CHAPTER ELEVEN Hunter

T he grass was nearing a foot tall, and the flowerpots that Mark had always kept bright and overflowing had a few stragglers that had managed to survive the brutal winter in Montana. Unfortunately for my house, there'd be no flowers again this year.

Bella bounded through the doggy door and met me at the gate when I stepped out of the Tahoe. She was the one constant reminder that I was actually still alive. She'd been more Mark's dog after I'd refused to replace Monte, my treasured German Shepherd. Mark brought Bella home after rescuing her from the side of the road when he was coming home from a business trip to Missoula.

"She needs you and you need her," he'd stated, noticing my reluctance with his crossed arms.

"You can't just replace one dog with another," I'd argued, ignoring the bright blue eyes of the Australian Shepherd nipping at my knees. "I don't like girl dogs."

"You do, and you will. End of story!" Mark had exclaimed.

Mark had been correct. I didn't want to fall in love with Bella, but she made me. And of course, girl dogs were better than boy dogs. Girl dogs don't lift their legs on everything taller than an inch high. Bella had quickly wormed her way into my heart despite my best efforts and her love for Mark. She recognized the heart and soul of the house, making Mark her alpha pack leader.

"Hey, girl," I soothed, scratching her chin. I wondered if she questioned where Mark was. One day he was here and then he wasn't. Just like that. How do you explain that to a dog? "I spoke with Daddy today," I told her, walking in the front door, her underfoot as always. I'd become the new alpha in her world. Funny how adaptable dogs are. I wish I was capable of the same. "He misses his Bella-Girl," I added, speaking to her like what she was—my only companion these days.

I retrieved a beer from the fridge, so I'd have company on my way to the bedroom to change out of my uniform. Bella was already on the bed, probably hoping it was nap time. My usual routine was a beer on arrival, a beer as I searched through YouTube videos, deciding whether it'd be travel vlogs or street food videos, and perhaps a few more beers while I watched.

My routine had developed quickly while the numbness of my world encapsulated my life. Bella allowed me to say what I felt without having to defend myself. If I was angry, I told her. If I was pissed at the entire world, including God, she listened, probably agreeing, in my opinion.

The fifth trip to the fridge found me disappointed that my beer inventory was depleted. "Shit!" I hissed, slamming the door, worried I might have to eat tonight rather than count on a barley-and-hops meal again.

I'd kill for one of Mark's homemade meals, remembering his talent as a cook as I searched for anything edible in the fridge. A chunk of cheddar was busy creating its own bio-dome of mold, and a bag of salad mix was now drinkable through a straw. There were those two choices, or six eggs I didn't remember buying this year. It was June, so that'd be a calculated risk.

I could go into town and get bothered by every single person I encountered at the small grocery store, or I could drive south to Culbertson and Skeeter's gas station for cheap beer and a hotdog. "Let's go, girl," I said, barely finishing my sentence before Bella headed for the doggy door.

I met her at the Tahoe while she waited for me to open the back door. "We're going south, pooch," I told her, watching as she settled in. She knew the routine. No riding on front seats in this vehicle due to too many important instruments up in front. She didn't like being separated by a division of glass, but it beat staying home alone.

Once at the end of my driveway, I debated one last time. Left on the highway to Culbertson, or right to town. Town was five minutes and maybe a mile and a half away, while Culbertson was twenty plus miles south. I had no plans again , so I took a left and settled in for a leisurely ride away from Plentywood. I had nothing going on. Plus, Charlie sold his beer cheap, and his hotdogs weren't half bad.

Charlie, aka Skeeter to some, had tried to supply me with his hotdog for years, but despite his great looks, for the most part, I'd managed to keep my dick dry of him. He was majorly hot and made it no secret he liked men, a rare stance in these parts of the country. It didn't hurt that he had a devil-may-care attitude about life. Not to mention he looked wiry and like he wouldn't mind tussling with the meanest of men, given the chance.

Charlie was hosing down the concrete drive around the gas pumps when I pulled up. He was shirtless and looking like a porn star or Instagram hunk filming a video. Based on his looks alone, he'd get thousands of likes if he did.

