4. Hunter
Chapter four
Hunter
The supply run isn’t optional. We're low on laminating pouches and down to the last spool of binding wire. Without them, I calculate that the workflow stops dead in six hours.
She's at the worktable when I come back inside from loading my truck, hair twisted up in that messy knot she favors, ink smudged on the side of her hand. Morning light catches the exhaustion lingering around her eyes, but there's steadiness there, too.
"We need to go into town." I keep my voice matter-of-fact, already anticipating the resistance.
She grips the planner she's assembling. "Now? Hunter, I can't. The deadline—"
"Isn't going to matter if you run out of materials." I cross to the table and tap the nearly empty box of laminating pouches. "You've got maybe enough for another twenty orders. Then what?"
She bites her lower lip, that little crease appearing between her brows, and I give her the math she needs. "We go now, we're back in two hours. You lose two hours of work. We wait until you run out, you lose the rest of the day waiting for the hardware store to open tomorrow morning."
Her shoulders drop half an inch, the fight draining out of her posture. "You're annoyingly right about things."
"I know." I hold out her jacket. "Come on. You need a break anyway."
"I don't—"
"Skye." I wait until she looks at me, until her eyes meet mine and she registers the command underneath the calm. "You're coming with me. "
Her cheeks pinken, pupils dilating before she takes the jacket without protest. The compliance stirs my cock, and I turn away before I forget the deadline.
The drive down the mountain takes twenty minutes, winding through switchbacks still damp from the storm. Skye sits in the passenger seat scrolling through customer messages, tension building in her jaw, her free hand curling into a fist against her thigh.
"Put it away." I reach over and pluck the phone from her hands when her knuckles go white, sliding it into the cup holder between us. "Two hours. The messages will still be there when we get back."
She begins to argue, then stops and turns to look out the window instead, her fingers drumming against her thigh.
I place my hand over hers, stilling the anxious movement, and her palm turns up beneath mine, fingers lacing through.
We drive like that, her pulse slowing where our wrists press together.
Granitehart Ridge opens up as we round the final curve, Main Street stretching through town with mountains rising behind it.
Cinnamon and yeast drift from Sadie's Place Bakery even through the closed truck windows, the scent rich enough that my stomach tightens with hunger I've been ignoring.
Skye's hand flexes in mine, and when I glance over, she's staring at the bakery with longing softening her face.
"After," I say. "We'll get breakfast after supplies."
Her smile is small but genuine. "You're always feeding me."
"Someone has to."
I park in front of Ridge Hardware where Mack Thornton is rearranging a camping display in the front window. He looks up when we walk in, and his weathered face splits into a grin that tells me I'm about to get commentary I didn't ask for.
"Hunter Channing. Twice in one week. Should I be worried?" His eyes shift past me to Skye, his bushy eyebrows rising with undisguised interest.
"Need supplies, Mack." I guide Skye toward the aisle where the office and craft materials are kept, my palm settling at the small of her back. "Laminating pouches and binding wire. Whatever you've got in stock."
"I'll see what's in the back." But Mack doesn't move yet, still studying Skye with the shameless curiosity of someone who's lived in a small town his entire life and considers everyone's business fair game. "You're the one renting the cabin up on Ridge Point."
"Skye Lochary." She offers her hand, and Mack shakes it with enthusiasm. "Thanks for having supplies. I wasn't sure—"
"We've got a bit of everything up here. Never know what folks might need." He disappears into the back room, leaving us alone in the quiet store.
Skye wanders to a display of handmade candles, picking one up to inhale its scent. The words Made By Mona, Always Local scroll across the label. Morning light catches the highlights in Skye’s hair, and I remember those hands fisted in my shirt.
"This place is charming," she says softly. "Like something out of a movie."
"It's home. You like it?"
"Yeah." She sets down the candle and turns to face me, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "I can see why you live here."
The door chimes, and Berg walks in with Hawke right behind him. Of course the brotherhood would walk in when we’re here. The universe must have a sense of humor.
"Hunter." Berg’s grin is immediate and knowing. "Didn't expect to see you in town this early."
"Supply run." I don't elaborate, but his eyes have already found Skye, and the curiosity there is matched by Hawke's quiet assessment.
