CHAPTER THIRTEEN Hunter

T he Sheriff's station was the only building on the block that wasn't attached to the business beside it. Built new about ten years before, it'd been relocated nearer the entrance to town and had a more modern flare, something that pissed off the old timers to no end.

The town's only gas station was a standalone building too, but it was technically not on the main drag of town. Harry's Chevron station was on a side street named after a former mayor, just where Main begins.

Main Street is two blocks long, with businesses on either side of the street. Half of the storefronts have been closed for decades. Every once and a while, some local fancies themselves a business owner, and unlike history has proved time and again, they're convinced their business idea will be a big success.

Millie Hunt had a real nice quilting store right next to the busiest business in town, the drugstore, and she had failed within a year. Then, one of the younger married couples had traveled over to Seattle for a week's vacation and an Alaskan cruise, only to discover bubble tea while in Seattle. They'd found it the best thing since the chocolate chip cookie, so they had the idea that Plentywood would just love it too. We hadn't. Rumor had it most folks didn't like the small black pearls of something squishy that sat on the bottom of the drink.

The Sheriff's station had plenty of parking in front, and a place for Sheriff's department vehicles to be parked around back, a secure fence protecting county property. We had three Chevy Tahoe's. One for me and one for each of my deputies. We weren't sure where the county got the money for three brand-new vehicles, all decked out with expensive law enforcement equipment, but we didn't ask questions when the governor came to brag about getting the funds.

Jerry Hill was the oldest member of my team. He'd been around for decades and all he spoke about was surviving three more years so he could get his fat pension and do nothing for the rest of his life. His wife Hazel had big dreams of cruising the seven seas. I'd heard her telling folks at the diner that she'd go alone if Jerry didn't get off the couch.

Cassandra Johnson was a few years older than me. We call her Cass. She's as wide as she is tall, and no one fucks with her. She used to wrestle cattle at the rodeo when she was younger and a hundred pounds or so lighter, and she was still as strong as an ox.

I figured she was a lesbian due to how much tobacco she chewed, and the stompy way she carried herself, but I'd been wrong. She married the mousiest guy I'd ever seen in my life. Butch, her husband, couldn't register a hundred pounds on a scale, even if he had a ten-pound bag of sugar in his hand.

"Where is everybody, Joanie?" I asked after stepping through the door, gazing around for my team.

Joanie was dispatch, secretary, office manager, and an irreplaceable woman, who wore many hats at the Sheriff's department. Basically, she ran the place while I wore the badge of Sheriff. Her family had been in Plentywood, like a lot of families, for generations.

"Deputies Hayes and Johnson are out at the Hanson's place," she replied, filling my cup with coffee and handing it to me before she'd finished her reply. "Three of their steers were found dead just inside the ranch's gates. Looks like wolves again, Hunt."

"And what exactly are they going to do in broad daylight? Wait around for the wolves to just waltz back over and explain their actions?" I asked, employing the smart-ass tone I used around my staff.

"Old man Hanson is demanding they keep guard the next coupla nights," she relayed.

"Yeah? Well, that ain't happening."

"He says he won't support your reelection if you don't kill the wolves, Hunt."

"Whatever," I spat. "I'm not dealing with the folks at PETA, or Yellowstone Park's guidelines over wild animals just trying to eat. Let Hanson and his crew patrol the county on his own dime."

I stepped into my office, leaving the door open so I could yell at Joanie if I needed anything. There were half a dozen phone messages sticky-noted to my computer screen. Three were from Jill, so I picked up the phone and dialed the diner's number.

"What took so long?" Jill asked, using her big-sister tone with me.

"Slept late," I replied. "Just got to work."

"Your coffee is still on a table across the room. You never miss coffee and breakfast with me. What's wrong?"

Jill knew me so well. She could sense a change in my personality a mile away. "I'm tired of having a fucking routine. Tired of being same-ol'-predictable Hunter."

"Bullshit!" she hissed. "You best have your ass over here for lunch or I'm coming to you. Something ain't right and I can tell."

I remained silent on my end for a few seconds. I could almost hear Jill grinding her teeth while she waited for me to speak. "Do you ever think about just getting away from here?" I asked. "You know, starting over somewhere else?"

"Honey, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times. You can move to outer space and Mark's death is still gonna go with you. How about you fix what's hurting right here?"

"Theres nothing for me here anymore," I commiserated. "Except memories of my old life and a big fucking hole in my heart."

I'd hated my life for two years already. I figured I'd get past Mark's sudden death by now. They all said, ‘ it gets easier .' I'm not sure who they are, but they can go fuck themselves. I still felt like crap, and the weather report for my upcoming outlook on life was just as gloomy as yesterday and the day before that. Going back every single day for two goddamned years.

"I wished you hadn't gone to the cemetery on your birthday," she stated. "You do this every single time you visit him, Hunt."

"You were there recently too," I spit out. "I saw the flowers, missy."

"But we both know you don't do well after."

I played with the stapler on my desk, doing my best to keep my eyes tear-free. Joanie was doing a bad job of acting like she wasn't listening to my phone conversation through the open door. I shot her a stop being rude glare.

"Maybe," I agreed. "But if I didn't live in this town, I wouldn't visit him as often," I mumbled, preventing a hitch in my voice from escaping. "I can't seem to move forward, Jill. I'm stuck, and I can't see an end to the pain," I confessed.

"So what else is new, Hunt? Sorry to be an insensitive bitch, but I've heard this story for two years running. What else has you bent out of shape?"

I knew better, but it didn't stop me from telling her. "Charlie hit on me again."

"Yeah? So that's not new either?"

"This wasn't about sex, sis," I said, lowering my voice because of Joanie. "He like… well… he almost kind of like, begged, you know, for a chance."

"I hope you didn't believe his bullshit," she hissed. "And please, God, tell me you didn't fuck him again. You can't mess with his head again, Hunt. You know him. He'd like nothing more than to show folks he finally got you. Even with Mark gone, he'd be happy as hell over landing you, even if he was second in line."

"Maybe he's grown up," I insisted, or asked, trying to convince her he might have. "He seemed different, Jill."

She huffed on her end of the call, practically breathing fire through the phone line. "And don't you suppose the arrival of Mr. Wonderful over at the clinic has him worried?" she asked. "The entire town is worked into a frenzy over the new doctor. Charlie probably figures you're going to end up with the handsome doctor. Once you rebuff his ridiculous ploy, he'll be sniffing around the clinic faster than you can call bullshit ."

"Maybe you're right," I agreed. "I gotta go."

"I'll see you at lunch," she stated. "I'm making one of your faves today. Pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw, so you better be here," she threatened. "We'll talk more then, K?"

"I'll try," I muttered.

"Hunter Copeland!" she declared. "Do not test me. I will see you at one. Sharp!"

With that, Jill hung up, and I stared through the open door at Joanie. "What?" I asked, shrugging my shoulders and turning my palms toward her.

Joanie slowly shook her head. "You two should just get married," she stated. "You sound like an old married couple."

"I'm gay, in case you forgot."

"Yeah, you say that, but I'm wondering," she argued. I stood and made my way to the door, slamming it shut. "I'll just talk louder," she yelled from the other side. "And get me some lunch when you're over at the diner, Mr. Moody."

Fucking thin doors.