Page 5 of Fake It Till You Make It

“Go ’head with the game plan, Miss Former Hopeless Romantic.”

“I gladly relinquish my title,” Amarie laughed. “Now, do I look okay?” Reaching forward, she lowered the sun visor, flipping the cover for the tiny mirror. A tribal print scarf twisted into a front knot held her thick tresses in an inky waterfall hiding at least one of her red-rimmed eyes. Grabbing her handbag from the floorboard, she slipped Stacia’s1950s starlet oversized sunglasses over her ears and smiled at her reflection. At least she’d left her lying, cheating, pitiful excuse for a fiancé in a dramatic flair. That had not been the intention when she’d crammed six years of broken promises into commandeered luggage and donned the other woman’s stylish eyewear. But the fun pettiness suited her fresh perspective.

“Fabulous as always.” Vali snapped a quick two thumbs-up. They exited the car. The click of the door locks engaging had Amarie squaring her shoulders, totally ignoring her racing heart and sweaty palms. Looking heavenward, she inhaled deeply, allowing the sweet mountain air to fill her lungs until her ragged breathing slowed to a rhythmic in and out. She could do this.

“I’m ready.”

Vali grabbed her hand, marching them up the seven steps—yes, she was counting—to an elaborate screen door, white scrolled edges in four corners. Behind it, a soft lavender–painted, dual-paneled door with canary trim stood ajar, like someone expected her arrival. Maybe it was a sign that this was the right decision. One that she could be proud of.

“Go handle your business while I test one of these chairs with the rocker bottom.”

Amarie took in the six chairs placed equidistant on the wooden porch. “They’re called rocking chairs.”

“That’s what I said. Now, scoot,” she cajoled. “Show the good folks of Calvary Veterinary Clinic how much they need a sister like you on the payroll.”

Amarie had perfected dependence on others. Low expectations had become synonymous with her picture, but no more. Starting today, she would strive for excellence and self-reliance. With the decision to remain behind her, the next step meant grabbing hold of the destiny that lay on theother side of this door. Only four weeks until the next licensure exam. That was ample time on the job to fix Prince and study like a lunatic. She pulled up her mental big girl sexy panties, because she hated thongs, lifted one shaky finger, and pressed the vintage doorbell.

Chapter Two

IF IT WASN’Tfor the family relations, Eli Calvary would fire his mother. But frankly, he didn’t have the time or money to train another pet groomer. Sure, her pay had dwindled to a morning hug and a fresh-cut lawn, but as her employer he expected adherence to company policy. She’d breached the “no interference clause,” which required the boss’s—his—immediate attention. Add to it the receipt of three—yes, three—unwanted and disturbingly provocative text messages from local single women dinging him awake before his crack-of-dawn alarm, and he had two mom-generated distractions to address. Staving off the bank’s foreclosure on every piece of property bearing his last name required considerable concentration. His momma’s marriage-mart shenanigans, though well-intentioned, siphoned too much of Eli’s brain power. He would solve the family’s money problems without his remaining parent wholesaling him off to a mountain woman with a hefty bank balance and a penchant for dog collars and electric fencing. Yep, pure caged misery leashed to love.

Stomping up the back steps of his childhood home, Eliknocked the mud off his boots, but the guilt of possibly losing the five-bedroom house—his mother’s safe haven, the only home his two younger brothers had ever known, and his final link to his father—clung like cement. He’d caused this and all because of a woman. Removing his ball cap, he did a one-two windshield-wiper maneuver through a swarm of buzzing gnats guarding the rear screen door.

“Momma,” Eli bellowed, a fair warning that, like the weather, his mood leaned toward overheated. July had ushered in West Virginia’s hot and rainy season. Even with the short half-mile walk across the back fields, the steady supply of Monday morning humidity had his T-shirt clinging and his jeans damp. His casual combination of a dark shirt, jeans, boots, and his headgear pulled double duty as office attire and small-town formal dinner dress.

“Door’s open,” came Leah Calvary’s comforting reply.

Eli looked down at his side. He gave his seventy-pound golden retriever, Hiccup, a generous head rub. Throwing in a good-natured scratch behind the ears earned him three rapid thuds to the calf from the dog’s dancing tail.

“Stay,” he said to his constant companion. He’d keep the visit brief. After four months back in his hometown, he’d discovered being the only veterinarian operating a mixed-animal practice within one hundred miles of the northwest Virginia border kept him hopping faster than a one-legged rooster in a chicken shack. How had his father met the demand for forty years? Only six months after his death, Eli felt capsized, sinking deeper underwater.

Entering the kitchen, he froze mid-stride, inhaling. Was it his imagination or did he smell maple syrup and baked bread? He did a quick survey of all the surfaces. Sure enough, a plate of six fluffy homemade biscuits with crisp buttered tops stuffed with thick-cut bacon sat in a fadedaluminum pie pan on the stove. Eli narrowed his gaze. Oh, she’d stacked the deck—aka hot buttered bribe biscuits—in her favor.

His mom sat at the oak table, her long sienna coils gathered in a single braid, her readers perched, her makeup subtle. As the Calvary family matriarch, she was always prepared, always put together. As a kid, he’d thought his mother was the prettiest woman in Service. With her flawless toasted brown skin, gemstone-green eyes, and natural grace, she’d commanded attention at those parent-teacher conferences.

And she still did. Her smile could brighten the cloudiest of days. And her heart… well, it beat to make the world better for others. Especially her family.

Like her, the home of his youth was a mix of classic style and modern design. The vaulted ceilings made the space seem cavernous, a feeling he still appreciated at his six-foot height. The left wall held gray Dutch door cabinets with natural stone counters and a huge farmhouse white enamel sink. The polished timber floors showed signs of a home well used and well loved.

“Good morning,” his momma chimed, slowly lifting her gaze to regard him. She did that once-over thing that all mothers do with their kids—one head, ten fingers, no blood. He must have passed inspection because she moved to the next step on the checklist.

Seeing as this impromptu summons started before his workday, it would probably focus on his mom’s two favorite topics: the bottom line and the opposite sex—money he desperately needed, the other he avoided at all costs. He got straight to the point.

“Three women ruined my sleep,” he groused, depositing his cap on the arm of a kitchen chair.

Leah’s brows dipped in a furrow. “Oh dear, sounds like a discussion for your brothers.” She grinned at her joke.

Eli scowled. Crossing to the sink, he used the bar soap to wash his hands, then dried them on a cloth dangling from the under-sink cabinet knob.

“Rosa Mae Perkins sent me a selfie. Apparently, she’s got a twenty-five-dollar donation with my name on it for the exorbitant price of watching her model lingerie,” he said, jabbing imaginary daggers at his eyeballs.

His mother’s face lit faster than a firecracker. “Nice.” She chuckled. “You two went to high school together, right?”

“She was my history teacher, Momma… ancient history.” He angled his head, gesturing to the scribbled office policy suspended by two Georgia peach magnets on the refrigerator. “Whatever fool notion is going on with that woman’s mind, you started it,” he accused. “That counts as two for one under interference violations. Unnecessary distractions. And matchmaking.”

A big smile broke out on her face. “A woman that goes for what she wants should be applauded.” She grinned. “Back in our heyday, Rosa Mae was Founder’s Day queen. I ain’t mad at her for pulling out the lace.”

“Mad?” He chuckled but stopped himself. “Try traumatized. Why do they have a queen at the festival anyways? We build a stage every year for her majesty. Where’s the king?”