Page 39 of Fake It Till You Make It

“Kanaan.” Eli dipped his head in greeting to the clean-shaven giant sporting a lush raven man bun, a khaki-colored T-shirt with the wordSheriffembroidered on the right breast pocket, and oil-stained denim. She had to applaud the uniform. The look worked for both roles. Next to Kanaan, trotting on short legs, was a sleek black-coat dachshund mix with floppy ears wearing what appeared to be a zippered vest filled with socket wrenches. Amarie had seen plenty of domesticated dogs with smart bow ties and frilly tutus, but never had she ever spotted a pooch that looked as if he had full-time benefits.

“And you must be—”

“Amarie,” she interjected, extending her hand in greeting while staring at Kanaan’s working canine, “the business partner to this beastly vet.” She hooked a thumb in Eli’s direction. “He tells me you’re also the sheriff here in Service, so why is your dog dressed like a roadside construction worker?”

Kanaan threw back his head and laughed, the sound hearty and filled with vitality.

“It’s true I’m the local sheriff. But seeing as I’m here in my capacity as a mechanic and this guy’s first cousin, Cocktailhere,” he pointed to the pooch who’d wandered over to Eli’s truck and was now engaged in a barking conversation with Hiccup, “is my experienced assistant.”

“Cousins?” Amarie gave Eli a quizzical look. “My partner forgot to mention that detail, and Cocktail.” He’d recruited more of his family to help her. What a nice Mr. Grumpy Pants. Not that she planned to tell him.

“He forgot more than that.” Kanaan shook his head. “Eli never partnered with anybody growing up.”

“Dang it, Kanaan. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

The dog’s name piqued her interest. “Why did you name him Cocktail?”

He smiled, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. “He is a she.” He angled his chin in Eli’s vicinity. “A, ah, mix of different breeds. ‘Cocktail’ seemed fitting when Eli gave her to me. It was after I returned from serving in Afghanistan.” He shrugged. “My head was pretty messed up back then.”

Wow, Kanaan was a war hero. Before Amarie could thank him for his service, Eli cut in.

“Quit milking her for sympathy, K.”

“Oh, I see what’s happening. You want all her attention for yourself,” Kanaan teased. “Piano. Shot-putter. Javelineer. He did everything solo, Amarie. I’m only telling ya this because a nice lady like yourself should know what she’s getting into with Eli Calvary. But I swear I learn something undiscovered every time we get together, Eli.”

Kanaan still held her hand. And Eli, well, he looked… unwell.

“You do attract the prettiest ladies in town,” he said, proffering his corded forearm. “Hold on to that, pretty lady. Wouldn’t want to tumble.” He grinned. To Eli he said, “If you’re finished messing with the goats, I’ll hitch up Amarie’s beamer.”

“Oh, the perfect gentleman in denim.” Amarie smiled. No suits. Normally, she liked a man in a well-tailored suit, but she rather enjoyed the rugged masculine display of clingy cotton T-shirts and snug jeans on the men of Service.

Behind her Eli grunted, but she paid him no mind. Starting this evening, she would launch everything in her arsenal to make their bachelor auction a success. For now, she basked in the male attention. “Thank you for the warning on my partner, Sheriff.”

“Kanaan. The car. And Amarie, get over here. Stand by your partner,” Eli grumbled.

“Don’t worry. I’m not easily deterred.”

“Right.”

At the doubt echoing in his words, she turned, angling her head over her shoulder and up. Eli gave her a look that said he really did have some worry that Kanaan’s opinion would change her mind. Whereas in the loyalty department, Amarie did not. The Russells and Lourdeses of the world couldn’t win every battle. Not to toot her own tatas, but Amarie had six of years practice in loyalty. He could trust her, but could she trust herself not to mess things up?

Chapter Eleven

THEY’D ARRIVED ATMatt Johnson’s place, a two-story A-frame house with a red metal roof, thirty minutes late. Military men arrived early and stayed past quitting time. Never in reverse. Eli parked in front of the free-standing two-car canopy beside a faded blue Corolla, Ruth Buchannan’s beater.

Now that Eli had resigned himself to participating in the bachelor auction, he put it out of his mind, ready to focus on his job. That’s what paid the bills. At least for the next thirty days. Once again, Amarie had surprised him with the circumstances of her arrival in Service. Assuming she would fast-feet back to civilization at the first sign of real trouble was an unfair assessment of his new partner’s fortitude. When she’d learned of the possible foreclosure, her fear had erupted, raw and brutal, and not just on her face. Eli could feel the tangible ropes burning through Amarie’s constructed persona, strangling the light that shone from every fiber of her being. How could he ignore the darkness clouding her expressive eyes? Yes, she was intrusive in his business practices, borderline insubordinate, and incredibly flashy,but she was also brave. Which is why he peered through the open passenger window, imploring his fake partner to keep her curious, city-girl eagerness confined to his truck.

“This is a working farm. Not a petting zoo, Amarie.”

“And I want to see it, you big bully. Move,” Amarie glowered. “You can’t keep me locked in here.”

She planted her right shoulder against the door, pushing. Eli leaned more of his weight into the frame.

“Not until you agree to abide by the safety rules.”

“I lived in D.C., Eli. I know when to run away.” She tossed the words as if she’d had a lot of practice at retreating. Eli knew how hard toughing it out could be on the psyche.

Hiccup, an old pro on the farm, leaped through the open window and headed for the waterfall that bordered the Calvary and Johnson properties.