As the snows of winter faded in Tom’s River and the edge of spring began, new life began sprouting and the roads that surrounded the town opened up. They opened at the perfect moment for Hunter Clay Borden, who was travelling south from Upper Valley, wondering where to stop next.
Hunter Clay Borden hadn’t always been a wandering man, but he was back on the road now, finding himself on the long highway that lead directly into town. It had been two months since Hunter had left Upper Valley with only his backpack, electric guitar and copy of his favorite book, Lessons Learned, tucked into his back pocket. By now it was all crumpled, too. That book propped him up during times of darkness, gave him courage, made him smile. Courage was the last thing Hunter thought he’d needed when he’d arrived at Upper Valley two years ago. Now he knew otherwise. Hunter knew a lot of things now that he didn’t know then, like how to spot danger way up ahead, long before it came upon him.
Hunter never worried about making a living. Wherever he went there were all kinds of odd jobs and big jobs he could do using his two hands. He never had to depend upon a person. Hunter’s dream of being a song writer didn’t have to go on the back burner either. He found that he could do it as he traveled, and worked at jobs here and there.
Hunter wrote incredible songs and kept them tucked away in his backpack. He wouldn’t play them for just anyone, though. Those songs had power. They meant something to him. He started writing them after both his mother and father were killed in a car crash six years ago. An only child, after the accident, he left the town where he was raised in the state of Washington, and gave himself time to roam. His home town had too many memories for him, and memories kept you stuck, unable to pick and go about the business of a new day. After the accident Hunter had stayed for about six months, then broke loose, packed up and took to the road. He left plenty of things behind too, like his dream of being an architect, his childhood friends and the home he’d been raised in, which he sold.
Hunter’s stay in Upper Valley lasted longer than most other places, and then, it was time to move on again. Upper Valley was located about six hours north of Tom’s River. After he left it, he landed in Mount Green, two hours south, along Highway One. Mount Green was pleasant enough. He’d done some bartending, talked to the townsfolk, and written some songs. There was nothing to hold him there, though, and now that spring was coming, it was time to move on. Hunter packed up his backpack, got back on the highway and found himself drawn down towards Tom’s River. There was no particular reason that he chose this town, either. It was just on the way, as the crow flies. If you asked him, he would have said it was more like Tom’s River chose him.
Hunter came into town quietly along the back roads, and sat on a bench under a Juniper tree, breathed in the frosty air, which was beginning to melt into spring, and smiled. He loved watching the seasons blend into each other. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, rugged, craggy, exceptionally handsome with thick, dark brown wavy hair, a shock of which fell down over his forehead. Since he was young, wherever he went, Hunter drew lots of attention from the women, and uneasy glances from the men. He was used to it. It didn’t mean anything to him, was just his natural good looks and toned muscular body that created the stir, he figured.
“You’re God’s gift to women, Hunter Clay Borden,” his mother always used to say to him. “Make sure you use the gift well.”
Hunter never much liked it when his mother said that and it took years before he understood what she was talking about. He never had any desire to be God’s gift to women either, only wanted to be a regular guy, living his life like everyone else. Back then, he’d wanted to design and build incredible homes on hills. That dream came to an end when his parents died, and he decided to leave town.
Hunter enjoyed the excitement of arriving in a new place where he knew no one and no one knew him. He could start all over then, be anyone he wanted, leave whatever mistakes he’d made behind. And he’d made plenty of mistakes. Of course, why shouldn’t he have? He smiled to himself and thought about the little book he kept with him. On page one it plainly said, Don’t let mistakes get you down. You can’t get up if you don’t fall down. Hunter loved that, returned to it many times. It kept him going, helped him start again.
As he breathed the air deeply, Hunter could feel the hard earth melting, the days warming, new life getting ready to burst through. He leaned back on the bench, looked up at the sky and thought this would be a good stop over. He felt comfortable here already. The little birds circling above him in the crisp, white sky gave him a feeling of being welcome and safe. Funny, Hunter thought, how you land exactly where you’re supposed to land, even though you don’t know why.
Hunter decided he would rest on the bench a while, enjoy the scenery, then get into town, go to the pub, talk to some people, find a room for himself, and some ideas about a job. He’d done it many times by now. The routine was familiar and he had no worries about it. Something would open for him quickly. It always did and always would.