"Supplies for what?" Hawke asks, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
Before I can answer, Archer appears in the doorway, silent as always. He takes in the scene with those observant eyes, his gaze lingering on Skye for a beat longer than necessary before shifting to me. There's a question there, unspoken but clear.
"Skye, these are some of the guys from the SAR team, my brotherhood. Berg, Hawke, Archer. Skye's renting the Ridge Point cabin."
"The one you own," Berg adds, his grin widening in a way that makes my jaw tighten. "How convenient."
Skye's cheeks flush, but she steps forward and shakes hands with each of them. Archer is the last, and when he takes her hand, his grip is gentle, his expression carefully neutral.
"Nice to meet you," Archer says quietly. "Hope the cabin's treating you well."
"It is. Hunter's been..." She glances at me, and warmth softens the tired lines around her eyes. "He's been really helpful."
"I bet," Berg mutters, and Hawke elbows him.
Mack returns with two boxes of laminating pouches and several spools of binding wire, setting them on the counter with a satisfied nod. "This should get you through for a while. Doing some kind of project up there?"
"I run a custom planner company," Skye says, pulling out her wallet. "I had a deadline that required isolation."
"Planners, huh?" Mack rings up the supplies without urgency, clearly fishing for more information. "Must be doing well if you need all this."
I hand Mack my card before Skye can pay. She starts to protest, but I silence her with eye contact. Her breath hitches. The guys notice. Of course, they notice.
We're loading supplies when a man I don't recognize approaches from across the street. Mid-thirties, expensive outdoor gear too clean to have seen use, smile setting my teeth on edge.
"Excuse me," he says, directing his attention entirely at Skye. "I couldn't help but overhear you mentioning custom planners. I was in Ridge Hardware a few minutes ago. I’m in small business development. Do you have a card?"
Skye's professional smile appears, the one that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm actually not looking for any business opportunities right now. I'm behind on my current queue."
"That's too bad." He steps closer, into her space, and my hands freeze on the truck bed, knuckles whitening against the metal. "Maybe when you're caught up? I'm staying in Luray for a few weeks. We could grab coffee, and you could tell me more about your work."
He steps closer, into my space, and my jaw locks tight. Skye takes a small step backward, and her back hits the truck bed. Her ribs lift with a shallow breath she can't deepen, and then I'm there.
I move before the sentence finishes, closing the distance between us and positioning myself at Skye's side. My hand spans the small of her back, fingers spreading to cover as much territory as possible, and I pull her into my side. She fits there. Everyone watching knows it now.
"She's busy." My voice stays level, but my hand presses against her spine.
"Right. Of course." He raises his hands in surrender, already backing away. "Didn't mean to intrude. Best of luck with your business."
He disappears back across the street, and Skye's ribcage expands beneath my palm with a breath that sounds like relief she didn't know she needed.
Her weight shifts into my hand, her body choosing my protection before her mind catches up.
She leans in, hip pressing against mine, pulse at her throat slowing from rapid flutter to steady beat.
"You didn't have to do that," she says, but there's no anger in it. Just observation.
"Yeah. I did." I turn her to face me, keeping my touch on her back, and lower my voice so only she hears. "You don't have to handle everything alone anymore. Not strangers who can't take a hint. Not the deadline. Not any of it."
Her lips part, and for a second, I think she's going to argue, but then her eyes go soft and she nods, just once. The acknowledgment settles into my muscles like a permanence.
"Hunter." Archer’s voice cuts through the moment, and I turn to find all three of them standing outside the hardware store entrance, varying degrees of amusement on their faces.
His expression stays unreadable, but there's awareness there, quiet and assessing.
"We're heading to The Taproom for breakfast. You two should come. "
I'm about to decline when Skye speaks up. "That sounds nice, actually."
The surprise must show on my face because she smiles, small and genuine. "Two hours, remember? And I haven't had a real meal in days that you didn't make me eat."
The Taproom is quiet on a weekday, just a handful of locals scattered at booths.
A stone fireplace takes up one wall, and the small stage in front sits empty.
The aroma of coffee and bacon hangs warm in the air.
We claim a booth in the back, and Skye slides in first. I follow, close enough that our legs touch, and Archer's eyes track the movement.