Page 81 of Plentywood
“Apparently I own it,” I declared. “And I want some intel. Who’s going to know more than Agnes Brewster?”
She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. I’d seen this face before. Agnes was preparing her words, careful to see if she could outmaneuver me. But I had all the information now. She was finally at a disadvantage.
“The H is for Hawthorne,” she began, still eyeing me cautiously. “But you know that. Hell, everybody knows that shittyinformation.Your grandfather, your father, and you are the three H’s. When your dad drops dead, I assume there’ll be one H left.You. I imagine you’ll own it all then,” she concluded.
“News update, Nurse. I own it allrightnow.”
“Bullshit!” she challenged.
“Classy,” I quipped. “And I’m going out there tomorrow to introduce myself to Mr. Copeland.”
A grave look covered Agnes’s face at my announcement. She knew something that I didn’t know. Her usual clever way of holding her hand like she had a royal flush had disintegrated the second I said I was going to make a visit to my ranch.
“Don’t do that, Ben,” she warned. “Not at least without the Sheriff along for the ride,” she added, dragging a finger across the desk and making a letter X like it was a warning.
“It’s his father. How bad can he be?” I inquired.
Agnes tilted her head. “Oh, trust me. He can be really bad. A bona fide asshole of the highest accord. And I can recognize the best of the best when it comes to assholes.”
“But the man is Hunter’s father, Agnes,” I argued.
“So he is,” she agreed. “But even honey badgers have fathers, doc. Just do me a favor and talk to Hunt before you go out there. Maybe even take him with you, please?”
What on earth was Agnes up in arms about? Hunt had already told me he disagreed with his father about selling the ranch back when he thought he could do that in exchange for ahouse and a small piece of land. He’d even admitted they hadn’t spoken ever since.
“Spill it, Agnes.”
“Nope! I’ll leave that up to the Sheriff,” she said.
This was another time that Agnes had given me an eerie warning about someone. A couple times it was her own grandson. She had secrets, obviously, but why and what were they?
“You warned me about Charlie last week with no reference as to why. And now you’re adding Mr. Copeland into the mix. What gives?” I asked. She stood and waved me off, attempting to end the conversation. “You can’t just walk away, Agnes.”
She waved over her shoulder and headed for the waiting room door to call our first patients. “This is me walking away,” she said, her back to me. “This is where you ask your friend the Sheriff those questions. You are still just friends, correct?” she asked, pausing at the door before opening it.
“Hang on, Agnes,” I pleaded.
“Just ask the questions, Ben,” she stated. “Please, just ask the questions.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: Hunter
Iran my hands over my head, testing the spring on my buzz-cut. Half an inch too long and I couldn’t manage the cowlicks I had in my hair. My barber pointed out the odd hair growth patterns each and every visit. As a kid, the front of my hair looked exactly like the name implied, like a cow had licked above my forehead. Keeping it tight to the scalp kept the embarrassingly childlike appearance at bay.
A spritz of aftershave, two swipes of antiperspirant, and face moisturizer, because I’d be singing on stage, completed my routine. A routine I’d dropped two years ago. I had no one to impress. Not until the past couple of weeks.
“Are you feeling it?”Jill had asked.“That feeling?”
“I think so,” I’d confessed. “If being scared shitless is part of that feeling. Then yes, yes, I am.”
Jill and I had met at her place a few nights before and I’d dished about my nerves and the state of Ben and me. What exactly that state was, I wasn’t positive. After our initial sexual connection two weeks ago, Ben and I hadconnectedalmost every night. Late night rendezvous at either the clinic or at my place.
He was an insatiable lover. He had zero compunction about bringing up sex, was a very involved partner who was good at directions, and always up for multiples most nights. I was turnedon like never before, but unlike the wild sex Charlie and I had eighteen months ago, I had caught some serious feelings for Ben.
“Love?”Jill had whispered.
“Fuck!”I’d exhaled.“Probably!”
“Have either of you mentioned love?”
