The Georgia sun beamed against Merle's skin as he opened the doors of his shanty hunting shop. It was hot. No, it was damn hot. That Georgia hot, the heat that would damn near suffocate a man. He had parked his old, red vintage ford pick up underneath the shade of two large trees. The trees had been there ever since he could remember; they were old and reliable for keeping his truck cool. Nature's creations such as those trees were a part of his childhood; when he wasn't raising hell of course. Thriving in nature and hunting were essential parts of him, that's why he put aside his degeneracy and went for broke building the hunting shop. It wasn't much, but him and Daryl managed to pool money together that they had gotten through odd jobs and other...methods...to afford the place.

They had sold the standard hunting items; guns, rifles; as well as tackle and fishing supplies. Daryl sold a few knives. He even showed a few curious men and young kids how to use a crossbow. Now that was popular. He also taught them how to hunt. He hadn't seen such life in his brother before. It was good for Daryl, which in turn was good for him. Anything a rugged good ol' boy wanted, the Dixon brothers had supplied. It was another day, they had barely been open for 2 months but business was good; really good. Aside from a drunk hick trying to rob the place, but Merle and Daryl used their Dixon "charm" to make the guy see things their way. And by Dixon charm they basically beat the living hell out of them. Can't take the country and hell out of a boy, right?

He yawned. "Shit," it was around 10:00am or so which was the typical opening time. He walked through the shop, making sure no shithead decided to help himself to anything. He could only remember 1 break-in, but he didn't have one again after what he did to the guy. He knew exactly who he was, the guy showed up and didn't know what was on him. Merle hit the guy in the head with his whiskey bottle; and when the guy fought back and ran he stabbed the poor son of a bitch in the ass-cheek with the jagged bottle. Now that was fun. The natives still talk about that today. All in all, life was okay right now. This meek shop was his center.

It was a small shop made of brick and wood. The floors, walls, counters and doors were made out of a deep brown wood, but the sturdy structure of the store was made brick by brick by the Dixon brother's bare hands. It was modest and was a reflection of their love of the woods and nature.

He sat behind the sturdy and refined wooden counter and waited. He had yet another whiskey bottle sitting inches away from him. He opened it, taking a quick swig. He put the bottle down noticing a perky blonde making her way in. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. She was just his type. She had some pretty blonde hair that barely touched her shoulders and pretty blue eyes. She wore a simple tank top with jeans, but she was still very attractive to him. "Hey sweetheart," He said, looking her up and down, then smiling. "I think I'm in love with you." The typical Merle Dixon was catcalling the occasional attractive woman. Hell, all he saw was Daryl and a bunch of rugged rednecks; she was a relief for his eyes.

"Take a picture," She said, snuffing him. "It'll last longer."

He licked his lips as she walked by, he just couldn't help himself. "You need help with somethin', gal?" He asked, standing up from the counter as he slowly made his way to the blonde bombshell.

"Where's Daryl?" She asked, whirling around and folding her arms.

He laughed. "Whatchu want with my sweet baby brother?" He asked in amusement, leaning against the counter.

"There's a new shipment of pistol ammo that I'm waiting on," She replied, looking away from him. She didn't fall for Merle's crude demeanor. "Daryl said he'd look out for me and make sure I'm set."

Fucking Daryl. Great with women and barely pays anyone any mind. Shit, the least the little shithead could do was pass a few women his way. But no. That was his dense baby brother. "He ain't gonna be in til' bout 11o'clock."

"I'll come back later, tell him I've been here?," He paused, about to ask her name. "I'm Andrea." She said with her hand in her hip.

"I'm Merle," He said, reaching out his hand. "I'm sure you've heard of me." He mentioned smugly.

She rolled her eyes and regrettably shook his big, calloused hand. "In passing."

He laughed. "You're a funny gal, you know that?"

"And you're obnoxious." She muttered. "I'm only here for ammo, I'll just come back later."

He tuned out that comment and watched her leave. Oh well, it was her loss anyway. He seemed entranced as he saw a dark-skinned woman emerge from outside just as Andrea left, she was sweating and toting a baby boy on her hip. The boy was nothing short of cute, curly black hair and wide almond colored eyes to match his deep skin tone. His mother was an exotic sight to behold. Her attire was new age to him, but she looked like she was aware of her African heritage. She wore a cool, silk blue head wrapping which covered her hair. Her blouse was silk and had elaborate symbols and patterns on it, it rose slightly over her toned stomach while a pink silk pencil dress hugged her slender yet curvy figure.

