The Country Duet(5)

His gruff words cause me to look over at him. I struggle to see the young man who used to have a body that allowed him to live, but it never comes. It’s just a shell of a man fighting to survive.

“Sounds good.” The words slip from my mouth before I realize it.

“Every Saturday at nine a.m. sharp. No excuses, boy.”

My fists clench and unclench with his lack of respect for me. “I have a name, and it’s Hunter Yates. I’d appreciate if you use it.”

A slow smile spreads out on the wrinkles of his face, then he extends his shaky hand to me. It’s then I see how messed up his hands are, riddled with arthritis just like my great grandma’s used to be. I slip my hand into his and shake.

“Dave. My name is Dave.”





Chapter 2


Hunter


“I'm country through and through.” –Miranda Lambert



Did that just really happen? The stench from his house is still lingering on my clothes and skin, forcing me to have the windows open in my truck. The cool breeze of Northern Idaho is doing nothing to take it away. I don’t think a case of Febreeze would even do the trick.

Just my fucking luck. Find a job that might keep me busy and add some money to my bank account, only for it to turn out to be a damn wild goose chase. Here my hands are thirsty for real farm or ranch work. The kind leaving your bones exhausted and your heart gratified after a long day of working the soil or a herd of cattle.

I slam the steering wheel with my fist out of frustration, then immediately pet the center of it.

“Sorry, girl.”

A blur of bright red up on the side of the road catches my attention, then a car comes into view. I slow down my truck as I had it open at full throttle, turn on my hazards, and pull up behind the car. The pools of red weren’t from the color of the car, but rather radiating from the woman in the middle, kicking the shit out of her flat tire. Long, crazy locks of deep auburn hair curl down way past her back.

“Hey.” I beam, walking up to her. “Need some help?”

She bites down on her bottom lip. I’m sure capturing it in a smartass reply, which only makes me smile at her. Feisty. I already like her.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I kneel down, looking at the blown-out tire.

When I look closer at the wheel and tire, I can see wires poking through. This girl didn’t run over a sharp object, but literally drove the tire off her car.

“Got a spare?” I look up at her, thankful the brim of my hat is shading my eyes.

“Yes.”

Her answer is not convincing me at all. It’s her action of nibbling on her bottom lip and when I spot her spare, I know exactly why. It may have fifteen miles left on it, if that. I’m shocked when she has the jack ready with the tire iron spinning in her other hand.

“Thanks.” I peer up at her with a slow forming grin on my face.

“Teale. My name is Teale Wickett and you’re welcome…”

Her last word lingers in question, searching for my name. It’s a perfect pleasure bantering with her while saving her on the side of the road. It washes away the oddness I just experienced at Dave’s place. Hell, I hope this girl can’t smell the stench from his house.

“I mean I could call you Tim The Tool Man Taylor or Mr. Fix It if your name is top secret or some crazy shit like that.”

I realize she began rambling on because I’m just staring up at her. She’s gorgeous and has quite the mouth on her as well. Witty as all get out, unlike the girls at campus.

“You can call me whatever you’d like. I tend to go by Hunter Yates.”

“Tend to?” she asks.

I shrug, reaching up for the tire iron, making sure our hands brush. “Like I said, whatever you’d like to call me, Teale.”

Testing her name out on my lips. It’s delicious.

She clutches her chest, stepping back and bites down on her lip. The gesture is sexy as fuck, giving me all sorts of naughty plans. Damn, she needs to knock that shit off before I embarrass myself in front of her. I change the tire like some goddamn NASCAR pit crew. Shit, this little bit of work is more productive than the whole wasted afternoon at Dave’s.

“Gonna follow you into town.” I brush off my hands on the front of my jeans. “Drive slow. We’ll be lucky if it makes it that far. You can get a new tire and then be back on the road.”

“Okay, Mr. Fix It, sounds like a plan.” Teale hops in her tiny car and speeds down the highway.

She has one speed; no wonder her tires are so damn bald. I follow her taillights into town, doing my best to keep up with zippy. She doesn’t use her blinker when making a hard left into a local mechanic shop. At least she listened to one piece of my advice.

Teale’s long legs fall from the car. Sitting in my truck, I take the time to drink her in. She’s pulled her wild hair up into one of those messy things on top of her head and she’s damn near as tall as me with long, athletic legs on display in her shorts. Her appearance in this parking lot is large and in charge, the complete opposite from her on the side of the road.

This woman is already a mystery I’m dying to solve. Too bad she’s just passing through because I could have fun with her.

She’s standing next to me, tapping on my window and leaning in. Her scent is sweeter than honey, making me drunk on her. What in the hell is happening here? I’ve been hanging around Burton way too long. His bad habits are rubbing off on me, proving my theory that if you hang out around stupid people your IQ drops.