CHAPTER THREE Hunter

A fter breakfast, instead of heading into the office, I went home. Earlier, I'd tried fooling myself into believing that today was just another day. The calendar read June 1 st when I woke up, but I pretended that after two years, the date didn't matter because I was over my grief. One look at Jill, Mark's sister, and the truth was clear. I wasn't over shit.

Like I'd done in the parking lot at the diner before driving home, I sat inside my SUV when I got here, buried in hurt. How do you dig yourself out of a sorrow so deep that it hurts to simply stand up every day and pretend you're doing just fine?

Bella could see me through the window. I think even she knew today sucked. I forced myself to get out of the Chevy Tahoe , a black SUV covered with the Sheriff's department decals and loads of lights, that I drove, compliments of Sheridan county. The latest sticker was on the driver's side door. It read, Sheriff Hunter Copeland .

"Hey, girl," I whispered, allowing Bella to jump up on me. "Just me. Again."

I often wondered how an animal dealt with the sudden departure of a loving human being in their life. Did Bella sense that Mark had dropped dead? Like me, she'd been there, front row and center, at his death. Dogs were intuitive. She sensed the change in me; the other life extinguished that day.

I pulled a chair from under the dining table and sat down. It wasn't often that I sat at this table since Mark died. Too many meals were shared here. Too many memories.

* * *

"I know it's not much, Hunt," Mark whispered, watching me turn the belt buckle over in my hands. "I wanted… well, you know."

"It's perfect," I replied. "You know how I feel about my Grizzlies."

The belt buckle had the insignia of The University of Montana Grizzlies etched on the face. Monte was the nickname for the mascot, a grizzly bear. I'd even had a dog named Monte.

"You're thinking about Monte, aren't you?"

I looked up at my husband and smiled. "Yep. I was," I admitted. "I miss him."

Mark stood and came to stand behind me, tugging on my short hair. "I'm sorry I'm not contributing more," he whispered, raking my hair with his fingers. "No one's hiring. At least not around here, or so I can still work remotely."

"You'll figure it out, Whip," I soothed, raising my hand to my shoulder for him to hold. I'd called him Whip since we were kids. " We will figure it out. I don't want you living in Missoula part-time while you work."

"You're supporting us, Hunt. I don't feel good about it."

I pushed my chair back and tapped my lap, inviting him to sit. Mark sat down, wrapping his arms around my neck and nuzzling my unshaven face. "I love you, kiddo. I don't mind," I said.

Mark and I were three years apart. I was a sixth grader when we met. He was a small fella. A shy third grader that other kids picked on. Weirdly, and I have no idea how I knew this, but I wanted him the day I saw him. Want was a strange feeling for an eleven-year-old, but there was no other way to describe my feelings for him the very day I saw him. I think when he joined me at the middle school, him in sixth and me a ninth grader, we both knew what we were to one another.

Our small town figured out what we were to each other when I took his sister to prom, and he made a big scene by showing up at the high school. "He belongs to me, Jill," he'd declared, hands on his hips. "Hunter Copeland is mine, and he's going home right now."

I was this huge senior in high school. All wiry muscle. Lean and tall, and very strong. The star quarterback. Mark was a little whippersnapper. All brains. No brawn. By then I'd been calling him Whip for a couple of years. I loved him even then. Our relationship got hard when it was me, an eighteen-year-old senior about to go to college, and him, almost fifteen, a minor.

"What are you thinking about?" Mark asked, running his fingers along my chin.

"You," I replied. "Always you, Whip." I kissed his cheek. "Do you remember when I went away to college, freshman year?"

"Of course," he answered. "I swore I'd never forgive you for leaving me alone in this town."

"You made me that ring out of barbed wire," I reminded him. "It was my birthday the summer before I left. Do you remember that?"

"Marking my territory," he said. "I was going to kick any asses that tried to take you away from me."

"All one-hundred and twenty pounds of you?" I asked, chuckling at the memory.

"Whatever it took to keep my man."

"That was the best birthday present you ever gave me," I admitted. "And so is this," I added, holding the buckle up to his face. "You always know the perfect gifts to give me."

Mark held my chin, turning my face toward him, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. "I don't deserve a man like you, Hunter Copeland," he whispered.

"Trust me, you do," I argued. "I'll never leave you like I did for college again."

"Good. And I'll never leave you either. Happy birthday, my love."

* * *

Bella nuzzled my leg, so I reached for one of her floppy ears and rubbed just behind it on her favorite sweet spot. She was a blurry figure in my eyes. Eyes that were full of memories. Full of tears.

"Happy birthday," I whispered.