I pulled alongside the station and let Bella out of the back. She immediately bolted to Charlie, her second or third favorite human. Charlie and Jill traded places, depending on what they had to offer her in the love or food department. She knew the gas station meant a hotdog, sans the bun. At the diner, it was raw veggies. I questioned her allegiance to Jill based on her food gifts. Bella didn't give a shit either way.

"Outta beer, sheriff?" Charlie asked, kneeling to love on Bella. "Or finally wanting that cock sucked?"

"You'd choke on it and it'd be a waste of time," I replied, ignoring him and walking into his store.

Surprisingly, Charlie had a nice selection of food and snacks. I'd heard he made a good living because Culbertson didn't have a grocery store, which allowed him to sell milk, bread, and eggs at ridiculously high prices.

Ten seconds hadn't passed before he and Bella joined me indoors. "I can close up if you wanna come around back for some action."

Charlie lived in a travel trailer around the back of his station. He ran his power, water, and septic lines directly from the station. I'd been inside his camper once or twice. I'd also been close to being in his pants once or twice recently, but we'd avoided that ever since… well, it'd been a while, and that was another story. He was hot for sure, and I always got a sexual vibe from him, but I wasn't interested in crossing that line of whatever it was we were to each other.

"You wanting your ass fucked?" I inquired, knowing the answer ahead of time.

"I've been practicing with a dildo ever since," he responded, giving me an answer I hadn't expected. "So, yeah, why not?"

I glanced down at my belt buckle. "I'm probably not the guy you should continue practicing with, but you already know that."

"How about just a taste, then?"

Ignoring his last-ditch effort to get me unzipped, I turned and headed for the wall of glass-door coolers. He had a terrific inventory of beer. In fact, eight glass doors displayed beer and wine, while only two featured sodas.

Coming back up the aisle, I found him with his arms crossed and leaning against the front counter. He was a sight for sure. Charlie was lean and mean. I lost count of his abs before turning away from him. Memory reminded me he'd be a wild fuck, and since it'd been a minute or two, I could use any kind of fuck.

"How long those hotdogs been spinning around?" I asked, diverting my eyes from a fine piece of manhood and to a small roller grill with hotdogs and some sort of burritos, sitting inside and on the countertop.

"Most of the day," he replied, moving away, probably giving up on his seduction game. "Mine's fresh, though." I guess he hadn't given up.

I set a half rack of cheap beer on the counter. "Three dogs and a burrito," I said, yanking my wallet out of my back pocket.

He examined me closely, shaking his head slowly. "All this shitty food and you still look like that?" he asked, motioning toward my body. "I like you in just jeans and a T-shirt, sheriff," he added, grinning like the Cheshire Cat . "How old are those Wranglers ?"

"Old enough to know better than to listen to you," I quipped, throwing two twenties on the counter.

Charlie grabbed my hand when I tossed the second bill down, looking into my eyes as he held me in his grip. "You're fucking hot, Hunt," he hissed. "What's another roll in the hay gonna hurt? I suck a mean cock, too. Come on, bro. Let me have another go at that cock of yours."

His eyes lingered on my crotch and he not-so subtly licked his lower lip. If he only knew how very close he was to convincing me, he'd ask me one or two more times. His full lips and pouty face were exactly what I needed to be staring at as I fed him my cock.

"Not gonna happen," I stated, knowing I wanted a blow job so badly. "What would I say to your grandma if I soiled her grandson?"

"You'd tell her you wanted to marry me," he replied. "And you'd tell her you wanted to make an honest boy out of me, sheriff."

"You're full of shit, Charlie," I said. "You wouldn't stick around a month if we hooked up again, and I fell for you."

"I'm thirty, Hunt. I'm serious too."

His tone had shifted and caught me off guard. If I wasn't wrong, his eyes welled up a bit and his face appeared serious, not a look I'd ever noticed on the smart-ass punk.

"What are you doing, Charlie?" I asked. "I don't need this shit today."

