CHAPTER FIFTEEN Hunter

" H ey," I responded. "I see Agnes's charm has you on a leash already."

"Sort of," he admitted, looking toward the kitchen. "She's definitely something."

He focused his eyes on me, and I immediately turned away. There was no way I'd be able to look into a pair of eyes so similar to Mark's. Like my dead husband's, his eyes sparkled and twinkled like emeralds. The usage of that description of his eyes truly failed to capture them. They were a brilliant green, with what seemed like bursts of silver blasting out of the centers of his eyes. Exactly like Mark's.

"You settling in?" I asked, risking my heart and glancing at him again.

I found myself tugging on my sleeves and moving uncomfortably in my chair. He had me damn near ready to faint. Even his hands were perfect. Each nail was cut to precision with a subtle gloss on them. Mark used to tell me it wasn't nail polish, but rather, a man's sheen. I'd teased him it was gay, whatever you called it.

"The clinic has been very busy since I arrived," he replied. "I'm still living out of suitcases."

"You're a big hit, doc."

I glanced around the room, and all eyes were on us. A quick check of the opening to the kitchen, where prepared food sits before being delivered, found Jill and Agnes gawking at us as well. I knew what Agnes was up to, but worried that Jill was still dealing with romantic disappointment that the new doctor may be gay.

"I'm not sure I'm a hit, or if the town just seems to be needing care all at the same time," he said, sounding nicer than I wanted to think he was.

"Trust me, it's all you, doc."

"Can you call me Ben?" he asked, moving his silverware to the side and placing his hands on the table. "I'm sorry if I came off as distant at the clinic when you stopped by."

He was impossible to talk with. There was no way I could have a discussion with him without having to make eye contact. I couldn't breathe when I did that, so I was fucked and probably seemed rude.

"I can do that, Ben, and please call me Hunter, or Hunt, like everyone else does," I instructed.

"And I'm sorry about your husband," he said softly, looking into my eyes and hypnotizing me further. "Agnes told me at the clinic. That had to be awful for you, Hunt."

Shit! I'm sure my eyes welled up at his kindness, another trait I hadn't been prepared for. Was this man more than his pretty face? God, I hoped not. "Kind of you to say," I croaked, clearing my throat.

For just an instant, I swore he was about to reach out for my arm. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, I didn't like that the locks on my heart were coming undone. Thank goodness I had a few dozen spares secured to the vital organ.

"I just cannot imagine losing my husband," he said, his own eyes welling up.

"You're married?" I inquired. "To a man?" I added, suddenly feeling a different pain in my heart. This one was sad or jealous, not quite sure just yet.

"Oh, no," he quickly blurted. "Not married. No husband," he assured me.

"Are you gay?" I asked, holding my breath. "I mean, if you care to disclose that. No pressure if not, and certainly no problem if you're straight," I clarified, sounding rattled, I'm sure.

"Gay, yes. And very single, yes."

I didn't know how to respond to his direct answer. On the one hand, I appreciated the openness and willingness to share with me. On the other, he seemed a bit determined to emphasize the very part of being single. Was this a message he wanted me to hear?

I decided to retreat from this topic. "How about your living situation? Will you live in the mansion or buy another place in town?" I asked.

He almost laughed out loud. I assumed he stopped himself from sounding offended that a man of his quality would ever consider buying real estate in a town like Plentywood. Ben Hawthorne had class. That fact was evident in his bearing. Every motion. Every carefully selected word. His overall appearance. Everything screamed, "I'm not from Montana."

"I'll live in the upstairs apartment," he stated. "The furnishings are, how do I put this…a tad old? But I'll make it work."

"I've seen the antiques. I think they're extraordinary," I said. "Some pieces have to be a century old, I'd bet."

"Totally not my style," he declared, not surprising me in the least. Just when I was warming up to him and thinking he might actually be a decent guy, his seemed arrogance would show up and shut my fantasy down. I could never be with a man like Benedict Hawthorne. That was a fact. "It won't matter in a year anyway," he added, adjusting his sleeve length with one less roll.

"And why is that?" I asked.

"I won't be here in a year," he replied. "The next caretaker can make the decision to live there full time or not."

I was stunned to hear his news. He wasn't sticking around? "A new doctor like you is just stopping by for a year?" I asked. "No roots? No commitment to the town?"

His eyes narrowed, and he removed his hands from the tabletop, placing them in his lap. "I'm committed," he stated. "For exactly one year," he added.

Forgetting his eyes and the damage they did to my heart function, I glared at him, now studying them for any signs of humanity. "A year? One single year, and then you're bailing on us?"

"I'm not bailing , sheriff," he stated flatly, returning my glare with his own fury. "I'm doing this town a favor by being here for that year. I had many other options other than Montana. Trust me on that."

"Oh, I imagine you did."

"What does that mean?" he snarled, losing his well-put-together demeanor for just a second. He didn't like losing his composure. I could clearly see it in his body language.

"I imagine you see yourself in a large city," I began, scooting forward in my chair and leaning toward him. He recoiled and leaned back. "Doubtless a fancier place where the local population isn't a bunch of country hicks. Is that your sorta place, Doctor ?"

"I don't owe this town, or you, an explanation, sheriff ," he fired back, snottily emphasizing my title like I'd done to his.

"Why? Because you'd have to be a decent human being?"

I had clearly lost my shit. He had touched a nerve and now I wanted him to feel my wrath. How dare he be handsome? How dare he come to my town and get my goddamned hopes up? And fuck those green eyes.

Our town's new doctor stood and looked me dead in the eyes. "Don't judge me, sheriff. It seems like you have enough of your own baggage to deal with." He turned to walk away but stopped and turned back, moving closer to the edge of the table, leaning over me. "Tough men like you are all the same, Copeland. Stupid as fuck, and not worth the effort of giving a shit about them."

And with that, he stormed out of the diner. Agnes and Jill, who had been eavesdropping and staring, came dashing out of the kitchen, Agnes bee-lining for the front door, Jill heading for me.

"What did you do?" she hissed, before moving toward the diner's windows and watching as the doctor got in his Mercedes.

Agnes decided to exchange places with her and walked toward me, her face as cold as dead flesh, eyes round in angry question. She leaned into me and grabbed me by the earlobe. "You dumb fuck," she hissed. "I'm trying to get you a new husband. Get up and go after him!" she demanded, pointing at the door. "Now!"

"Fuck that, old lady. And stay the fuck outta my business."

The customers in the diner were all in shock, looking back and forth to me, then Jill, then Agnes, and then back to each other. This was headline news in Plentywood. The phones would be burning up for days.