CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Benedict

" I don't think animals like me," I said, grabbing Hunt's arm and hiding behind him.

"Who told you that?" he asked. "Bella seems to, and she doesn't like many people."

"No one told me, but I just think it's true."

"Put your hand out for her to sniff," he instructed. "Trust me, Ben. She will not hurt you."

Bella seemed delighted that I decided to engage with her. She'd been going crazy in the front window after Hunt put her inside when we got to his house and he taught me how to change a tire. Usually, things slobbering on me would freak me out, but she genuinely seemed to like me.

"See?" he asked. "A natural dog lover. Now, how about some dinner?"

I stood, and we headed into his house. The inside was extremely organized. Virtually nothing on the kitchen counter but an espresso machine and a Mr. Coffee machine. A microwave was installed above the stove with a note stuck to it. Each dining room chair was pushed in and appeared to have been measured to an exactness in the spacing.

"Both an espresso machine and a coffeemaker?" I asked. Both had notes stuck to them as well. "Espresso for the fancy guests?"

Hunt didn't answer and pulled a chair out from under the table. My eyes traveled around the room. I began to notice that several things had notes stuck to them. The side of the fridge had several notes with perfect spacing and in exact rows.

"Odd, right?" he asked, catching me as I wandered around the kitchen, realizing there had to be twenty plus notes on everything. I leaned toward the Mr. Coffee machine. There was a note about how many scoops to use, a specific brand of coffee, and the words ‘ Will shut off automatically after three hours .'

I turned around and leaned against the counter, the coffee maker behind me. I was curious now about all the notes. "Hunt? Do you have memory problems?"

"Spoken like a real doctor," he quipped.

"I am a real doctor and now I'm concerned," I admitted.

Hunt looked toward the large picture window where Bella had been going crazy earlier, and beyond to the hills in the distance. I'd overstepped.

"I wrote all the notes when he died," he said, returning his gaze. "I guess I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't do things the way he did."

"Shit," I muttered, feeling an inch tall. "I'm a dick. I'm sorry."

"I liked the way Mark did stuff," he continued, breezing past my apology. "He ran the house. I just lived here with him and Bella."

"Has it helped?"

"I have the notes memorized now," he admitted, fumbling with the bottom edge of his T-shirt. "But I'm afraid to remove them."

I joined him at the table. "What was it like?" I asked.

He sat up abruptly, his eyes widening, inhaling a deep breath. "His dying?" he asked. "You want to know what that was like?" He stared at me like a third eye had suddenly appeared on my forehead. "It fucking sucked is what it was like!"

"I'm sorry, Hunt. I guess what I mean is, how'd you survive it? Besides the notes."

He tilted his head and looked at me carefully. Almost as if he didn't trust me enough to answer or trust my reason for asking. "No one has ever asked me how," he replied. "That sounds so weird now that you've asked."

"I wouldn't have been able to," I confessed.

"I'm not sure I have, to tell you the truth," he revealed.

I was reluctant to reveal any real truths about myself, but Hunt had been so forthcoming and honest. I wanted to expose something to show I was interested in his story. In him.

"I've always wished to have a love like yours," I began. "The idea of actually having a spouse sounds incredible. Every single person in this town speaks about Mark and you, like you two had this amazingly magical thing. I know I'll never have that same love in my life."

"Mark was wonderful," he said,

"And I bet you had your part too," I offered.

"I was along for the ride. Everything we were was because of him."

"And the notes?" I asked. "Are you trying to make sure you stay on course?"

His eyes filled. The anguish written on his face was the only answer I needed. He nodded as a tear fell free.

"What would happen if you removed all the notes, Hunt?"

He shook his head back and forth, his face contorted in pain at the simple idea of my question. "I couldn't," he whispered, choking on his words. "He'd truly be dead then."

Hunt bent over and covered his face with his hands. His back heaved as he tried to hold his hurt in. I stood and went to his side, the medical professional in me taking over. I hated to see this giant of a man so crumpled and distraught. I knew I should have shut up and minded my own business, but I was truly concerned about the rigidity of the notes, as well as his mental health.