"Ain't no kids allowed in here, ma'am." He quickly said.

"Daryl told me about a shipment of duck toys that were supposed to arrive today," She replied, gently rocking the young boy on her hip. "My Andre loves ducks." She mentioned with a smile, eying her son lovingly.

Merle laughed. What is this store now? "You think this is a toy store, gal?" Surely their were no toys in the store. It was a manly hunting store. Next thing you know she'll be bitching for a damn cake to be made here for her son.

She sighed. This must have been Merle, Daryl seemed distant when interacting with customers; but at least he wasn't a dick to them. "You're Merle, right?"

His eyes widened. Go figure, a random black lady remembered his name but the hot blonde didn't. He flashed his signature smirk. "I am," He said in a matter of fact way, eying the exotic woman. She was pretty, but not his type. Black women were uncharted territory anyway. "How'd you know?"

She smiled. "The town talks about how you run this place."

His interest piqued. "And how's that?"

"You run a tight ship," She said with a laugh. "The bottle story-"

He chuckled. "Well, ain't nobody gonna steal from the Dixon brothers no more."

"That's admirable," She said, still smiling. A tinge of red flared through his ears. He cleared his throat, this woman was easily impressed with him. Not to mention her boy was eying him as if he were an alien. "Andre'," She gently scolded. "Don't stare."

"Hold on and I'll check our boxes," Merle replied, walking towards the back of the counter. "I haven't seen no toys round' here before," He muttered, rummaging through the boxes. He was surprised to see about a dozen duck toys in a small wooden crate. "Well damned if we don't have toys," He laughed, picking up the duck toy. The toy was small enough to fit in Merle's hand but big enough to not present a chocking hazard for little Andre'. It was good that Daryl thought of that stuff. "Daryl must be running a toys r' us store out back." He joked, scratching his head as he presented the toy to the woman.

"How much?" She asked, gingerly plucking the toy from his hand.

"It's on me," He said gruffly, walking back behind the counter. "Don't mention that I was nice to ya," He warned. "You'll get me run out of town." He said with a faint smile. The natives couldn't find out that old Merle was as soft as silk to black women and their children. He was a bit prejudiced, but he did have a heart for a woman and child.

"Say thank you, Andre'!," She said sweetly to him. Merle curiously eyed the young boy who was waving at him. "There you go!" Merle awkwardly waved back at Andre'. The boy grinned, then turning his attention back to his toy.

Daryl walked through the door, eying Merle and the woman. A sly smile found its way on his face. "I see that you found the toy for Michonne." He murmured, surprised and pleased by his cantankerous older brother's initiative.

Merle snorted. "Didn't know we had toys in this here shop," He replied, annoyance evident in his voice. "This a toys r' us now?" Merle Dixon would have to be dead in the ground to let his proud shop turn into a haven for housewives and their brats to roam and demand for pointless items. A toy duck. What a fucking riot.

Daryl paused. "Naw, it was a request."

He discreetly looked back at Michonne and her boy. He slowly nodded his head. "Okay," He finally said. "But brats still ain't allowed in here." It was a hazard for kids to be seen in the shop. It just wasn't safe for them, not to mention a lot of the patrons of the shop weren't too keen on being subtle or cuddly. The poor brat would be emotionally scarred before he learned to walk.

"Alright," Michonne said pliantly, walking towards the door. She looked back at Daryl. "See you around town, Daryl?" She inquired.

He smiled. "Yeah."

Merle raised his brow as he watched Michonne exit the shop. He laughed. "You're kissin' buddies?" He teased.

"It ain't like that," He said as he leaned against the counter. "She needed someone to see her home a month or so ago," He went on, shrugging. "Her boyfriend dropped her off to look for knives while he ran some errands. Somethin' came up with him and he never showed."

Merle scratched his beard. "Hmmm, a regular?"

Daryl nodded. "Every Friday and Saturday."

Merle had never worked the shop on Fridays or Saturdays, he wanted to blow off steam from the daily grind and conformity of society by indulging in booze and chasing tail. He lived for those nights. Daryl was the more subdued Dixon brother. He was meek, plaint and a bit rough on the edges. Daryl flourished in their shop, he truly loved working there. So whatever shifts Merle didn't want he gladly took.

Merle smiled. "Those are my days off."

"I know," Daryl said with a chuckle. "You should quit chasin' ass for one day and work with me then," He smirked. "You might be able to see her more often."

