The Country Duet(7)

I fill in all of the blanks I know, like my name, birthdate, and the rest of the monotonous bullshit. It’s quite embarrassing that I don’t know how to fill out the rest of the W-4. Always working on the ranch back home, none of this was ever an issue. Dad told me if I got a job while at college he’d kick my ass. He knew me all too well and my drive to work and stay busy. You know what they say, the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree and all that bullshit. It’s his fault I’m the way I am. He instilled a work ethic in me from a young age, never accepting a half ass job.

I pull my phone out and dial up my mom’s number, steadying myself for her wrath. She won’t be happy, but she’ll just roll her eyes and smile. “Bub.”

“Hey, Mom.” I look up to see Teale, who’s working at her desk while listening in on my conversation.

“What’s going on?”

“Mom, do I file independently or claim one or what?”

“Hunter?”

“Mom, just need your help here.”

“You’re getting a job?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

A nervous laugh escapes me, readying myself for her reaction.

“It’s my second job,” I reply, never being a liar.

Blair Yates is not one to back down from a fight and always has to be right, so she shocks me when she answers each question easily. Mom keeps all the books back home on the ranch and is basically the brains of the operation. Even though I can’t see her, I know there’s a smile on her face as frustrated as she probably is.

“Your dad is going to kick your ass, Hunter. We’ve told you over and over again that we’d help you out so you can focus on school and live the college life.”

“Mom, I’m bored. I need to work.”

“Hunter, you need to live a bit. I mean, I don’t want you going all balls out like Burton by any means, but just live a little. You’ve always been too old for your age.”

I laugh into the phone, if only she knew just how out there Burton’s balls are on a nightly basis. “Will do. I’ll be home in just a month for Thanksgiving break, so tell Dad to start working out to kick my ass.”

“Will do. Love you, Bub.”

“Love you, too, Mom. Oh, and let Quinn know I sent off her birthday present, but it might show up a day late.”

“Okay, I can’t believe she’s going to be fifteen already.”

“Tell Hell on Wheels I put something in there for her, too.”

I end the call to look up at a smiling Teale, who is no longer hiding the fact she was eavesdropping. I blink twice, then once again, and I am certain she has tears building up in her eyes.

“You okay over there, Hot Rod?” I ask with a flick of the head.

“You told your momma you loved her and bought presents…”

“For my sister’s birthday and I put in a surprise for my little shithead sister.” I stand, walking closer to her. “You crying, Teale?”

“No, it’s dust.”

I peer around the room and then lean in on her desk. “Ain’t no dust in here.”

“Allergies.”

I crook up an eyebrow, asking her to expand.

“I’m allergic to emotions.” She grins slightly.

“I’ve heard that can be the real shits,” I reply before laying my paperwork on her desk and going out to the shop.





Chapter 3


Hunter


“Inside that book, it's my life-all the places where I'm hurting or I laughed or I cried or I prayed. And I've had to pray a lot!” –June Carter Cash



I had a lingering feeling that the job at Dave’s wouldn’t pay shit as far as bills and my truck payment. The job at Frank’s really saved my ass. He’s been keeping me busy and impressed with my work.

I’ve spent five Saturdays out at Dave’s now. The man grows more complicated each day. If it’s too windy, he doesn’t work. He doesn't like it too hot either. I’m learning Dave doesn’t care for much. If I’m honest, I hate it at Dave’s. It’s miserable.

“Get those parts put up on that shelf,” he growls across the shop.

I’m just thankful he doesn’t have me out in his damn truck, stopping every ten yards. The work he has me doing I could have done in a matter of minutes, but the man strings me along every step of the way making sure it’s done his way.

“Not like that. Told you to stack them, boy.”

I look at the boxes of rusty bolts and screws, and then over to him, gritting my teeth, hating the way he refers to me as a piece of trash. “They all fit up here and this way you can see the labels and know what’s in the box.”

“Is this your farm, boy?” He stands from his bench. “Didn’t fucking think so. Stack ‘em.”

This isn’t the first time Dave’s made it a point that things go his way, period. It’s not that I’m trying to test him; it’s my common sense I battle with. Everything Dave does is backward to me. The first lesson learned at this job was it’s Dave’s way or no way, end of story.

“Thanks, Hunter,” he growls once the boxes are stacked in a fucking mess on the shelf.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to repeat himself, but I only nod. Dave hasn’t learned that I’m just as hard-headed as him. It takes all of my self-control not to lose it with him. It’s the whole respecting elders, even if they are an asshole, that keeps me grounded.