The Chihuahua Affair: Best in Show Read online

  The Chihuahua Affair

  Best in Show

  by

  Amy Jarecki

  Rapture Books

  Copyright © 2017, Amy Jarecki

  Jarecki, Amy

  The Chihuahua Affair

  Chihuahua Affair, The

  AISN:

  First Release: July, 2013 as Chihuahua Momma

  Book Cover Design by: Amy Jarecki

  Book Cover Photo:

  http://www.123rf.com/profile_majesticca'>majesticca / 123RF Stock Photo

  Edited by: Gabriela Lessa

  Revision Copy Edit by: Star Montgomery

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences.

  DEDICATION

  To my wonderful daughter, Moriah, who introduced me to the world of dog showing and relentlessly pleaded with me to buy our first Chihuahua.

  Table of Contents

  The Chihuahua Affair

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Excerpt from The Highland Duke

  Not just a holiday read!

  Other Books by Amy Jarecki

  About the Author

  Foreword

  This book was originally published by Turquoise Morning Press under the title Chihuahua Momma. After the rights reversion and a significant rewrite, I have re-released the novel with a new title. I hope you enjoy The Chihuahua Affair! ~ Amy Jarecki

  Chapter One

  Like all males, this guy was a sucker for a back massage as he leaned into Rebecca’s skilled fingers with a blissful moan. He arched his back when she found that “spot”. Chuckling at the dog’s leg-shaking response, she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror over the stainless steel doggie bath. Good Lord, the Wicked Witch of the East would be jealous. Nothing like warm steam to make Rebecca’s fiery mop frizz.

  But the dogs didn’t care. She lathered the Powder Puff Chinese Crested to the tune of “Uptown Girl”, belting out the third verse while her toes tapped and her hips swung. With the teenagers at school, no one was home to object. Besides, she sounded pretty good, substituting “doggie paws” in the parts where the words faded into the foggy mist hanging above the tub.

  During the musical riff, she took her hand off the Crested to swipe the encroaching frizz from her eyes. Mistake. The dog took advantage of his freedom and shook, splattering her with water and suds.

  “Darn you little rascal.” Rebecca twitched as tepid bath water dribbled down her face. Glancing at the mirror, she dabbed her cheeks with her shirt sleeve. The suds in her hair would have to wait.

  As she reached for the spray hose, a muffled doorbell rang. Her eyes shot to a plastic black-and-white Chihuahua clock, its tail wagging to the tick of each half-second.

  Ten minutes early and he’s at the wrong door. Miserable luck. This always happens when I look like Brunehilda.

  She fastened the grooming loop on the Crested and folded up the side panel of the bath to ensure the dog’s safety. “Stay,” she commanded regardless of the barricade.

  Dashing from her studio, she opened the door of her Southern New Jersey home.

  Holy shit. I need to get out more.

  How in God’s name could her palms perspire, her heartbeat race and her knees grow weak in one blink? Rebecca even forgot to breathe.

  The man standing on her stoop grinned. White teeth, sparkly blue eyes, square jaw. Guys who looked like Howie Long definitely shouldn’t go around knocking on widow’s doors. “Hi,” he talked, too…in a rumbly deep voice that sent a shiver down Rebecca’s arms. “I’m Matt Johnson.”

  Holy help.

  She stood motionless, hiding behind her mop of hair. Her mouth hung open. Had she started to drool? And when had she become such a total dork?

  “Ma’am?”

  Though his voice had resonated on the phone, she didn’t expect someone quite so tall or m-m-masculine. Fortyish? He had to be close to her age. Gulping back a wave of self-consciousness, Rebecca raked her fingers through the sudsy tangle. “Um, you’re early. Come in. I’m Rebecca Lee.”

  Her fingers trembled as she held the door. She rushed ahead and spoke over her shoulder so she didn’t have to look at those all-pervading eyes again. “This way. You’re going to have to wait a couple of minutes while I rinse out this dog.”

  “Sure thing,” he replied—maybe his voice sounded deeper in person? “Nice place.”

  Rebecca smiled at his second remark as she entered the studio, her shoes squeaking on the black-and-white checked floor that matched her clock and curtains. One wall displayed a checkerboard of pictures of Rebecca and her winning dogs and the wall across the room was lined with white kennel cages. Though she made every effort to keep it sterile as a hospital, when the dogs spotted Matt, it sounded more like the pound.

  “Silence,” she shouted and the raucous barking stopped, except for Bruno, the boisterous Long Coat Chihuahua on the end. He always demanded to have the last word. She reached for the spray hose.

  Matt rested his elbows on the side of the bath, focusing on Rebecca’s sodden victim, shaking like a vibrating cell phone.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She scooted aside and glanced in the mirror. A whistle slipped through her lips. The bubbles in her hair had dissipated, but red frizz had taken over. Soon her face would be lost beneath the tangle. She showered the poor dog with warm water, wishing she could hang her head over the bath and hose it down too.

  “That’s not a Chihuahua, is it?” A question that no dog professional would need to ask.