My hand squeezed his shoulder, something so personal that I was shocked I'd reached out to him. "I went too far. I should mind my own business," I said.

Hunt sat straight in his chair, swiping at his eyes. "Jesus! That feels good. The crying, you know?" I nodded in agreement. He took several breaths and composed himself. "I have a question for you now, doc."

"Okay," I replied.

He looked at me like he could look right through me. Of course, I immediately felt vulnerable. "You just said that you know you'll never have the same sort of love that I had with Mark. Why do you think that?"

"People just tell me that," I said.

"People?" he asked. "What kind of people would tell you something as cruel as that?"

"Just people," I defended. "Friends. Family." He didn't know that I didn't have friends, so I lumped the imaginary people into my list so my family wouldn't take all the blame.

"You said earlier that animals don't like you," he reminded me. "Again, I ask. Friends? Family?" he asked.

"Mostly me," I confessed, getting flustered and walking toward the kitchen.

Hunt stood and followed me, trapping me in a corner behind the kitchen island. "Why would people prejudge you? Now I'm concerned, doc."

"Oh, don't be," I insisted, waving him off and checking to see the quickest escape route. "I'm used to being alone and prejudged."

Hunt took a step back and leaned against the island, crossing his arms. "Sort of like I'm used to people seeing me as the grieving spouse?"

"You think that's how people see you?" I asked.

"I know that's how people see me now," I corrected. "That and a stick in the mud."

I chuckled at his description of himself. "How about as helpful? Or serious? Or strong? Do you think people see you as those things?"

He pondered my question, scratching on his arm, an arm that bulged when he flexed it. Don't go there, Ben. Same story as Charlie. Big, strong men, especially ones who wear uniforms, are poison for you. I quickly cleared my mind and stared at him as he gave more thought to what I'd asked.

"Maybe," he confirmed. "But then again, you're new to town. You don't have history on your side," he added. "These folks have known me my whole life."

"Like before you married Mark?" I asked. "Do they remember that man? Do you?"

"Jesus, doc! That's some heavy shit," he stated. "How about you?" he asked, turning the tables. "Are you making a new start here? Are we meeting a new you?"

"I wish," I admitted. "I'm afraid you're getting the real me."

"I'm not afraid of the real you, Ben. How about that?"

I nervously glanced at my watch, still hungry, kind of liking the company, but as usual, trying to conceal the true me from people. I hid the man who was afraid of love inside. The man who had convinced himself that Rocco was just a cock to sit on while allowing him to do exactly what he wanted as he hid his sexuality and avoided real commitment. But before I knew I was in love, Rocco slapped me back to reality and wouldn't join me here. He had used me. He'd kept his promise that we were casual, and I wasn't prepared.

"Trust me, Hunt. You should be afraid of getting to know me."

"Now who's also hiding out in Plentywood?" he accused. "At least I'm old news. You, on the other hand, are the new shiny object."

"Is that how you see me, sheriff? The new shiny object?"

His mouth pinched as he was deep in thought, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Not in the least," he stated. "I see you as someone who could use a good man. Maybe you need to trust someone to view you as more than you think you are. What if someone built you up? Said things about how you are liked by people and animals, or you do deserve a great love?"

His words caught in my throat, and I wasn't the one speaking them. No one had ever told me what I could achieve. No one built me up or told me I was liked. Or even that I deserved to experience great love. With my family, and with Rocco, it was assumed I was who I was. A rich, spoiled, trust fund kid, who had grown up with a silver spoon shoved up his ass. They were right about some of it, but I craved love. Real love.

"I'm leaving in less than a year."

"Yeah. You told me that already," he replied. "That gives me, what, eleven or so months to get to know you better?"

"Exactly," I confirmed. "Far too short of a time."

"You like chicken wings, doc?" he asked, joining me near the fridge as he peeked inside. "I can grill burgers if not."

"Just like that?" I asked. "All these heavy topics, and now we're done talking?"

He shut the freezer door, placed what looked like frozen wings on the counter, and faced me. "You've got eleven months according to your calendar," he spoke, pulling a calendar from the wall that still displayed the month of June from two years prior and tossing it in the trash bin. "I've got a lifetime, according to mine."