Chapter 19 Hunter
Hunter
I catch my reflection in the rearview on my way to the shop the next morning.
No denying I look like hell. Didn’t sleep more than a handful of hours and not for lack of trying either.
My mind ran laps all night—around the shop, around the mess we made, around the way her mouth made the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard as her body surrendered and all but conformed to mine.
Didn’t plan for it to happen like that. Hell, I didn’t plan for it to happen at all.
But the second she walked into that shop—avoiding my gaze like she was allergic to me—I swear something overtook me.
I needed to see her smile again. I wanted to see those sparkly indigo eyes.
Some part of me craved her warmth and softness, the things she gave to me so freely before I left her on her front porch that night.
Can’t blame her for being cold to me yesterday. I imagine I made her feel foolish, rejected. But in my desperation, I created a whole new set of feelings—feelings I’m still attempting to untangle.
My mind wanders to the first time I saw her and our brief conversation at the meat counter.
Then I think about how I pretended not to notice her at the coffee shop despite feeling the weight of her stare the entire time.
Then there was the batch of cookies she brought me.
Getting her unstuck in the rain as she sat shivering in my old Carhartt jacket in my truck.
Eating that god-awful casserole together.
Sipping wine with her as she razzed me while wearing the cutest smirk on her pretty little face . . .
Goddamn it, I want this woman—and I’ve wanted her since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
I’m not a word guy. Never have been. I don’t sit around journaling my feelings or talking them out like Cal after three beers.
I fix things. I act. If I care about something, I do something about it.
That’s why I pulled her car out of the ditch.
Why I brought her the generator. It’s why I let her in at all.
Hell. I don’t just want her . . . I need her.
And it terrifies the shit out of me because it’s the one thing that’s beyond my control. I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need anyone—and then she comes into my life like a hailstorm in mid-July, bowling over everything I’ve worked for without warning.
“Jesus,” Cal mutters as he walks into the shop. Truitt’s two steps behind him, two tumblers in hand. “Someone drag you behind the 7600 last night or something?”
No, but it sure feels that way.
“I was gonna say maybe he fell in the bin and got churned up a bit,” Truitt adds, smirking as he passes me a coffee I didn’t ask for.
I grunt a quick thank-you anyway.
“You sick?” Cal asks, voice quieter now.
“No,” I shoot back.
“You, uh, hittin’ the sauce, boss?” Truitt narrows his eyes like he’s about to stage an intervention.
“No,” I clip.
They exchange a glance.
“Is the farm in trouble?” Cal asks.
“No,” I say again. Firmer this time.
They’re quiet for a beat, like they’re waiting for something else. A crack in the armor. Some sign of weakness. Elaboration of any kind.
I give them nothing.
“Big day today. Believe it or not, fields dried out overnight,” I say, already walking to the door. “Get moving, boys.”
I head to my truck, pop the door, and linger for a second. The sun’s barely over the trees, light stretching across the fields in long, gold fingers. Dew’s still clinging to the grass.
And all I can think about is her.
I look toward the house.
Her curtains are closed. No sign of movement. Not that I’d know what to do if there was.
We left things awkward last night. Rushed and breathless and tangled and unfinished. I didn’t say much after—not because I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t know what to say or how to say what I really wanted to say.
Looking back, that was disrespectful of me.
She deserves more than that. She deserves better than that.
I just don’t know how to give it to her.
But I will. I’ll learn.
Even if I have to figure it out the hard way.
Because she’s already mine—she just doesn’t know it yet.