  But Rebecca expected greenhorn questions from amateurs. “Nope, Puff’s a Chinese Crested.”

  He casually shifted his stance and crossed his ankles. “Really? I thought they were hairless.”

  Maybe he wasn’t a total greenhorn. “You’re right, but there are two varieties, hairless and powder puff, like this one.” She toweled off the dog, put him in a crate and attached a hair dryer to the cage door. “So, you’re looking for a pet Chihuahua?” Rebecca forced herself to look him in the eye—managed not to tremble, too.

  “Sure am.” He walked over to the bank of kennels and bent down to look inside.

  She quickly dragged her fingers through her hair, trying not to look at his rear end. Holy hell, when was the last time she’d checked out a man’s butt?

  Like never.

  The dogs welcomed him with barks and yips as he peeked into each crate. “I just moved to Jersey. Live in a condo, so a big dog is out of the question.” He turned and faced her with a sideways grin. “I had a Chihuahua when I was a kid. He was kin
d of a chick magnet.”

  Rebecca stepped back and crossed her arms. “Oh?” Whoa hot guy police. Chick magnet? No thank you.

  Matt shrugged. “I grew up in Malibu. The beach was my backyard. Every time I took the dog outside I was surrounded.”

  “My son wouldn’t be caught out of the house with one. Weren’t you teased?” Rebecca’s earlier nerves eased with dog talk. Besides, if this guy was a playboy, he could keep those baby blues and his Levis.

  A chuckle accompanied his grin—like being a hot guy didn’t faze him in the slightest. “I played football. No one would dare.”

  She walked over to an exercise pen where three puppies slept and an older one pulled on a squeaky toy with its teeth. She gestured toward the sleeping mass. “These puppies are ready for sale. I never let my babies go before twelve weeks to ensure they’re healthy. I also require all buyers to fill out a contract. Do you have a yard for exercise?”

  “Yep. I have a garden-level unit with a fenced area.”

  “That’ll do. They don’t need much room, but they must be exercised morning and night. Do you have time in your life for a dog?” Her confidence ratcheted up another notch.

  “When I’m not working, I have nothing but time.” His eyes drifted away and he sucked in a deep breath, turning his attention to the dogs. The older puppy, a white smooth coat with two brown spots on his back and another over his left eye, yipped at him playfully while the others slept in a ring of fur. Matt chuckled and bent to pick up the little spunk. Of course he’d hone in on the only dog that wasn’t for sale.

  “Patches is show quality.” Her fists flew to her hips. “He’s cute, isn’t he? But not for sale.”

  The dog licked Matt’s face while its tail whirled. “Why not?”

  “I show my dogs, and plan to add Patches to my breeding program. He has great conformation.” Matt gave her a questioning look and she reached for the wriggling puppy and took him to the grooming table. Putting on her show-ring professionalism, Rebecca set Patches on all fours. “This is what’s called a perfect stack.” With her thumb and pointer finger she lifted his flews and revealed his teeth. “He also has a scissor bite.”

  “That’s a good thing?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rebecca stepped back to “showcase” Patches, his big round eyes watching her, his tail wagging like a pinwheel in a gale force wind. “He has saucy eyes and both his testicles have dropped.”

  There, take that Mr. Chick Magnet.

  Matt’s eyebrows arched with the mention of testicles. He blushed too. Who knew football players blushed?

  Grinning, she made a flourishing gesture toward the dog’s hind quarter. “That’s a great combination for the show ring. He’s five months and will be old enough for puppy classes at six.”

  Satisfied with her explanation, Rebecca took Patches back to the exercise pen and picked up a pure-white sleepy smooth coat. “This little cutie-pie will make a wonderful pet. She’s going to be small and I won’t be able to breed her.”

  “So that’s why she’s pet quality?” Matt looked over the tiny dog. He smiled. “They’re cute. I wish I could buy them all.”

  Rebecca laughed. “They say you can’t have just one Chihuahua.”

  When Matt set the puppy down, the sweetie-pie launched into a show of wagging her tail and dancing in circles, demanding more attention. He watched as the others roused joined the play, all pushing each other out of the way, stepping on paws and giddy for a chance to be singled out.

  He glanced back at Rebecca with a shrewd look in his eye. No grinning this time, just a determined set to his jaw…a disarming jaw at that. “Soooo,” his deep voice rumbled in a too sexy-for-business kind of way. What would it take for you to sell Patches…ah…if the buyer planned to show him?”

  Rebecca’s eyebrows flew up, her arms folded and her foot tapped. “Do you have any experience in the ring?”

  “No, but I’d like to learn.” He looked so honest.

  Rebecca tightened those arms crossed across her torso.

  Sell a sure-fire champion like Patches to a greenhorn?

  “Like I said, Patches isn’t for sale, but I do train people to show their dogs if you’re interested in learning.”

  “You do? Cool.”

  “Classes are out back in the shed on Tuesday and Thursday nights.”