He scoffed. "You've gotta be fuckin' with me," He eyed him like he was the dumbest guy on Earth for that statement. Merle Dixon just didn't like black women. He didn't hate them, he just...well...he didn't really know himself. "She had a brat on her hip."

"And?" Daryl inquired, shoving his hands in his pocket and looking back at a perplexed Merle. He probably shouldn't have said that, but hey he saw him eying her.

"Andrea came sniffin' round' for you too." Merle said, wanting to shift the topic elsewhere.

"Pistol ammo?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah," Merle said, smiling at the thought of that blonde firecracker. "She was hot, that old blondie," He licked his lips. "You gotta put a good word in for me, baby brother," He whined. "I'd love to fu-"

"Daryl!" They heard Andrea yell, running over and giving him a small hug. Merle was kind of in a way. It was no secret that Merle was most of the muscle and security, but Daryl was certainly more well-liked. He had that aura about him that Merle just didn't have. What he lacked in strength he exceeded in being personable, in a low-key way.

Merle grumbled, making his way out of the shop. He braved the Atlanta heat once more and sat in his truck for a moment. Big, bad Merle did seem depressed, he rested his head against the wheel. He needed booze and a good time, hell; he needed friends. Not those hicks that stagger into his store on a daily basis either. Real friends. Normal friends. He dimly remembered that he'd have to stop by the grocery store for some toilet paper and seasonings for the fish that Daryl caught a few days ago.

He started up his truck and headed down the road. It was still pretty early but he felt work taking a toll on him anyway. He supposed that he was un-satisfied with his personal life. Stability would be nice, other than the shop. Sometimes the shop drained him. Most people had asked for Daryl unless they had actual questions about the guns and knives...or combat. Booze and a good fuck would set him for a bit, until he crashes back to reality again.

He arrived at the meager looking grocery store. After putting his truck in park he got out and walked inside. He grumbled as he scooped up a dark blue shopping basket from beside the door. The damn store was crammed with people. He hated people. The only people he liked were his brother and hot blonde girls that he could get with. It was slim pickings during this visit. He was as soft as a Twinkie walking around, but at least the Antarctic air conditioning felt good on his sun-kissed skin. At least their was that. He retrieved the toilet paper and proceeded to the spice aisle. As he walked into the aisle he saw Michonne attempting to reach for a highly placed spice. He stopped himself from gawking at her round behind as she valiantly reached for the spice. The whole time she dutifully kept her other hand on the cart. Andre was sitting pliantly in the seat of the cart. He was playing jubilantly with his new duck toy, he seemed very well behaved from what Merle could tell. He wasn't keen on kids but little Andre was okay.

Against his better judgment he approached her. "Need some help?"

She stopped reaching and briefly looked away from him. She seemed to be embarrassed somehow. "I like doing things myself," She explained. "but yes."

He walked beside her and reached for the jar of spice. He looked at it. "Curry powder?" He asked with a chuckle.

She snatched it out of his hand. "Don't judge me!" She exclaimed with a light laugh, looking up at him. "Thank you though." She flashed a smile at him. "You aren't so bad after all, Merle Dixon."

He fought back a smile. "Like I said before, don't you go round' tellin' people that I'm nice to you." He put his mouth in a deep frown.

"Why's that?," She challenged. "It'll show that you're human?"

"No," He corrected. "It'll show that I'm a wimp with a soft spot for housewives and cute babies." In order to keep the store up and running he needed to have a certain persona. And doting on kids or women wasn't it.

"I'm not a housewife," She replied, placing the jar of curry in the cart. She turned back to him with her hand on her hip. She was annoyed by the comment and he saw that. "What makes you say that?" She asked. She was dying to know.

"You have a baby and you frequent my shop a lot," He explained. "I meant no harm in it, nothin' wrong with stayin' home and tendin' to your baby."

She licked her lips, drawing attention to how full they were and how lush they probably felt. "Are you married, Merle?"

"No." He quickly said.

"Girlfriend?"

He paused. "No." He regrettably answered.

"I see," She replied, pushing her cart. "A lifelong bachelor." She mentioned with a giggle.

"What's so funny?" He asked, quickly grabbing a bottle of crushed pepper and seasoned salt before hurriedly leaving the aisle. He pursued her as she scanned the aisles for items.

