The Country Duet Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Wild Country

  “Dirt, Passion, & Heart”

  Based on a True Story

  HJ Bellus

  Wild Country

  Copyright © 2017 by HJ Bellus. Small Town Girl Books, LLC.

  Edited by: Emma Mack, Ultra Editing

  Formatting: HJ Bellus

  Cover Designer: Dana @Designs by Dana

  Photographer: Golden Czermak, Furious Fotog

  Model: Andrew James

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of HJ Bellus.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication-

  To a young man who has inspired me to write this set of novels.He’s a simple man, from a small town with a heart of gold. Perfection carved from beauty.

  I consider it an honor to have watched him grow up over the years and then to share his adventures with me. I can tell you this, the heart, kindness, and dazzling smile of Hunter Yates, is one hundred percent accurate to the real person.

  This story is based on a true story. The process of translating it into a novel has pushed me as an author. Not only has Hunter given me an amazing story to write, but has helped me grow as a person. I appreciate the individual referred to as Hunter Yates, sharing intimate details of his story. I chose to make the romance part fictional, however, the rest is as true as it comes.

  I’ll never be able to explain how important this project is to me. I’m honored beyond belief.

  Okay, that was one long ass dedication, but a very well deserved one. Enjoy Wild Country.

  Prologue

  Present Day

  I was on top of the world. Everything was perfect. My country roots had found a place on the University of Idaho’s campus. It took time, but everything fell into place. The empty part of my soul flowing over the brim. Then one word took it all away, devastating my world in the blink of an eye. The force vicious and inevitably shattering everything in its way.

  “Hello.”

  I answer my phone while gripping the steering wheel, fighting to not break apart.

  “This is Mrs. Marshall from St. Luke’s Hospital…”

  I cut her off before she can even continue on. “Is he okay?”

  Panic surges in with devastation, making my vision blurry.

  “He’s been brought in.”

  “I’m on my way.” I end the call and send it sailing into the dashboard.

  “Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway.” –John Wayne

  School Journal Entry

  April 2, 2005

  What I did over spring break.

  I helped Dad, Uncle, and Grandpa work cattle. It was fun. I love riding my horse, Remi. He’s real strong and my favorite color, buckskin. My nose got sunburned even though I was wearing my cowboy hat.

  We first had to go down to the east pasture to gather up the momma cows, then herd them to the corrals. Dad and Grandpa Scott vaccinated them while I got Tux some water. Tux is the best cow dog around and my best friend. Got him last year for my birthday. We’re both young, but real cowboys.

  Then we had to hook up the trailer to the truck and load some cows. They were sent to town to the livestock yard. Finally, we got to ride on the horses again, taking the cows to a new pasture.

  One day I’ll ride like Grandpa Scott. He’s the best and my role model. I always try to keep Remi right up next to Grandpa, following all of his moves. Next, we had to ride home. My mom had my favorite meal ready. Steak and potatoes. I always pass on the salad and vegetables. Grandpa told me I’d become a nerd if I didn’t eat them, but I just can’t.

  Quinn begged me to play a stupid game with them. I didn’t. Abby just still poops way too much in her diaper. My younger sisters are annoying. I can only handle them so much. I sat on the couch watching an old western movie with my dad.

  I was nervous but asked him. I want to join 4-H and show an animal. Dad works really hard. I know the time will be hard on him. But when I got enough courage to ask him if I could weigh in an animal, he just grumbled and said yes.

  I just didn’t tell him that I wanted to take a pig. That might be a huge problem since we live on cattle ranch. I could take a steer real easy to the fair. But my best friend Burton takes pigs, and we want to do it together.

  I just want to be a cowboy and ride my horse.

  That’s what I did on my spring break.

  Hunter Yates

  3rd Grade

  8 Years Old

  Chapter 1

  Hunter

  Sophomore Year of College

  September

  I need a job. University work has been no challenge at all. Hell, I’m half tempted to go to a random farmer or rancher’s house and knock on their door asking for a job. Never thought I’d miss the ranch as much as I do. My hands and soul desperately miss the work and way of life.

  Doesn’t take away the fact I love life at the university, just sucks it’s a nine-hour drive home, making it hard as hell to go back as frequently as I’d like.

  “Pretty boy, up for a wild night?” my best friend from home hollers from down the crowded hall.

  He’s a good foot taller than anyone else surrounding him, making it easy to spot Burton Childs. His trucker hat on full display, along with his cheesy ass grin. I’m shocked he’s lasted this long here on campus. Pretty sure he’s only staying until the end of the semester to make sure he wins the bet. Yep, we have a high-stakes wager about whether or not he’ll last three semesters here.

