Page 31 of Plentywood
“I knew it was coming.”
“No way!” I argued.
“Way,” she countered. “I knew Christmas Eve our senior year.”
“And how’s that?”
“Remember how Mark was a freshman that year and had made his mind up that he’d look taller and more mature if he had a particular pair of cowboy boots he’d seen in a catalog?”
“Yeah. The pair at the Boot Barn in Missoula.”
“I knew you two were destined to be together when he opened your gift for him,” she said. “The look on your face when he cried about how you’d driven over five hundred miles one way to buy them for him. He gushed at how much extra work you must’ve had to do to save for them,” she reminded me. “I saw the love you had for him in that exact instant. You were so proud of your effort. I fell in love with the idea of you loving my little brother that very day.”
“Jesus, Jill,” I muttered. “I don’t deserve your friendship.”
“I love you for a ton of other reasons,” she added. “Please let me help you, Hunt. I miss Mark too, but he’d hate this you.”
She was right. He would. “Should I pick you up at your place or the diner?”
“Really?” she asked, not waiting for confirmation. “My place,” she quickly added. “Wear something nice. You and I are gonna sing our greatest hits tonight, sheriff.”
“Oh, God!” I exclaimed. “Are you drinking too?”
“A shitload.”
“I’ll change the sheets in the spare bedroom, then.”
“How about we see what the new doctor is hiding?” she asked. “I think you’re right. Something ain’t adding up in little old Plentywood, and it’s my duty to find out what that is.”
“Don’t go there, Jill,” I insisted.
“Don’t bother,” she argued. “I have my hunches about the pretty boy from New York City. Let’s find out why he wants out so fast.”
“Another reason I miss Mark,” I bitched. “Mark would conspire with you and leave me the fuck out of it.”
“You got that right. Pick me up at seven,” she said. “Wear that nice striped button-down and your newest Wranglers. We have to look like stars on stage tonight.”
“No shit stirring, Jill,” I said. “I mean it too.Zeroshit stirring.”
“We’ll see.”
She hung up before I could continue warning her about her behavior. She and Mark were still staring back at me from the picture. Two fucking peas from the same fucking pod.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered, swiping across Mark’s handsome face before closing the photo album.
I glanced toward the kitchen and imagined Mark preparing breakfast for our usual Saturday morning start. In my mind, at that moment, he turned and smiled at me as he cracked another egg, making sure I was still there, probably checking to see if my coffee cup was full as well.
His image vanished when I blinked, clearing my eyes of tears, but I distinctly heard his voice. ‘You’re gonna be fine, mister,’ the message spoke inside my head.
I closed the photo album.
“Maybe,” I mumbled.
CHAPTER TWENTY: Benedict
The noise from the bar was audible from the end of Main Street, where I walked on my way to the party. The revelry of the crowd was evidence of a packed house. That, and there were more four-wheel-drive trucks than you’d find at a monster truck rally parked in front of the local businesses.
My reflection in the window of the lone bank in town proved a point. I was overdressed. I wore a tight black T-shirt, tucked into a pair of expensiveGuccijeans, folded once at the bottoms, creating a stylish cuff, and above a pair of soft leather loafers, also Gucci. No belt, of course.
