The Country Duet(63)

“It’s not damn coffee, Hunter! It’s bitamins.”

I’m forced to bite down on my bottom lip to stifle my laughter. Baker’s been in speech therapy and gets her sounds right about every third time. My dad, her Pappy, has been trying like hell to have her drink black coffee at the mechanic shop to put hair on her chest. Baker wants nothing to do with it.

The spark of interest when Hunter mentions the same topic is hilarious. I can’t even begin to scold her on dropping the word damn.

“Hair is gwoss on your chest,” Baker barks out.

“Not if you’re a manly man.”

“But I’m a princess.”

He taps the tip of her nose, causing me to freeze in my spot. It’s our thing. I’ve done it since the day Baker was born. Then when she was old enough, she’s mimicked the action. And without prompting or thought, Hunter just did the same thing. This man has always fit seamlessly into my life, no matter the dynamic. Tears well up in my eyes with the thought of the conversation we still need to have. My actions in the past were disgusting at best, but I have to own up to it.

The two goofballs in front of me have second helpings of waffles, then scrape their plates clean. Baker hops up on the barstool, standing on it with her little hand on her hip. She’s also been a monkey, since learning how to coordinate her limbs.

“Wanna come to my birfday party?” She stares down at Hunter.

He swallows, freezes, then stares over at me. I know he’s silently asking permission. I nod, but then talk before he has a chance to respond to her.

“Baby girl, Hunter’s a busy man. I doubt he’ll have time for a birthday party.”

Her face immediately falls, then she sinks back down onto the barstool.

“I’d love to, Baker.” Hunter wraps her up in a one-arm hug. “But I need an invitation, so I remember.”

She squeals and darts off the barstool without a second thought. The sound of her rustling on my desk echoes throughout the house.

“Hunter, you don’t have to.” I peer down, not making eye contact with him. “She has several friends from her school she’s inviting.”

“What if I want to?”

His question makes my head pop up to stare at him.

“I remember asking you all those questions yesterday when I was on the phone. My head was hurting, and I panicked when I heard your voice. All of our memories came flooding back in.”

“We need to talk,” I whisper.

“Yes, we do.” He leans forward on his elbows. “Whether we still have a chance to make it or not, I’d like to go to her birthday party.”

I nod my head with the tears finally spilling over. They are tears of relief, joy, and fear all mixed together. I feel empty and full at the same time with the mere thought of Hunter back in my life.

The barstool scoots back on the hardwood floor, causing a loud sound. Then the echoes of his feet padding in my direction startle me. Before I know it, his arms are wrapped around me, pulling our chests together. His hand goes to the back of my head, pulling it into his chest. Hunter holds me, letting me cry out all my fears.

“I love you, Teale. I’ve come to realize that I will always love you.”

My arms low on his waist pull him tighter to me without a thought. I’ve missed this. His chest was always my home and safe place. He made all the worries vanish with one touch or gentle smile. I’ve missed him so damn much.

I look up to him, knowing Baker will be bounding into the room at any moment now. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the tears rolling down my face.

“I’m not married. I haven’t been in a relationship since I was sixteen. I made some bad choices in my life that forced me to grow up quickly, but Hunter, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

And on cue Baker comes skipping into the kitchen singing, “Row, Row Your Boat” with her improving on most of the words.

“Because of her,” he whispers.

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. He ultimately gets it with no further explanation, and that’s why I love this man with my entire heart and soul.





Chapter 11


Hunter


“I live about as country of a lifestyle as you could have” -Blake Shelton


Today is the big day for Dave. He gets to go home. The nurses are throwing their usual party of celebration. But as miserable and mean as he can get at times, they all love his stubborn charm, even when he’s pushing them to their limits.

The infection and MRSA have all cleared up. The doctor left us with instructions on new medicine and that wound care would be coming in twice a week to check on Dave. The whole ride home he complains about the pain in his feet. I chalk it up to him not being out of the hospital bed for some time.

The smile that lights up his face when we pull down his driveway is contagious. The man is ecstatic to be home. It may look like a junkyard and a once been farm, but it’s his paradise. Dave’s spirit is at an all-time high when we enter his house.

“Why are your feet bandaged up?” I ask him when he settles in his recliner.

Dave shrugs. “Don’t give a shit. Just glad I’m out of that motherfucking hell hole.”

I make a mental note to find out why. I’m shocked when Dave asks about going out to work. I take him up on it, dying to show him his surprise.