Chapter Twelve
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, Eli sat across from his business partner with an icy beer in hand, a platter of buttermilk-dipped chicken fingers, fresh-cut fries, and homemade pickles between them. Amarie had managed to get him in the Black Bear under the guise of social research. Basically, she wanted to hear the gossip being passed about him and his brothers around town. According to her, he needed a target audience. A converted warehouse with exposed wood beams, the Black Bear smelled of hickory smoke, hops, and roasted nuts. As per usual, bodies poured through the front door. Before long, Dierks Bentley’s tune pumping through the four-corner mounted speakers drowned out conversations. The scuff of cowboy boots roaring in unison across a dimly light dance floor created the ambience.
“The sign hanging out front says barbeque and things. Is barbeque ever on the menu?” Amarie yelled. She sliced the tip off the crispy strip, dipped it in hot honey, and popped the juicy bite in her mouth.
“Before Caleb took the job at the fire station, he kept the smoker out back in operating order. It’s too busy in the summertime for Gracie Lou to run the smoker and the bar.”
“Ah,” she nodded, “makes sense. Oh my gosh,” she moaned, and the croony sound echoed with sugar and spice. Watching the woman eat warmed his insides. And those oohs and aahs made his thoughts sticky like molasses on steamy pancakes. “This chicken, these pickles are addictive.”
“I thought you hated them,” he joked, as Amarie devoured her portion and started in on his.
“Ha ha. You made a funny. Social media catnip. Funny sells.”
With her quick changes of ideas and subject, Eli had started to adjust to her stream of consciousness.
He tipped his bottle in tribute. “To the queen of one-liners.”
“Well, we can’t all be supervets, can we, Dr. Calvary.”
“You did pretty darn good today.”
Her eyes seemed to glow at his compliment. Amarie’s vibrant floral top exposed smooth brown shoulders that drew his eyes to a delicate cleft between her breasts. The top was paired with relaxed pink pants that hugged elegant curves, and everything about her contrasted with his T-shirt and denim attire.
“Thank you, Eli.”
As he palmed his icy mug, Eli’s soul, a coal lump where Amarie’s shone diamond bright, the part of him he thought dead, stirred. Not good. He had little to offer a woman like her. Hadn’t he learned that lesson?
“Welcome.” He nodded. Yep, he broke eye contact, afraid he might stare a second longer than a platonic partnership allowed. He found himself plum dwelling on her laughter, her smile, her curves. She’d talked to every farmhand who’d answer her questions this morning. They’d had a stressful day, out at the dairy farm between Service and the town of Whynot. Amarie had been a big help in saving a dairy cow postdelivery. They’d had a new mother who had just delivered her calf and hadn’t been able to get back on her feet. It had been a race against time. The cow’s body weight on the legs could’ve caused permanent nerve damage within twelve hours if they hadn’t gotten her back on her feet.
Amarie had been instrumental in Eli’s ability to act quickly. With efficient hands, she’d prepared the calcium infusion to stabilize her after delivery. By the time they’d packed up their supplies, the owner was in tears. And the dam was on her feet with the new calf at her teat.
Eli was more exhausted than he had time to admit. Having Amarie as a partner was a force multiplier, a term the military applied to both people and processes that boosted productivity.
His mom and dad had worked in a similar fashion, harnessing the power of two versus one. Maybe Kanaan had been right. Flying solo wasn’t always the best way. But Eli had tried a partnership with his marriage. It had failed. So had he by degree. Failure had a way of souring a man on trying the same for a second time.
“So,” she swallowed, “about our social media campaign.”
Oh, shoot. There went his great mood. “Let’s call it a night,” he said, downing the last of his beer.
But then Timmy Ramsey came running in with her little boy Ezra in tow, his red face covered in tears. She plopped one of those little round automated vacuum cleaners in front of Eli. “We need your help.”
Not sure what to make of this request, Eli twisted to look at the other bewildered patrons. “Timmy, I’d love to help, but I might not be the best person to repair your vacuum cleaner.”
Erza released a heart-wrenching sob, his little shoulders shaking. “Please, please, Mr. Eli. My gerbil, Gery, is stuck inside it.”
“What?” Amarie blurted before slapping a palm over her mouth. The music slowed. Couples, hand in hand, broke off from the line dancing to zero in on the commotion at his table.
Unfortunately for hamsters and gerbils, the average household posed a multitude of dangers when pocket pets were uncaged.
Seconds passed while Timmy communicated the scenario.
“We let Gery out of his cage.” Eli opened his mouth, but Timmy waved him off. “I know what you told us, but I had the vacuum cleaner going before, and this had never happened, Eli. We heard a squeak, but then it was too late. He got sucked up.”
“Oh, poor little Gery,” Amarie mouthed.
“Please, help him, Dr. Eli.” Ezra sniffled. “I promise I’ll keep him safe. Cross my heart.” The little boy reached for his mother’s hand. “Won’t we, Mom?”
Timmy bent to kiss her son’s trembling fingers. “Yes, baby.”
Gosh, Eli heard sniffles from within the crowd.
Amarie, being Amarie, lowered to her knees. “Hi, Ezra. I’m Amarie, Dr. Eli’s partner and first assistant. He’s going to need help to perform a delicate extraction procedure for Gery. Do you think you can help him by bringing him a cup of water and a stack of paper towels?”
