Chapter 5
Hunter
I turned thirty this year. And I don’t know about anyone else, but thirty feels old to me. Like I should have lived a thousand lives by now.
And maybe I have. I’ve been a thousand different men, and that’s the truth.
Maybe I’ve been hanging around horses too long. Heck, they don’t live to be much older than thirty, even if you are lucky, like I am with Beau. He’s the best fuckin’ horse there ever was, and I might just lie down and die alongside him when he goes. I don’t remember a day in my life without him.
There are only two people alive I’ve loved longer than my horse. One of ‘em’s my best friend, Dusty. And the other one?
That would be his little sister. And she’s standing right in front of me.
Lord knows I put up a valiant fuckin’ effort to avoid her this morning. I didn’t even stop to help her, or the woman I now know is Claudette, right themselves before I shot outta there like a horse at the starting gate. Makes me sound weak, I know. But she weakens me.
I’m not stupid. I know why.
I know I’m still in love with Devyn fuckin’ Lynn.
I never stopped loving her. How could I?
No amount of glitz and glam, rumors and tabloid headlines…no amount of time could change that. She could burn the world down, and I’d still worship the way the flames light her eyes.
It doesn’t matter who I love, though. Dustin, her father, the princess herself, and even my own damn self knows we’re over. However, my stupid fuckin’ cock was not afforded the memo, and he’s sittin’ pretty, prancin’ straight in the Barbie Doll’s direction.
I can’t blame him if he knows what he likes, but damn it if it ain’t harder than hell to make the damn thing obey me when she’s over there plain as day looking at my bottom half like it’s the cheeseburger her mama never let her eat.
A crease forms in my brow with that. She looks too thin. Funny how stuff like that can be second nature to consider, even when taking care of her hasn’t been my job for a long time. I take my time as I look her up and down and feel a low growl start in my throat when I let my mind drift to past conversations we’d had about her health. All the times I snuck a happy meal through her bedroom window on pageant week.
About everything else.
I’m certain my girl still has no idea who I am, and damn if that doesn’t sweeten the pot. She doesn’t know she hates me yet. And I’m enjoying the way her eyes roam my body. I’ve bulked up since the last time we tangled, and I never used to grow a beard. That’s something I started for TikTok. Sometimes when you run a non-profit community farm, you have to…
I film thirst traps. Plain and simple.
It gets me sponsored by big farming equipment companies, and that way I can run the youth farm and rodeo with no cost to the parents in our low-income area. And all I have to do is take my shirt off while I do completely normal farm shit. I might spice it up from time to time, flirt with the camera a bit. It’s nice to feel appreciated.
For whatever reason, the ladies of the interwebs go crazy for it. I gained almost twenty thousand followers after the first month, so I keep doing it. Why not?
People might call me a playboy, spin tales of OnlyFans, say I’m a porn star…that’s my particular favorite. In a small town, people love to talk, but I don’t give two fucks who thinks what about me. Let ‘em think all they want. My nine-year-old niece and her friends know how to raise livestock and lead with sustainability, and their parents don’t have to worry about where they are and what they’re gettin’ into after school. My farm is a safe space for most kids in our town. And if taking my shirt off on the Internet so bored thirtysomethings get their cowboy fix is what keeps the kids in my community from behind bars like the rodeo did for me, then so be it.
I’ve worked too hard to make this town something for people to be proud of. I want generations after me to say, “Yeah, I’m from Pine Forest, that’s my hometown.” I want them to go off and get jobs and come back to raise families here because this is home to them. Like it is to me.
So, I do what I can. I donate. Give back. Sponsor community events. Take my shirt off while I chop wood from time to time and get a free cultivator for it. Doesn’t make me a playboy.
I don’t care about any woman on the Internet, anyway. I haven’t dated anyone in a long time. It’s not fair to give them half of my heart when the other half will always belong to the girl next door.
No, I don’t care about any of those women. The ones who send me late night texts, hang all over me at bars, soccer moms with phone numbers stuffed in coat pockets on the sidelines. I don’t give a lick about any of ‘em but the one standing right in front of me. Never have, and I reckon I never will.
I’ve been thinking about her since I bumped into her on the street. I’ve mulled it over. I’ve weighed the damn pros and cons. And you know what?
I don’t really care why God saw it fit to put her in my path again, but I’m not dumb enough to fuck it up twice.
I came here for a job I don’t even need.
They reached out to me.
I could give two fucks about Classy Country and their frilly fabrics, and as far as I see it, the only thing that’s piqued my interest here in the city came from the country to begin with.
And as I watch the girl of my dreams do nothing short of make an ice cream sundae out of my body right in front of the whole damn interview, I lick my lips and decide right then and there.
I’m gonna make this woman fall in love with me. Again.