d be, she was a nursing assistant whose BMI fell smack-dab in the middle of average. It was hard to tell which of those offenses hurt her mom the most.

“I’ll put two teaspoons in, but I can’t bring myself to sully it any more than that,” her mother warned as she moved efficiently through the kitchen. When she wasn’t working on marrying her own millionaire, her mother made ends meet by waitressing. It showed in how neatly she worked—and how lithe her form was. Nothing, she said, burned calories like waiting hand and foot on ungrateful customers. Unless it was waiting on ungrateful men. “Ruby Maynard Taylor, why is there a dog standing behind you?”

“Probably because I told him to stay put.” Ruby turned to glare at Wheezy, who stood panting and pleased with himself in the doorway to the kitchen. She had no idea how he’d managed to shrug his way out of his collar and leash, but he’d done it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know how you feel about animals in the house. I tied him up under the tree in the front yard, but he always does the exact opposite of what I want. Watch. Come, Wheezy.”

Wheezy promptly slumped himself to the linoleum floor.

“Stay, Wheezy.”

He groaned himself back to a standing position and took a few tentative steps into the kitchen. Even her mother’s warning hiss didn’t stop him.

“I’ll give you a cookie, Wheezy. All you have to do is come closer.”

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 shewould. 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?”

“I’m going to stop you before you start asking whether her father is still with us.” Ruby held up a hand. “She’s a sweet old lady who doesn’t get many visitors. I like her and promised to help. That’s all.”

“Help her with what?”

Ruby sighed and toyed with her glass of tea. It wasn’t nearly sweet enough to be palatable, but she took a sip anyway.