Page 25 of Fake It Till You Make It

Eli willed his body to remain relaxed. This question was one he never wanted to answer. A man’s pride, like an army battalion, could withstand repeated attacks, but none crippled as much as not being capable of providing for those under your care. Eli couldn’t meet his brother’s intense scrutiny.

“Guess he wanted to sow a seed in my future.” Eli managed to push the words around the rise of bile at the rush of memories, the betrayal.

“Paying for your education. My emergency medical services training. Noah’s fire science degree. Pop did his best for the three of us,” Tobias defended. But Eli didn’t need a reminder of the man his father had been. If ever a son idolized a father, he did.

“I agree.” Eli cleared his throat. “Dad thought different.”

Noah bounced one finger against his beer bottle. “We about as worthless as two left shoes in a greyhound race, Eli.”

“Never, little brother.” Eli had limited options, but bottomless hope. He refused to let life take his father’s dream for their land.

“Oh, I like that grin on your face.” Noah relaxed, some of the anger seeping from his face. “What are you thinking?”

“We need another plan besides this cockamamie bachelor auction to raise the money. You in?”

“When has Noah Calvary ever walked away from a challenge?” his baby brother asked in a loud voice. To which everyone in the Black Bear shouted, “Never!”

“Count me in, big brother.”

“Me too,” Tobias offered.

They all agreed, raising their mugs in solidarity. Eli downed his beer and ordered another round. Between the three of them, they would come up with a plan that didn’t involve dating and other disasters that would be sure to follow if it depended on him keeping a woman happy who called him honey and biscuit in the same sentence.

Chapter Seven

ENLIGHTENING. THAT ONEword described Amarie’s field trip to the post office. Every man, woman, and child had greeted Leah, and by extension her, with a genuine smile. Located in the Town Mall, the mail window shared the equivalent of a studio apartment with the mayor, the sheriff, and the utilities company. Compared to one block in the nation’s capital, downtown Service equated to the square footage of a weekend farmer’s market. The stroll, which was the only way to describe the pace of Service, ended with the two of them sharing this quaint table in a rustic pub.

An L-shaped bar that serviced the patrons just interested in a drink was in the front. Couples holding hands, men in T-shirts and work boots, and groups of women chair dancing to tunes wafting through wall speakers filled rough-hewn square tables in the back. They had chosen a table in between the two sections closest to an empty stage, more of a single raised platform with a drum set and a microphone.

“So, you excited for tomorrow’s farm visit?” Leah asked, interlacing her fingers resting on the tabletop.

“Yes… I think.” She draped her crossbody bag over the chair back.

“I’m proud of you. Jumping into the fire from day one. Eli would say the same if he wasn’t a stubborn ox.” The way Leah looked away, Amarie sensed even a loving mom found Eli’s grumpy demeanor less endearing.

“I think Eli was more impressed with the money than me.” His features—well, the tension lines bracketing his eyes—had softened for the briefest of moments. Amarie found non-grumpy Eli rather handsome.

“He’s like his father, maybe like all men. Thinking he has to carry the weight of the world every waking moment. But we know differently,” she chuckled to herself. “They walk on water, but we,” she whispered, “we hold the hose.”

“Do we?” Amarie chuckled under her breath, thinking about all the times she’d heard Russell taking credit for one of her ideas. Without her running the office, he would’ve had a cashbox and a sticky pad stack, too.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s one of our many superpowers. So, what do you want to eat?” asked Leah.

“They wouldn’t happen to have any biscuits, would they?”

Leah smiled; it was soft, rueful. “I’m afraid not. No one out-bakes a Calvary.”

Amarie could have taken it as vanity. But she really believed Leah was telling the truth. “Right. What do you recommend?”

“It’s Tuesday, so our choices are pepperoni rolls. Or rolls with pepperoni.”

“But the sign out front says barbeque and things?”

“Tuesdays are thethings.” Leah made air quotes. “Options.”

“Weird.” That explained the lack of menus on the table. Refreshing really, to not have to stress over multiple choices.

“It’s a taste of West Virginia history. Dates back to theItalians who migrated to our area to work the coal mines at the beginning of the twentieth century.”