  Matt knelt by the pen and played with the puppies. Standing back, Rebecca watched how they took to him. Chihuahuas had great intuition and she could tell by watching their interaction if a prospective owner might be an abusive type. She always told visitors that Chihuahuas were “three-day dogs,” because they took three days to get used to a new person, but this Matt Johnson was being adored without so much as a bark—and Chi’s couldn’t care less what a person looked like in a pair of jeans.

  Maybe he has a good heart. That’s odd, a nice-looking man with a good heart? What am I missing here?

  Matt flashed a smile that gave her spontaneous butterflies, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in two years and thought lost forever. Goodness, what forty-year-old woman got butterflies? The sooner she could show him the door, the better…and what was she doing telling him about classes? She’d be tripping all over herself if he came to class twice a week.

  “What do I have to do to buy Patches?” he asked.

  Butterflies squashed, Rebecca pursed her lips, ignoring Matt’s infectious smile. He could stop looking at her with so much intensity, too. Sell the dog to a novice? It was a risk…and she didn’t even know this guy. He could promise to show up for classes, then never come back. She clenched her teeth, her mind racing. Come to think of it, there was a whole lot more to consider this season. Rebecca not only showed her dogs, she had several client dogs to handle and hoped her seventeen-year-old daughter, Amanda, would help with Patches. However, Amanda could be unpredictable and Rebecca was unsure if she could count on her—and property taxes were coming up.

  She could use the money from a good sale. As long as…

  “Come with me.” Rebecca picked up Patches and headed out the back door of the studio, leading the way to the “shed,” a giant steel building used for dog training. Inside were two rings divided by white picket fences and lined with green rubber mats.

  Slipping a delicate white practice lead around Patches’ neck, she handed it to Matt. “I want to see how you move with the dog. Walk down and back.”

  Let’s see if Mr. Blue Eyes has a clue what showing’s about.

  Matt complied and strode down the long green runner with Patches. The little dog looked up at him and followed. As they returned, Patches stopped halfway back and refused to budge. Tugging against the lead, the puppy hopped around trying to get away, throwing his nose from side to side.

  “Give the dog his head. Never tug on a Chihuahua, it will only make him fight more.”

  “His head?”

  “Keep a little slack in the lead rather than pulling it tight. You want the lead to look straight but your fingers will feel some give.” Rebecca grabbed a piece of dried liver from a canister on the desk. “Do it again. If he stops, halt immediately and coax him forward with the treat. The lead is only there for show. Do not drag the dog, ever.”

  “All right. Come on Patches.” Matt clutched the lead and started down the mat with a determined gait. As Rebecca predicted, Patches stopped in the exact same place. As she instructed, Matt bent down and let him smell the liver. The puppy took a couple of steps forward.

  “Good. Next time, show him the treat and inch toward me. He must learn to walk down and back without stopping. You need to teach him the reward will come when he finishes the pattern.”

  Rebecca left Matt to practice while she went to finish brushing out the Crested—at least that’s what she said, first she stole a few minutes to review the online questionnaire he’d filled out before making their appointment. Scrolling down, she found his place of employment, “Johnson and Evans Lean Manufacturing.” She copied and pasted the company name into
Google, which listed the web site first. When she clicked, a picture of Matt and another, stockier, dark-haired man smiled back at her. Their tag line: “Engineered Solutions for a Competitive Edge.”

  Scrolling down, she found an announcement, “East Coast Operations Opens.” Rebecca clicked on the hyperlink and scanned an article explaining that founding partner, Matt Johnson, relocated to New Jersey to expand their business.

  Looks legit.

  After combing out the Crested, she slipped through the door of the shed. “How’re you doing?”

  Matt ran his hand across his sandy flat-top. “I can’t believe it takes so long to master a simple pattern, but he sure does like dried liver.”

  “Show me what you got.”

  The man grinned. Not a simple everyday smile, but a heart-stopping melt into a pile of mush type of grin. Worse, it was impossible to avoid a glance at his solid physique as he strolled away for the “down” and doubly impossible to ignore his tight butt in those Levi’s.

  He must work out.

  With a jolt, she snapped back into her instructor role pretending to watch Patches’ movement as Matt turned to walk back toward her. Miraculously, the dog stopped in a nice stack. “Good.” Rebecca cleared her throat and clenched her fists, daring to look Matt directly in the eyes. “Here’s the deal. Patches is three grand and I want breeding rights. You’re going to have to commit to dog training every Tuesday and Thursday night for at least three months. I’ve entered him into the puppy class at the Kennel Club of Philadelphia in a few weeks. It’s a three-day show. Can you get off work that Friday?” Not waiting for a response, she continued, “If this situation doesn’t work out, I’ll take the dog back. Deal?”

  Matt didn’t even flinch at the inflated price or her litany of exceptions. “Deal.”

  Rebecca glanced at the well-worn lead in his hands. “You can keep that to practice with.”

  After filling out the paperwork and accepting a check, she escorted him to the studio door, handing him a bag of puppy food.