14. Hunter
Chapter fourteen
Hunter
The news of my engagement to Ellie rippled through the town as we’d hoped.
Two days after Rosie found us snuggling up in the park, I received three texts from old high school buddies congratulating us.
I’d overheard Mrs. Truman talking about our engagement in the Starlight Valley General Store, and even Old Man Lewis had grunted at me in the middle of the cereal aisle, which I took to mean congrats, or perhaps good luck.
It all left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. This was both everything I’d ever wanted—and also, not. It could be a line in that Alanis Morisette song Ironic: “It’s like marrying the girl of your dreams/Only for her it’s not real.”
The real mission was clear: show Ellie that this could be real, if she wanted it. It all felt like walking a tightrope, balancing between giving her space and making sure she never doubted that I was all in.
And protecting her from Dylan at all costs.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Wyatt asks around the grill at our family dinner.
Inside, the girls are all mooning over Ellie’s ring.
It’s different from any ring I’ve ever seen before, with little detailing that Ellie told me is called “filigree” and tiny blue gemstones surrounding the center diamond that make it look like a flower.
As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect for Ellie. It’s unique and whimsical, just like her.
“It’s not the direct route I thought I’d take with Ellie,” I confess. “But if the Marines taught me anything it’s to improvise, adapt, overcome.”
“Uh huh,” Wyatt says, clearly unconvinced. “And how exactly are you going to overcome the fact that Ellie is pregnant with another man’s baby?”
I cross my arms and grit my teeth. As a pediatrician, Wyatt deals with—and adores—kids. An occupational hazard and, as he tells it, a blessing. “That’s not an issue to overcome, Wyatt. I thought you of all people would understand that.”
Wyatt lifts his hands as if in surrender. “Look, all I’m saying is Hallmark movies don’t prepare you for these kinds of romantic complications.”
I roll my eyes at his attempted humor. “You watching too many Hallmark movies again, Wy?”
“Georgia’s started a Christmas marathon,” he says with an embarrassed laugh.
“Right,” I say. “So you’re watching them with your ‘friend’?” I put the word in air quotes. He knows how I feel about him and Georgia. How we all feel about him and Georgia.
Wyatt sighs, closing the grill. “Look, I’ll be the first to expound on the sanctity of life and how incredible children are,” he says, sidestepping my comment about his best friend. “But this situation is way more complex than you can even imagine.”
My parents come through the sliding glass door onto the deck as Wyatt is finishing his sentence. My mom’s face pinches in concern, and I steel myself for what might come next. Is this an intervention? I take a deep breath, the smoke from the grill filling my lungs, but I hold back a cough.
“Sweetie,” my mom says, reaching out to put a hand on my crossed arms.
Here it comes.
“We’re so happy for you and Ellie to have finally found your way to each other.” Something uncertain swirls inside of me. Like maybe all this time when I thought my feelings for Ellie were hidden, I was really see-through. And I don’t like that.
“But?” I drag out the word, knowing there’s something more coming.
“We’re concerned about this thing with Dylan,” my dad says, his deep voice clear and resonant. It’s obvious they’ve talked about this at length—the way they both say “we.” My parents have always been this way. Prepared. Unified. Intentionally in tune with one another.
I sigh, unraveling my arms. “I’m concerned about Dylan too. But I’m more concerned about Ellie.”
My parents and Wyatt eye me, and my mom opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but then doesn’t.
“What is it?” I press. My mom’s intuition is rarely wrong, so if she’s worried about something, I want to hear it.
“I don’t know the details, but I do know that Dylan might be involved in some … unsavory things.”
“More unsavory than abusing his wife?” I say through clenched teeth. Anger whips through me, fast and furious. Are they really more worried about my safety than Ellie’s? I can take care of myself—but Ellie’s vulnerable.
“You know we care about Ellie like she’s our daughter,” my mom says, emotion choking her words. The crack in her voice softens my anger, because I’m aware that I’m not the only one who loves Ellie here. I close my fists, steadying the heated emotions before getting back to the conversation.
“I know, Mom.” I pull her into a hug, trying to ease the tension we’re all feeling. “What are we talking about here?” I ask.
My dad’s eyes flick toward my mom. “We’re hesitant to say anything because we don’t know the details,” he says.
“But it’s, well, some think that his trucking business is a front for something else,” my mom finishes.
“Like what?”
“There’s some speculation, but we don’t know.”
“Who, exactly, is doing this speculating?”
My parents clearly don’t want to answer that question, judging by the matching chagrined looks they’re wearing.
“Who is it?” I repeat.
“Tom.”
I scoff. “Crazy Tom?”
“That’s a very crass name for such a good guy,” my mom says.
“Ma, he told everyone in town that the mayor was contaminating the water with maple syrup so people would vote for him.”
“Well, to be fair, no one knows that isn’t true,” my mom says like that’s the most pragmatic stance.
I raise my eyebrows, giving her a look while Wyatt chuckles.
“He might know more than we realize, sweetie,” my mom insists.
“He was right about the bridge. Remember, everyone laughed at him until it collapsed?” my dad says.
“And of course there was the bakery fiasco of ’22.
” Mrs. Mabel at Bluebird Bakery won Best Bakery in Tennessee that year.
Tom made such a fuss, insisting the bakery wasn’t actually in Tennessee—despite its address being a Tennessee address—that someone finally pulled up the zoning maps.
To everyone’s horror—and Tom’s delight—he was right and Bluebird Bakery fell mostly in North Carolina.
“As opposed to the bakery fiascos of ’16, ’19, ’21, and ’23?” Wyatt quips.
“The guy is an alarmist,” I say.
“He thinks the Walmart drones are being hijacked by foreigners who are mapping the town,” Wyatt says.
“Don’t get me wrong, Tom is … well, he’s an outside-the-box thinker. But he’s also hyperobservant,” my dad insists. “Sheriff Peterson told me that Tom called in to report Dylan because he doesn’t have enough trucks for the apparent income that he has—”
“And how does Tom know what Dylan’s income is?”
“The guy drives a Ferrari, Hunter.”
“Okay, fair enough.” I don’t know much about Dylan—I tried to stay out of that loop when Ellie got engaged—but Grandma DeeDee mentioned once that he would frequently take her on extravagant overseas vacations.
The guy wasn’t exactly quiet about his money.
“But that’s hardly enough evidence to indict the guy. ”
“Which is what Peterson said,” my dad says. “But it still doesn’t sit right with me. His actions with Ellie make it all the easier to believe he’s up to no good with his business. I know the whole town is convinced he’s a good guy, but we all know that ain’t true.”
Dylan has all of Starlight Valley convinced that he’s some kind of hero. It doesn’t help that only Ellie and her closest circle—the non-gossipy ones—know about Dylan’s abuse.
“So, what are you suggesting?” I frown, running a hand through my beard. “I’m not going to abandon Ellie just because her ex-husband is maybe involved in criminal activity. If anything, I’m just going to protect her even more.”
“Protect Ellie, of course,” my mom says. “But tread carefully with Dylan. He’s not going to be happy when he hears about the two of you.” The way she said it made it feel less like advice and more like a responsibility being handed to me.
All I know is that I’ll protect Ellie and the baby, no matter what anyone says.