  He leaves before the third semester is up and I get the spring foal out of his prize mare. He sticks out three semesters, he gets my truck. My prized obsession. There are four things that matter in my life that I can’t live without. Jesus, family, Sweetwater Ranch, and my truck. My one-ton badass Dodge Ram.

  It’s no secret Burton Childs wants to be back in our hometown on his family’s ranch and running it. College work doesn’t come as easy for Burton. He belongs on horseback, raising hell back in Asher, Idaho. And that’s the only reason I would’ve been dumb enough to put my truck on the line.

  I go back to studying the bulletin board with pinned jobs while I wait for his ass to get over here. There ain’t many jobs posted on these university boards for a c
ountry kid like me. I love my classes, but would go stir crazy clerking in a library or some other annoying shit. And fast food just isn’t it for me, my heart doesn’t want it.

  Something catches my attention. It’s a light green notecard.

  Farm Hand and Laborer Needed

  Part-time help needed. Must be handy around farm equipment and willing to work. All inquiries call for more details.

  I punch the number quickly into the note section in my iPhone before Burton slaps me on the back.

  “Your turn to buy lunch, bitch.”

  “It’s always my turn,” I grumble, double checking I have the number correct.

  We walk out of the Ag building into the sunshine. I don’t miss all the heads turning our way. Did I mention Burton is also a player? He does not discriminate when it comes to women. Hell, the man is pickier about picking out a new Stetson cowboy hat than the next body to warm his bed. I guess college hasn’t been all that much of a waste for him in that aspect.

  “Still looking for a job?” Burton asks around a mouthful of food.

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  “I’ll never understand you, Hunter Yates. Your family has more money than they know what to do with and your mom is always telling you she’d transfer you money. Jesus, man you have your kingdom waiting for you back in Asher.”

  I shake my head at him, knowing it’s worthless to explain it to him. It’s not like he hasn’t heard my theory before. Burton has no issues taking full advantage of what his family has to offer him. Sometimes it lurks into the gray area of abusing it. I don’t operate that way and never will.

  Burton swivels his John Deere trucker hat on backward, setting his vision on a booth of giggling bimbos. Yes, I do have respect for women. But in this college town, there’s a huge difference between a woman and a bimbo. The pool of endless women who are shameless about their assets, putting out for everyone and anyone, is what I consider a bimbo. I’m not one sided on this theory because Burton falls into the manwhore pool on the male side of it.

  “Take notes. Loosen up, Hunter, and enjoy the college years.”

  “I’m not here for pussy like you are.”

  He stands up, giving me his signature abrupt pat on the back, and then strides off to the giggling booth of girls in the corner. I hear him offer to buy them dessert. I snort. That cheap bastard. Can’t buy his or his best friend’s lunch, but always willing to fork out a little dough for the ladies. Love and let live and that kind of bullshit. Whatever floats his boat!

  I pay the bill, heading outside where it’s quiet, and then dial the number from the bulletin board. It rings several times, extinguishing my hopes. I knew this job had to be too good to be true. Right when I’m about to hang up, someone answers. There’s rustling and what sounds like some kind of wrestling match on the other end.

  “Yes.”

  I pull the phone from my ear when I hear the angry voice on the other end.

  “Hello.” I clear my throat.

  “What?” A gruff, no-nonsense voice streams through my phone.

  “Calling about the job you posted at the university.”

  “What?”

  “The part-time farmhand job,” I reply louder this time.

  Static fills the phone, garbling up all of his words.

  “Sir, I can’t hear you.”

  “Are you…” He cuts out for several seconds. “Get the fuck on with it.”

  I have no idea why I don’t hang up. Must be my desperation for a job. “Do you still have the job?”

  Each of my words coming out loud and precise.

  “Come out to my place.”

  Miraculously, that came through loud and clear.

  “I can plug your address in my phone if you give it to me.”

  “WHAT?” he shouts into the phone.

  Again, I talk loud and clear like I’m trying to communicate with an alien. “Your address, so that I can come out.”

  “Jesus.” Something heavy slams on his end of the phone. “Head out on the old highway.”

  I find a pen in my truck and scribble down all of the directions on an old deposit slip.

  “Turn right. No, shit, left on 1200 then go about twenty miles and the road will fork, keep left…”

  He rattles on for several minutes, and I do my best to keep up. He changes left to right and east to west about ten times when giving the instructions.

  “Okay…”

  CLICK. Then dial tone.

  I pull my phone from my ear and just stare at it. Did that just happen? Maybe a party filled night with Burton doesn’t sound half bad. It’s the need and urge to work and feel alive in my country roots. Even though I love the academic work toward my agriculture degree, there’s been something missing since not living on the ranch.