“Is Dr. Eli gonna rescue Gery?” Erza asked, his voice low and shaky with emotion.
How in the world could she answer with any honesty? Eli had no idea what he would find inside the suction apparatus. He pulled his pocketknife and all-purpose folded tool from his belt-loop holster.
“Timmy, you should go with him. Ms. Gracie Lou might have a cup of chocolate milk for my brave assistant.”
“Do you promise Gery will be okay?”
“I can’t make any promises, buddy, but I’ll do the best that I can.”
His mom hugged her little boy and led him away.
“Good gracious, Amarie. You sent an eight-year-old off for field delivery supplies?”
“Sorry, labor and delivery popped into my head.” She shrugged.
“Don’t apologize. It was quick thinking to get them both away.”
“I’m kind of nervous,” she whispered, while layering extra dinner napkins on the tabletop as a makeshift surgical area. “You?”
Flipping the disc upside down, he studied the back panel. Maybe Gery, or parts from Gery, would be visible. No such luck. Several onlookers had gathered around the table.
He lowered his ear to the metal backplate, listening. A soft squeaking, barely audible, came from inside. Gerbils tended to thump their hind legs when stressed. With the tight inner circuitry, perhaps that wasn’t possible.
“The last thing I need is blood and guts all over the table.” With the use of the multipurpose tool, he began the task of disassembling the vacuum, careful to minimize jostling. He released each screw, listening for movement. He heard nothing. Beneath his fingers, not the slightest vibration. A collective silence stilled the air like rust settled in a hinge. Eli began to sweat. Breath held, he removed the backing. Out popped an onyx-eyed rodent, his yellow coat dusted and powdered in Founding Fathers’ white puffs. His lungs reinflated as he completed a rapid assessment on a wiggling, nose-twitching Gery. Cheers went up.
“Yay, Eli and his girlfriend saved the gerbil,” someone out of sight offered up to the gossip mill.
“Oh boy,” Timmy pushed through the crowd to embrace Amarie. “I’m sorry to ruin your first date.”
“Not my girlfriend,” Eli corrected, handing the pet to a wide-eyed, exuberant Ezra. “My business partner.” His temptation.
“Don’t be, Timmy.” Amarie rolled her eyes in his direction. “Eli and I fight like cats in water. You just be sure to bring Gery by the clinic for a full examination.”
Amarie had worked in the bottom line. Noah was right. The woman had a head for business ownership.
“Huh, you sure about the not dating him?” Timmy’s brows pinched. “’Cause Matt Johnson told Lois Kline you and Eli were pretty cozy up at the farm. And you are sharing chicken fingers on Hoedown Thursday. Looks like romance to me. Both my older boys were born nine months after my Luke won the pie-eating contest at the fall festival.”
“Intriguing,” Amarie replied in regard to the disclosure, “but no.”
Prudence from the other night sashayed over in a short blue denim skirt with matching silver-studded boots. “Why should I keep bidding on you if you’re already Lady-and-the-Tramp spaghetti-kissing over a chicken finger basket, Eli Calvary?”
“That’s our cue,” Timmy said, waving farewell while ushering Erza, Gery, and her deconstructed robot vac away. “Welcome to Service, Amarie.”
“Lady and the… is that supposed to make sense, Prudence?” Eli sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Amarie said we’re not an item.” But he thought they got along better than two cats in a bag or whatever ill-reference she’d used to describe their relationship.
Prudence watched him for a second, as if weighing the truth of the matter.
“Well, in that case,” she slapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll put another twenty dollars on you come my paycheck, honey dumpling.”
“Prud,” Eli started, irritation coloring his words, “you have got to stop calling me honey. Biscuit. And dumpling. Eli serves me right fine.”
“Okay, sugar.” She winked. “I mean Eli.”
Jimmy, one of the firefighters who worked with Noah and Caleb, strutted over from the bar where a pack of guys watched from afar. “If she’s your business partner, Eli, can I take the new lady for a Watermelon Crawl on the dance floor?”
“Sorry, Jimmy. You’ll have to find your own partner. I promised to teach her the ropes.”
“Will you?” Amarie whispered, as if she doubted his word.
Eli took her by the hand, leading them onto the dance floor.
“You’re wonderful, Eli. What you did for Erza.” She looked up at him, those soulful brown eyes soft in wonder, and for a heartbeat he saw himself through her eyes. Pride, real and tangible, swept through him.
He pulled her into his arms. “Thanks.” He swallowed against the urge to whisk her away to the cool grass outside his cabin, feel the night air sweep along soft curves warmed by his hands. “Let’s dance.”
“Yes, sir. But I don’t know the song or the steps.”
“This dance is the Crawl. I’ll teach you. The Git Up. Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
“Oh, sounds fun.” She laughed, spinning in a full circle. The woman became one with the rhythm. Learning the choreography before the chorus. “What’s this song?”
“Big and Rich’s ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),’” Eli drawled, saddling up close to her curves.
“Is that an option?” she yelled above the jukebox.
Heck yeah, Eli thought, but bit his tongue to avoid an answer.
Two songs later, when Amarie relaxed in his arms and rested her head against his chest, Eli sang along with the words as they swayed hip to hip. Yeah, today was a good day to have a great partner.