“Hey there, Jack! Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said. “What can I do for you today?”
“I'll have a hog for you later this afternoon, if that’s okay?”
"Uh, I won't be able to get to it today, but you can bring it by, and I'll keep it cold. I should be able to dress tomorrow," I explained. Anyone who came into the shop could tell by the smell of it that it was jerky day. Once it was cool, I needed to get it packaged so it stayed tender.
“That’ll be fine, Drake. I’ll have something else for you to get rid of for me too...“ His eyes darted over to mine, and I knew he hadn’t planned on saying any more than he already said. “We’ll pay extra, of course.“
I shook my head; he knew I didn’t like to say any more than necessary either. These were just business transactions, after all.
“Four o’clock?”
“That’ll be fine,” I said and waited for him to leave.
Chuck had followed me as I went in the back and checked the dehydrators. The jerky had finished right on schedule and it was time to turn everything over for its second round of drying. At this point, I’d turn the heat setting down a little and the jerky would continue drying over night until we reached the 30-hour mark.
I yawned at the cat and promised her a catpurrccino from the coffee shop across the street. I needed the caffeine boost too. The baristas were kind enough to make what we had dubbed as a “catpurrccino” which was a small cup with a little milk and a swirl of unsweetened whipped cream on top. Chuck loved them.
“Do you sell barbecue sauce, Drake?” Lizzie, the morning barista had already gone home for the day and I was sad I missed her. This fella named Jordan was friendly, and I enjoyed talking to him, but he wasn’t as nice to look at.
“I don’t sell barbecue sauce, Jordan. But that’s not a bad idea for the future!”
“I know you have a whole section of local items, but I wasn’t sure...thinking about a barbecue this weekend...I’ll swing by,” he said.
“Sounds great, you know where to find me.”
As I headed back across the street, with Chuck’s fancy cat beverage in one hand and my jolt of energy in the other, I thought about how my grandmother taught me how to can fruits and vegetables. We’d can all kinds of vegetables on the farm every summer and had a bounty to choose from all winter long. One of the good things about small towns was neighbors with large gardens that were willing to trade.
Since both of my grandparents had passed away, I had not canned any large batches. The barbecue sauce idea got me thinking about that...it was time to get back to it.
I made a mental note to dig out my grandmother's barbecue sauce recipe when I got back home. I could easily tweak it and make a hot version and a sweet version, like I had adjusted the recipes for my jerky marinades.
I like the idea of adding a homemade sauce to my shelves at the shop.
Chapter Seven
Aggie
The brisk Kentucky morning was perfect for a run. A baggy sweatshirt over my sports bra and leggings was comfy and cool. I was still brand new to Hazenberg, and as my morning jog became more regular, I hoped to settle into a favorite path around town. I preferred sidewalks as I tended to zone out when a favorite song started playing.
This morning's run was like many others before it back in Jacksonville, but it was my first in Kentucky. My legs took off and, before I knew it, I was rounding around my favorite downtown corner (okay, the only downtown corner I really knew), with music jamming in my earbuds. I was coming up on the stoplight and noticed a large red work-truck I hadn't remembered seeing before stopped at the light.
I turned and locked eyes with a tan man with freshly shaven, sharp cheekbones and short dark hair. He looked as though he was about to say something when everything switched into slow motion. Those feet of mine? Yeah, they tangled on the edge of a park bench and into the air I went, landing face-first on that sidewalk I had mentioned I preferred before.
I turned over on my side, still seeing stars, when Mr. Red Truck rushed over to me.
“My god, girl...are you alright?” he said to me, helping me sit up so he could look me over.
“Are you a doctor?” I managed the words, realizing I was pretty scratched and bruised.
“Nope, I’m a butcher...” he said and pulled a clean, white handkerchief out of his back pocket, trying to help get the gravel out of my hands.
“Oh, a butcher...what great timing...how’d I get so lucky?” Smart-ass responses were exactly the way to talk to the man who was helping me, great job, Aggie.
“It’s pretty normal for me to be heading into the shop this early...I like to get a bit of work done before I open up. Are you sure you’re okay?” He looked down and saw my skinned-up knees. The concrete had torn my leggings and my knees were bleeding pretty badly. One thing that immediately went through my mind was I hadn't yet purchased a first-aid kit to have at the apartment.
"Uh yeah, I'll be fine." I started to get up and stumbled when he caught me with his big arms again. If I was ever unsure, his muscles proved he was a butcher. Probably 8 to 10 years older than me, he was certainly easy on the eyes.
“Okay, so, I’m not convinced. Let me at least get you in my truck? I have a first-aid kit at the shop and it’s only two blocks away.” Despite not wanting to take help from strangers, I nodded. And while I assumed he was just going to help me walk to his truck, he swooped me up into his arms like I was as light as a feather and proceeded to carry me to the passenger side of his truck.
What was a girl to do other than to hold tightly to her knight in shining armor?
Just as he said, his shop was two blocks away. And though I didn’t want to be a burden, I didn’t exactly mind him helping me into his store. His strong arms...well, let’s just say I could get used to them.
He carried me inside and took me straight to the back room, where he sat me up on his stainless-steel counter.
“This may seem weird, but I promise it’s completely sterile in here,” he said and grabbed his first-aid kit. “Before I leave every evening, I sterilize everything down so it’s nice and clean for me when I come in the next day.”
"That makes sense," I said quietly. Shock was starting to set in, and my hands were shaking from the cuts. He noticed too.
“You like cats? Chuck here is super chill, and she’ll help calm your nerves, won’t ya, Chuck?” He reached down and picked up a small orange cat and put it in my lap. She immediately started smelling me and rubbing her cheeks all over me. “Chuck knows when she meets someone she likes.”
“And I like Chuck too,” I said and appreciated that she was indeed calming my nerves. “So I know your cat’s name is Chuck, but I don’t know your name...”
"How rude of me!" he said while opening up the bottle of peroxide. "I'm Drake Corbin, you've met Chuck, and this is my butcher shop."
“My name is Aggie, err Agnes Crawford. New in town, obviously...my friends call me Aggie,” I told him.
“Since you did a number on these leggings when you fell, do you mind if I just cut the fabric so I can get to your poor little skinned knees?” I appreciated him asking, at least.
“Yeah, good call on that. These leggings are cashed.” He took that as permission to give me a once over and started cleaning me up. First knees, then hands, and finally my face. My hands were still healing from the scrapes when I fell in the whirlpool in Knoxville too. Agnes Clumsy Crawford would have been a more accurate name.