"I never saw you until today," She said, fixing her lips to rebut him once more. "If you hung around at the shop a little more maybe you'd know more about me," She said with a wink. Was she flirting with him? No. "You'd know that I'm not married." Yes. Yes. She had to be flirting with him.

"You sound like Daryl," He muttered with a chuckle. "Always lecturing me." He dimly wondered if she was attracted to him, probably not. If she wasn't married she must've had a boyfriend.

"He's a great guy," She said with a smile. Merle rolled his eyes. "But so are you."

He laughed. "Oh really now?," He asked as he rubbed his chin hairs. His ego was on the up and up. "Are we friends now?"

She shrugged. "If you'd like to be, I suppose we are."

He cluelessly scratched his head. "Alright then, so uh...I'll call you or somethin' and I'll paint your toenails or-?"

She laughed. Did he really think of women as just sitting idly and painting their toenails with their friends all the time? "You're a funny guy, Merle Dixon." She threw a large tin of baby formula in the cart along with a few jars of baby food. She resumed pushing the cart with Merle walking beside her.

"Ain't never been a friend to no woman before." He admitted. The only friend he was with women was friends with benefits. Not only was she taken, but she seemed like a classy lady. He could tell how much she doted on her son too.

"I think you'll learn how to be friends with me," She replied with a smile. "Will you be at the shop tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I can be," It was a Friday but why not? Michonne seemed okay, very nice and refined. But Merle needed a certain type of woman, certainly not refined or taken. "You need somethin' else?"

She raised her brow. "Can't a woman browse?"

"No offense," He said in his southern drawl, rubbing his face. "But I run a huntin' shop, not a boutique."

"I'm well aware." She said with a smile.

He made a grunt of approval. "Alright then, you just gotta leave your boy at home," He said. "Rough sons a bitches patron my shop."

"I'll do that," She rolled the cart past him. "Thanks for the warning but I can handle myself," She replied, looking back at him. "See you tomorrow!"

He forced an awkward wave. "Right!" He watched her go, regrettably enjoying how her ass looked in that sundress. His first female friend and she happens to be black and has a baby. He shrugged. Somehow her color hadn't bothered him as much as most people bothered him, even when he saw her earlier.

Friends. Yeah. And with that he got in the checkout line and was on his way home. Him and Daryl had went half on a cheap rancher, it was certainly a step above the shitty place that they stayed in when they were kids. Merle felt the beaming American dream in his grasp and was content with his meager home and shop.

Now romance was the fleeting thing in his life. Not that he wanted that anyway. All women did was bitch anyways. Dinners and flowers meant nothing so he'd rather get down to brass tacks...and get in them.

He sloppily parked his truck and opened the door, shutting it behind him. The place was a mess, but shit, Daryl could clean. Merle fell onto the black leather sofa and reached for the white, cordless house phone that was on the small mocha-colored end table. He dialed a number. "Hey, Dawn," He cajoled over the phone. "I've been thinkin' bout' you non-stop," Dawn was a pretty blonde from down the road. Her body was stunning in those mini skirts and halter tops that she would wear, but her screws weren't all there. Bur that could easily be overlooked for an hour and a half fucking session. "You gonna stop by and pay ol' Merle a visit?," He groaned into the phone. "I'm ready for you now!," He asserted, already fully hard. "Alright, sugar tits, I'll see you soon." He hung up the phone. He sat there for a moment, then removing his shirt and pants.

15 minutes later he heard a knock on the door. "Merle, it's me!"

As soon as he heard her voice the door flung open and he grabbed her close. "You ready for me?," He asked, pressing his throbbing erection against her thigh. "I'm sure as hell ready for you!" He was dying for release. He never kissed her or ate her or any other woman, their was no point in it. He figured a part of him wanted his lips to touch the right woman's lips, as ass-backwards as that was. But since you can't put a condom around the inside of a person's mouth it seemed logical. Long after he was spent and kicked Dawn out he was still lonely again. No amount of ass would change that and he realized it.

He felt left behind by Daryl. He was growing; emotionally and mentally. Merle seemed to stagnate in the same bad boy and rough and tumble redneck persona. That got him nowhere with the ladies, except the ones who wanted to fuck a bad boy. He thought of not being so bad. But apparently he wasn't that bad anyway, according to Michonne. He was human after all though, despite how he acted he had wanted a decent woman. Who knows?, maybe she could turn him around. However, as of right now their were no viable prospects with his cock leading the way. Oh well. He closed his eyes, drifting into a brief nap.