He came around the counter and stood in front of me. My pulse raced when he got so close. Charlie and I had had a love/hate thing for years. I wasn't blind. I recognized how attractive he was. If there hadn't been a Mark, there may have been a Charlie.

Standing this close to him reminded me of why people saw him as handsome. He was tall and lean, with an edge about him that kept him from being called pretty. I liked pretty, actually preferred pretty, but Charlie had a cleft chin and a square jaw. The combo prevented the word pretty from being used to describe him. But hot-as-fuck was certainly still an option.

We both grew up around these parts. Culbertson didn't have a high school, so he arrived in Plentywood his freshman year. Mark was a year behind him and hated him immediately. Mark swore Charlie was also gay, but Charlie never officially came out in school.

"It's been two years since Mark, Hunt," he whispered. "And, you know, eighteen months since our thing. And I know you think I'm a loser, half-witted horndog, but I want to make a change. I know I can't replace Mark, but I'd like my shot."

I stepped back and nervously reached for my change. "Stop it," I said, stuffing four bucks and some coins into my front pocket. "Two years. Ten years. A thousand years. I doubt I'll ever be ready for anything again," I admitted, revealing a bit of myself for the first time to someone I viewed as a jokester who wanted nothing in life but to be a playboy dick-tease.

"I'm serious," he whispered, reaching for my hand. His face actually registered hurt when I jerked my hand away, catching me off guard. "I know you're gonna end up with the new doctor if I don't tell you how I feel right now," he confessed.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "And you don't know shit about me and that new doctor. This isn't who we are, and you know it. You try to get in my pants, and then I say, " Not a chance. " That's what we do," I added, gesturing between us. "Not some BS about wanting a chance at something real."

I felt full-on panic setting in. I felt unsteady on my feet and lightheaded, things I didn't like experiencing. I'd spent the best part of two years building a wall around me and having Charlie Brewster unexpectedly chip away at it wasn't in my well-crafted plans for survival.

"I don't want to lose my chance if I have one, Hunt. I'm not saying I think I have one, but I guess I'm asking if I do," he said. "And I know you haven't forgotten about those few months."

I looked at everything in the store but him. His words were surprising to hear, and I was certain he had to be pulling some kind of sick joke. Charlie Brewster was not a serious person. He'd never been serious about anything in his life. He had a joking response to everything and acted like a moody James Dean wannabe, at least as far as I'd ever witnessed.

Not to mention he'd suffered mightily when I stopped using him sexually a year and a half ago. He deserved better than to keep returning to my empty well of love. Last time nearly killed him. Another shot at me might actually do the trick.

"Your bullshit is not needed right now," I stated. "The anniversary of Mark's death just happened, and I… well… I don't need your crap."

"I'm not Mark," he whispered. "I know that, Hunt, but come on for just a second. We had our time, but you were hurtin'. I get that, but I'm serious now. I got better after all that mess. Tell me you aren't at least a little attracted to me."

"Not the point," I grunted, crossing my arms protectively. "I just wanted some fucking beer."

"Yeah, I know why you're here. And I know why you drink so much beer. I've been here for two years watching you, Hunt. Think I don't know you're lost? Think I don't hurt watching you suffer?" he asked. "I know what folks think about me around here. Hell, my own gramma thinks I'm a fuckup." He tapped his chest, and a tear slid down the side of his nose, startling me. "There's another man inside here, Hunt. I know you don't think so, but there is."

"Don't," I begged, leaning against the door and beginning to push it open. "Please don't change our roles, Charlie."

I motioned for Bella to exit with a jerk of my head, keeping a wary eye on one of the sexiest men I'd ever seen. Charlie Brewster was sex on a stick, but he wasn't marriage material in my mind. Maybe there was another side to him, but I didn't want to see that other side. Currently, I preferred standing on my side. Alone.

Mark was the marrying type. Charlie wasn't. That was the choice I'd made back then. But Mark was dead now. I knew I couldn't start something up again with a man who had been there to help me get upright and moving again. But that was just sex. Charlie was now talking about something completely different from that.

We both knew that wasn't in the cards for us, so why was he acting like this suddenly?