  I miss my cow dog Tux, who is always loyal at my boots ready for work, and my horse Remi, who has the biggest heart. That damn horse has worked more cattle than any in the state of Idaho. That’s the high I’m chasing.

  I swerve off the road, trying to decode my chicken scratch on the damn paper. About after the fourth turn, I’m pretty sure whomever I talked to sent me on a damn wild goose chase.

  It’s not until the front tires of my truck meet a gravel road that I think I might be on the right path. The man had mentioned a gravel road. It’s more like a washed-out track that has never been kept up type of road. Living in Idaho all of my life I know a dirt road. Hell, I’ve been on trails that you can only access via horseback, and this isn’t a damn gravel road.

  The further I drive, the more I begin regretting this decision, but then the lingering reminder assaults me. What do I have to lose? Nothing. Hell, I was days away from knocking on random doors, ready to volunteer to do any ranch or farm work. I’m that desperate.

  Finally, something that resembles civilization comes into view. The closer I inch to the place, there’s acres and acres of old machinery with an old house coming into view. I have to admit the landscape surrounding the farm is gorgeous. Mountainous, with pine trees for miles and it’s a stark contrast from the desert back home at Sweetwater Ranch.

  I never checked the clock when I left the restaurant, but I’d bet it was a good forty-five minute drive from the campus on shitty roads nonetheless. There are long lines of fence around the place. Not just any old wooden fence, but one built from old metal wagon wheels, spray-painted white. The once pristine paint chipping away, but the welding work perfect with the stacked wheels of varying sizes, making the perfect fence framing in rows of thick pines.

  “Jesus,” I whisper.

  It doesn’t just stop at the fence, but these wheels border every single inch of the property perched everywhere. How in the hell does one get so many damn old wagon wheels? It would take decades to collect all these.

  I survey the surroundings, realizing this is the only house in sight. I don’t grow frustrated easily, but this adventure has pushed me to my limit. So I pull into the driveway, creeping my truck to a stop several yards out, deciding to walk up the dirt path. Several seconds float by as I take in everything around me. It’s a damn museum of artifacts, telling stories from several generations ago.

  The Type A personality in me appreciates all the old junk lined up in neat rows with similar models paired together. My palms grow sweaty, and I couldn’t even explain why. I only second-guess my choice to knock on the old door as I grow closer to the red brick house. The house has character with a quaint charm nestled in between all the junk. A sturdy chimney on its roof and rusty metal awnings above the windows.

  The first step creaks on the old wooden porch, making me decide better against this for the fifth time. Something inside me tells me this visit is going to change my life forever. Can’t say why, but the thought is lingering there. The sound crackles the silence in the northern beauty of the panhandle of Idaho. The noise too overwhelming to ignore similar footsteps embedded back home on the Sweetwater. There are just some things a country boy never backs down from.

 
My knuckles crack on the worn door. It creeps open, not even securely closed.

  “Hello?” I rasp out on instinct.

  A loud creak is the only sound that fills the air. It’s as if all my senses are on high alert. Sounds, smells, and feelings are all swamping me at the same exact time. The sense of smell assaults me first. I’ve been around the smell of life and death over the years spent on Sweetwater, but nothing could prepare for the stench wafting from the house.

  “Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice shouts.

  I look up above the mounds of trash and clutter to see an old man is dressed in all black staring at me. His gaze bores holes through my flesh. He’s hunched over in a recliner, barely able to raise his head. His hair is white as can be and his skin is wrinkled from the former days of his life.

  “Hunter,” I stumble out. “Called about the job.”

  He continues eyeing me up and down for long beats of time. I’ve witnessed my life flashing before my eyes when being bucked off a horse or charged by an angry bull, but none of that compares to this. It’s quite simply the scariest moment of my life. What have I stepped into?

  “You here to work.” His voice continues to slice the air between us with cruelty.

  I’m not certain whether he just asked me a question or if he’s making a statement.

  I reach up, pulling my trucker hat off my head and take a few steps inside of the house, being careful not to knock things over on my way. The further in the house the worse the smell becomes.

  “Yes, Sir. I’m a college student and looking for some part-time work.”

  He shakes his head, not easing the tension on his face. “What’s your intentions here?”

  “Looking for a job.”

  “If you’re not serious about this, then get the fuck out now.”

  Masking the reactions wanting to play out on my face is not an easy job. I swallow down the lump in my throat and continue, not wanting to be disrespectful even though, so far, this man is the furthest from respectful.

  “With all due respect, Sir, I wouldn’t have driven forty-five minutes out here if I wasn’t.”