Page 112 of Plentywood
“Now you’re talking, big guy,” I quipped. “Now I want a year-round season.”
Hunter kissed my face several more times and then pointed toward the kitchen. “Pots. Please. I have no idea where you want those,” he insisted. “I’ll pound the nails.”
I placed my hand on my hip and wiggled my index finger at him. “Uhm, excuse me?”
“You’re the better cook, baby,” he negotiated. “I’m the hammer guy and you’re the boss of everything else.”
“Hunter!” I scolded, teasing his slip-up. “We’re co-bosses, remember?”
“I was just being nice,” he said. “We both know I’m the true boss,” he added, ducking when I tossed a pillow from the sofa at him.
Therapy had changed the man in front of me. Of course, he was still uber-manly. Still a bit quiet and reserved, too. But he was learning to challenge things he didn’t like and share agenuine opinion about our shared life. He remained the strong one in our relationship. Something I preferred because I liked my role of being a tad more submissive.
Besides being confident in my abilities, his encouragement of my own personal growth stimulated me. Hunter had learned to be a true partner in a joint system. He impressed me with his commitment to change and growth. His personal successes created my successes. And vice versa.
As the months went by, he emerged from his grief cocoon, while I learned that being truly loved by someone was an incredible feeling. A sense of family became our way of life. We were a small family unit, with several branches extended for friends, but we were definitely a united front.
I’d never felt safer or more secure about the path I was on. I was sharing my life with a man who pushed me, pulled me, and allowed me to shine. I felt valued by Hunter. I hoped he felt valued by me.
“Guess who I saw at the new library?” Hunt asked, pointing at a bag of screws for me to retrieve. I handed him the bag while he balanced a small metal bracket with his free hand.
“Agnes.”
“How’d you know that?” he asked, pursing his lips like I’d ruined his gossip.
“Because I sent her there,” I replied. “If she wants to prescribe medication, then she needs to study for her next medical license.”
“She’s a hundred and ten years old, Ben. Give the old battle-axe a break.”
“She can be a thousand years old for all I care, but if she wants to keep working at the clinic, who am I to discourage her from achieving even more?”
“Did you notice the crowds at the library?” he asked. “It must be the computers, don’t you think?”
“Exactly!” I agreed. “Money well spent, I’d say.”
“Because of your kind heart, Ben,” Hunt said. “Such a beautiful man with a true passion to share. Plentywood is so lucky to have you. But, even more than that, I’m lucky to call you my other half.”
I held the tears in and sat on the sectional as Hunter busied himself with another project. I could watch this man move about with endless energy for hours on end. And I loved the man before me with every fiber of my body.
Besides expanding the town’s daycare center, Hunter and I spent trust money on a new library. With control of my trust’s assets, I formed a board of directors to oversee the financial giving side of it. Hunter was on that board with me and seven others, so we’d be able to break ties in the event of disagreements with how the money was spent. We wanted the town’s citizens to participate in the giving.
Once my father gave up his lawsuit and I kicked the energy company off the ranch, a new team of lawyers and accountants dug through my assets. My father had siphoned millions of dollars from the ranch to line his own pockets, and he’d planned on billions more with the discovery of natural gas. He paid mightily when he lost my lawsuit. Unfortunately, we haven’t spoken since.
Even though we removed my father’s choice of an energy company, we renegotiated with a different one. The plan was to safely locate a drilling operation in a far corner of the ranch with the idea that gas revenues would ensure the long-term survival of the ranch and of Plentywood.
We also carved out the section of land that Hunt’s dad lived on and deeded the property to him. He’d have a job and a place to live for as long as he wanted. His land would return to the trust after his death. Hunt and his father worked on theirrelationship, even going so far as to invite Hunt’s mother to our family gatherings at his father’s request.
We weren’t exactly sure what was happening with his parents, but his dad was also in therapy and vowing to win his wife back. They’d never divorced, so Hunt and I stood back and let them make their way, secretly crossing our fingers.
The ‘Mark Hayes Theater’ had opened the previous year. Mark had been a vital part of Plentywood’s community and Hunter’s life long before I arrived. Mark was particularly known for his love of the town’s theater. I suggested we name the completed theater after Hunter’s deceased husband as a memorial to the man who loved Plentywood as much as I had grown to love my adopted town.
Jill sold the diner and relocated to Missoula. She said she needed a fresh start in a bigger community with the hope of finding her own chance at love. A young family from California purchased the diner and decided to keep the name because two generations of Jills had previously owned it.
In fact, the new owners, Paul and Tina, were expecting their first child. You might be able to guess what they planned on naming their coming daughter. Perhaps, like most of us who loved Plentywood, they were looking toward a future where athird-generation Jill would one day own Plentywood’s beloved diner.
Charlie now lived in Plentywood as well. He’d met and fallen in love with a guy in his early fifties who was the supervisor of the construction company that rebuilt the theater. That man, Brad Overton, fell in love with our little town, and Charlie, convincing Charlie to invest with him in an old Victorian mansion and restore it for their new home.
The clinic’s first scholarship doctor and nurse were joining my team next month. My hope, through sponsoring medical scholarships for young folks who couldn’t afford medicalschooling, was to build for the future of the clinic my family had funded for decades.
