The Country Duet(2)

Doesn’t take away the fact I love life at the university, just sucks it’s a nine-hour drive home, making it hard as hell to go back as frequently as I’d like.

“Pretty boy, up for a wild night?” my best friend from home hollers from down the crowded hall.

He’s a good foot taller than anyone else surrounding him, making it easy to spot Burton Childs. His trucker hat on full display, along with his cheesy ass grin. I’m shocked he’s lasted this long here on campus. Pretty sure he’s only staying until the end of the semester to make sure he wins the bet. Yep, we have a high-stakes wager about whether or not he’ll last three semesters here.

He leaves before the third semester is up and I get the spring foal out of his prize mare. He sticks out three semesters, he gets my truck. My prized obsession. There are four things that matter in my life that I can’t live without. Jesus, family, Sweetwater Ranch, and my truck. My one-ton badass Dodge Ram.

It’s no secret Burton Childs wants to be back in our hometown on his family’s ranch and running it. College work doesn’t come as easy for Burton. He belongs on horseback, raising hell back in Asher, Idaho. And that’s the only reason I would’ve been dumb enough to put my truck on the line.

I go back to studying the bulletin board with pinned jobs while I wait for his ass to get over here. There ain’t many jobs posted on these university boards for a country kid like me. I love my classes, but would go stir crazy clerking in a library or some other annoying shit. And fast food just isn’t it for me, my heart doesn’t want it.

Something catches my attention. It’s a light green notecard.

Farm Hand and Laborer Needed

Part-time help needed. Must be handy around farm equipment and willing to work. All inquiries call for more details.

I punch the number quickly into the note section in my iPhone before Burton slaps me on the back.

“Your turn to buy lunch, bitch.”

“It’s always my turn,” I grumble, double checking I have the number correct.

We walk out of the Ag building into the sunshine. I don’t miss all the heads turning our way. Did I mention Burton is also a player? He does not discriminate when it comes to women. Hell, the man is pickier about picking out a new Stetson cowboy hat than the next body to warm his bed. I guess college hasn’t been all that much of a waste for him in that aspect.

“Still looking for a job?” Burton asks around a mouthful of food.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“I’ll never understand you, Hunter Yates. Your family has more money than they know what to do with and your mom is always telling you she’d transfer you money. Jesus, man you have your kingdom waiting for you back in Asher.”

I shake my head at him, knowing it’s worthless to explain it to him. It’s not like he hasn’t heard my theory before. Burton has no issues taking full advantage of what his family has to offer him. Sometimes it lurks into the gray area of abusing it. I don’t operate that way and never will.

Burton swivels his John Deere trucker hat on backward, setting his vision on a booth of giggling bimbos. Yes, I do have respect for women. But in this college town, there’s a huge difference between a woman and a bimbo. The pool of endless women who are shameless about their assets, putting out for everyone and anyone, is what I consider a bimbo. I’m not one sided on this theory because Burton falls into the manwhore pool on the male side of it.

“Take notes. Loosen up, Hunter, and enjoy the college years.”

“I’m not here for pussy like you are.”

He stands up, giving me his signature abrupt pat on the back, and then strides off to the giggling booth of girls in the corner. I hear him offer to buy them dessert. I snort. That cheap bastard. Can’t buy his or his best friend’s lunch, but always willing to fork out a little dough for the ladies. Love and let live and that kind of bullshit. Whatever floats his boat!

I pay the bill, heading outside where it’s quiet, and then dial the number from the bulletin board. It rings several times, extinguishing my hopes. I knew this job had to be too good to be true. Right when I’m about to hang up, someone answers. There’s rustling and what sounds like some kind of wrestling match on the other end.

“Yes.”

I pull the phone from my ear when I hear the angry voice on the other end.

“Hello.” I clear my throat.

“What?” A gruff, no-nonsense voice streams through my phone.

“Calling about the job you posted at the university.”

“What?”

“The part-time farmhand job,” I reply louder this time.

Static fills the phone, garbling up all of his words.

“Sir, I can’t hear you.”

“Are you…” He cuts out for several seconds. “Get the fuck on with it.”

I have no idea why I don’t hang up. Must be my desperation for a job. “Do you still have the job?”

Each of my words coming out loud and precise.

“Come out to my place.”

Miraculously, that came through loud and clear.

“I can plug your address in my phone if you give it to me.”

“WHAT?” he shouts into the phone.

Again, I talk loud and clear like I’m trying to communicate with an alien. “Your address, so that I can come out.”