The Country Duet(51)

We both slide out of the booth with our ice cream in tow and walk straight out of the door. My self-discipline slips once the door swings shut. I peer back through the glass and catch Teale still staring at me. She slowly reaches up and wipes away a lone tear.

I walk Chloe back to her dorm room in silence. Holding her earlier felt good, the kissing sweet, and her company welcome, but now it all seems so damn wrong. I fucked up. It’s now that I realize I will never get over the woman who showed me how to love and broke me in the end. She was my beginning and my end.





Chapter 5


Hunter


“The greatest conflicts are not between two people, but between one person and himself.”


-Garth Brooks


“Just go in there and tell them you do business with them.”

“Dave, I’m not going to lie to get you free calendars. Let’s just go to the dollar store.”

“Hell, no.” He slaps the dash of my car. “I need thirty of them. The dollar store don’t carry the kind I want.”

Dave has me on another wild goose chase. He has calendars all over his house, and not just any calendars, but the free ones. And in true Dave fashion, just not free calendars, but mini ones with the top half sticky to put on the dash of trucks or tractors. Most agriculture businesses give them away to their patrons.

“Tell them you need thirty, and we do lots of business with them,” Dave growls again.

“Have you ever bought anything here?” I point to the storefront.

“Hunter,” he warns.

“Fine,” I mutter, shutting the door a little too hard.

The store isn’t busy which is a plus right now.

“How can I help you?” a salesman behind the counter asks.

This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve done, to date. I thought Costco was horrible, but Dave has proven me wrong once again. Once the man gets an idea in his head, there’s no way of talking him out of it.

“My Grandpa has bought some equipment from you, and he’d like some of your business calendars.”

“Oh, let me see if we have any left.”

My fingers drum along the countertop in a nervous gesture. It feels like there’s a flashing light on my forehead telling everyone I’m a damn liar.

“Here you go.” The man sets a box of calendars on the counter.

There’s over a hundred of them in the box. There’s no way in hell I’m grabbing thirty of them. Dave is going to have to be happy with three. I snag the first three.

“Perfect. Thanks.”

I slap the three calendars on my palm as I stride out of the front door.

“You get ‘em?” Dave leans forward.

“They only had three,” I lie again.

“Shit. Drive on down to the next store, and we will get more.”

“Dave. You already have a shit ton of these all over your house and the year is over halfway over.”

“Need thirty more,” he growls. “Did you tell them you do business with them? I could’ve got the job done.”

I nod, driving to the next store. We spend three hours driving around stealing calendars until we have thirty of them and have hit up every single farm store and car dealership in town, but Dave got thirty of the damn calendars.

I pack Dave to his recliner then hand him his thirty calendars. The man’s smile is a mile wide, and he looks happier than a pig in shit.

“Going to spray some weeds and mow your yard.”

“Here, I’ll show you how.” Dave tries several times to get up out of his recliner.

“Dave, I’ve got this.”

“The mower has a little heat to it.”

I don’t even want to know what that means. Dave goes back to his calendars, labeling them where they need to go as I make my way outside. The air is fresh and crisp compared to the inside of his house. It’s a rare Indian Summer day. Spending time outside is just what I need.

After spraying weeds around the shop and some of the equipment, I find Dave’s riding lawn mower. With just one look, I can tell it’s been modified.

“What the hell have you done, Dave?” I mumble to myself.

When I fire it up, it roars like nothing I’ve heard before. The first couple of passes through his lawn are at a typical mowing speed then I decide to go into a higher gear. Before I know it, I’m racing up and down his lawn at least thirty miles per hour. Holy shit, this is the most entertaining thing I’ve ever done. And before I realize it, the lawn is finished. Not the best job, but it’s done.

I’ll be racing this bad boy more often. Dave must have had it beefed up for lawn mower racing or some crazy shit like that. All I know is there has to be a damn good story behind it. Only Dave.

When I get back into the house, Dave’s struggling to put his shoes on.

“All done.” I take a long pull from a bottle of water that I brought with me.

“You do a good job?” Dave begins a coughing fit that seems to go on forever.

I hand him the glass of water next to him, but he bats it off. His lungs are terrible from his younger years of being submerged in dust.

“Of course I did a good job. It’s the only way I do things.” I muffle back my laughter. I did a damn good job of racing that machine.

“You wanting to go outside?” I ask him.