Seducing Hunter

“I’m surprised you remember her.”

“A chest like that is hard to forget. I was convinced she stuffed her bras with helium balloons. That was the only memorable thing about her. But I’m sure you’ve forgotten a lot about the old days.”

“I didn’t forget you.”

“Yeah, right. I treasured all the cards and letters you sent me over the years,” she said mockingly.

This time his shrug was just a tinge self-conscious. “You know I’m no good about things like that.”

He’d been married by then, so Gaylynn hadn’t expected to hear from him. Hadn’t wanted to hear from him. She’d wanted to forget him, and she’d succeeded for the most part.

Okay, so maybe a tiny part of her had compared all the men she’d dated with Hunter, and none of the city guys had quite stacked up when compared to Hunter’s rugged strength. But she hadn’t been unhappy with her life. Far from it.

And then her life had crumbled like a butter cookie, leaving her crumbs instead of substance.

Her sudden yawn scattered her dark thoughts.

“I guess that’s my signal to go and let you get some sleep,” Hunter noted wryly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, belatedly putting one hand to her mouth. “It’s not the company. I’m just tired.”

“I can see that.”

“Thanks for stopping by tonight, but I’ll be fine. Really.”

“I know you will,” Hunter told her. What he didn’t tell her was that the reason he knew she’d be fine was because he planned on sticking around and making sure she stayed that way.

That night Gaylynn’s dreams were spun around a wolf blending into the woods surrounding the cabin. A wolf with Hunter’s leaf green eyes. She was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, complete with red cape and hood. She woke up at the part where the wolf was in bed, seductively coaxing her to join him.

“In your dreams,” she muttered as she got out of bed and headed for the shower. No way would Hunter try and coax her into bed, unless she was sick…and then his intentions wouldn’t be romantic but practical.

The shower helped to clear the cobwebs from her mind. There was a nip in the air this morning, so she tugged on an aqua-colored sweater over top of her white T-shirt. Her jeans still had dirt marks on the knees, so she opted for a pair of black denims. There was no washer in the cabin, so she’d have to see if there was a Laundromat in town.

After the kitties finished the last of her canned tuna fish, Gaylynn bit the bullet and made a long list of things to stock up on. She didn’t want to be making the twenty-minute trip down the mountain any more often than was absolutely necessary. Not because she was intimidated by the rather harrowing drive on the narrow gravel road. Even the equally narrow one-way bridge that forded what the nearby sign proclaimed to be the Bitty River didn’t bother her—despite the fact that the chipped cement on the corners attested to the fact that more than one run-in had already occurred on that bridge. No, she didn’t want to be making the trip very often because she just didn’t feel like mingling with civilization yet.

As Gaylynn pulled in front of the compact building that housed “The Pit Stop Filling Station—Flling You And Your Car,” she realized that this might not quite qualify as civilization, per se.

The building was brick and resembled the filling stations of the forties. The pumps still had round glass tops, and a sign over the door advertised the virtues of a motor product that hadn’t been made in at least a quarter of a century.

In front of and across half the open threshold lay some sort of animal—large and lumpy and an auburn color—forming an unusual oversize and bumpy welcome mat. On closer inspection, she realized the animal was a bloodhound.

“He don’t bite and neither do I,” a voice boomed from inside. “Dog’s lazier than a hibernating bear. That ain’t his name a’course. His last name’s Regard. First name is Bo. Which makes him Bo Regard. Just step on over him.”

Gaylynn did, rather gingerly. The bloodhound responded by lifting its head, all of an inch, before letting it drop again with a muffled thump. “You’ve got a big dog there.”

“Oh, he don’t belong to us. He just comes visiting every day. Must be my scintillating conversation skills. Yer a sight forsore eyes.”

Startled, Gaylynn said, “Excuse me?”

“Now, don’t you mind him none,” an older woman stated as she stepped out from behind the counter. “Floyd here says that to every woman under the age of a hundred who walks through that door. My name’s Bessie. Bessie Twitty. And that grumpy-looking, talkative man over there is my husband, Floyd. And you must be the sister of Hunter’s friend. From up north, aren’t you?”

Gaylynn nodded, not even stopping to wonder how Bessie knew who she was already. “From Chicago.”

Bessie grimaced, making her wizened face look even more wrinkled. “I hate cities.”

“You never been in one,” Floyd retorted.

“Have so. I been up to Knoxville one time. Didn’t care for it atall.” Bessie said the words together, as if they were one.

“And my eyes are sore,” Floyd declared. “That’s why I have Bessie doing my post-office chores.”

“Did you come in to get some stamps for postcards?” Bessie asked Gaylynn. “We don’t get many tourists in these parts, so I don’t have much call for postcard stamps.”

“Unless it’s Ma Battle entering one of those doggone contests of hers,” Floyd inserted.

“I do declare that woman gets more mail than everyone else in town put together,” Bessie said. “How many postcard stamps will you be needing, then? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, dear.”

“It’s Gaylynn and I don’t need any stamps.”

“You didn’t get any gas-o-leen,” Floyd said, enunciating it as if the word consisted of three separate parts.

“I came to stock up on some food,” Gaylynn stated.

“The Piggly-Wiggly over in Summerville is where most folks do their stocking up,” Floyd replied.

“How far away is that?”

“About a forty-minute drive,” Floyd said.

“An hour, if you obey the speed limits,” Bessie inserted.

“I was driving these roads before they had speed limits,” Floyd said.

“I’d rather not go that far away,” Gaylynn decided. “I’ll just get what I need here.”

“We don’t have the best selection,” Bessie had to confess.

“But we do have something of just about everything,” Floyd added.

“Just not much,” Bessie tacked on.

“And we don’t carry any of them fancy TV dinners, neither.”

“We have lots of ice cream, though.”

Gaylynn was getting a crick in her neck from turning her head back and forth between Bessie and Floyd. A conversation with the two of them was like a tennis match, short words volleying back and forth.

“What about tuna? And cat food?” Gaylynn asked.