Jake. My younger brother by two years and three inches taller, though he'll never let me forget the height thing. He works with Wade at Iron Creek, handling the operations side while Wade runs the business. Our youngest brother, Cole, handles client relations, which basically means he schmoozes potential contracts while Wade and Jake do the actual work.
"What's up, little brother?" I answer.
"Don't call me that. I may be two years younger, but I'm three inches taller than you."
"Height doesn't count when I can still put you in a headlock."
"You're in Colorado. Can't reach me from there." I hear rustling, like he's shifting papers. "Got a minute? Wade wants an update on whether you're coming home or re-upping."
The question lands heavier than it should. "Still deciding."
"It's been three weeks."
"I'm aware of the timeline."
"Well, decide faster. We've got two contracts in negotiation that we could really use your expertise on. Security detail for a Houston executive and training for Austin PD's new K9 unit."
I lean against the barracks wall, watching airmen cross the yard. "What kind of expertise?"
"The kind that comes from growing up around working dogs and actually knowing what you're doing. Wade's brilliant at the business side, but you've got the training background and the military experience these clients want."
"I'm a pilot, not a handler."
"You're a Mercer. It's in your blood whether you want to admit it or not." He pauses. "Plus, Mom misses you. She made me tell you that."
"Emotional blackmail. Nice."
"Whatever works." More paper rustling. "So what's the holdup? Last time we talked, you were ninety percent sure you were done with the Air Force."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
Callie's face flashes through my mind. The way she laughed this morning. The way her hair spread across the pillow. The way she remembered how I take my coffee.
"Met someone," I hear myself say.
Jake's quiet for a beat. Then: "Met someone or met someone?"
"The second one."
"Holy shit. Dean Mercer is off the market. Someone alert the media."
"Shut up."
"What's her name?"
"Callie. She's a vet. Actually runs the small-animal clinic in Pine Valley, but she's consulting on the base K9 facility upgrade."
"A vet?" Jake's interest sharpens. "Like, a real veterinarian with an actual degree?"
"Top of her class. Specialized in veterinary behavioral medicine. She's smart as hell, doesn't take any of my shit, and has opinions about kennel ventilation that I find weirdly attractive."
Jake laughs. "You've got it bad."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true. You're bragging about her professional credentials. That's serious."
