Unstable (12 page)

Surely Gatlin’s been taking care of the horses—hell, I don’t even know how many of them there are—and he’d said he had work to do. But I didn’t see any sign of him when I got back, so I can’t ask him. And I can’t waste any more time in seeing to them on the off-chance he hasn’t been.

I suck in a healthy dose of fortitude and gradually push apart the doors—beyond the entire expanse of the definition of astounded at what I find on the other side.

Both doors on the far end are open, where he’d obviously parked, so the extra sunlight I’ve just let in doesn’t call his attention to me.

I take a step back around the door, using it to hide myself as I watch in…I’ll just call it fascination for now, until I figure out the right word.

Keaton Cash—shirtless, sweat glistening off every beautifully flexed muscle in his arms, back, chest and abdomen—is tending to my horses.

Not daring to move lest I’d make a sound and be discovered, I tell my rapidly thrumming heart to calm the hell down. It’s merely a finely-toned, exquisite body. Lots of men probably look just like that under their shirts.
Yeah right.

I allow my eyes to roam over every last inch of him, but blink several times, chastising myself mentally when I feel the damp heat build between my legs. Hell, I may have never liked him, but I
never
said he was ugly. And any cheesy come-on lines he may have used to have every girl in town throwing themselves at him back in the day? He can throw them away now, ‘cause his best, impossible to resist, pick-up line
by far
is the way he wears those jeans of his. Dark Wranglers, clinging to his round, firm ass as though they were made
around
a mold of his body while he stood there for the fitting.

“You gonna come over here and meet your horses, or stand there and fuck me with those baby blues all day? I’m fine with either, just thought I’d ask.”

My whole body flames with a fever of embarrassment, but I raise my chin and shoulders and move from behind the door, plastering on a look that I
really
hope conveys the forced falsity that I think he’s talking egotistical nonsense.

“Do you
always
have to be so arrogant and crass?” I sneer, keeping my post just one step into view. Not that my post at what I
thought
was out of view seemed to work.

“Only when I’m right.” He turns to flash me a cocky smile, holding out his hand. “Come ‘ere, Henny Penny. Sky isn’t gonna fall, you can do this.”

I’m too immersed to call him out on the name play. I can see, smell, hear…horses, and my feet shuffle backward on auto-pilot. “I’ve got salt and grain in the back of my truck. I’ll…uh…just go start unloading it.”

He stomps my way. “Stubborn to the damn core. I swear, woman. That shit’s too heavy for you.
I’ll
unload it, then you can help me get their hooves cleaned while they finish eating and drinking so we can turn them out. How long they been cooped up in here?”

“I…I don’t know,” I shamefully mutter.

He marches right past me and starts hauling the supplies from my truck bed like the bossy ass he’s always been. Don’t remember him always being quite
this
hot though…a full-grown man now, bare-chested and
all
cowboy, slinging heavy bags over his sculpted shoulders like they weigh nothing, growling under his breath as his dusty boots hit the ground.

I reel in my long-neglected,
never really fully serviced now that I think about it
, libido and sigh, giving in to help him.

“Well at least hand me something. I’m not a weakling.”

He slings another bag of grain over his shoulder, giving me a full-out smirk, eyebrows raised in amusement. “These sacks weigh almost as much as you do, badass. No sense in hurting yourself just to spite me.”

“Fine. Thank you,” I grind out under my breath.

God, I have
got
to get my own shit in order. If for no other reason than to eliminate the need to quit thanking the men of my past.

“What was that?” he goads with that killer, crooked smile of his.

“You heard me.”

He laughs, a sexy rumble that makes every one of his exposed abdominal muscles, eight of them damn things,
not that I counted
, ripple. “I couldn’t have possibly, ‘cause I
thought
I heard you say ‘thank you.’”

I wrench my gluttonous gaze from his physique and stare off into the distance. “I did, and I meant it. Thank you for your help, Keaton. If you could just set it all inside, I’ll see if Gatlin can put it away later.”

“Who the fuck is Gatlin?” He tosses the bag on the pile he’s started in the corner and whirls around to aim a heavy scowl at me.

“One of my mom’s farmhands. Jack’s son actually.
If
I decide to stay and keep this place, pretty sure he’ll be staying too.”

He scoffs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “One hell of a job he’s doing. These horses had no water or hay in here, and should’ve been out. Their hooves are packed, stomping around in their own shit.”

“You have no idea what all he does around here! You said yourself you didn’t come around, near my mom, so don’t judge what you don’t know.” I prop both hands on my hips, starting to get real ruffled.

I’ll be the one to talk to Gatlin about this situation, because it’s unacceptable, loathsome if it’s been as long as I suspect since the horses have been seen to. Without Keaton butting in. Despite the fact I’m beyond grateful he butted in.

“Well you can bet your sweet lil’ ass I’ll be coming around more now. Wanna meet this
hand
of yours too. How old is he?”

“I don’t know,” I hitch a shoulder. “‘Bout our age, I guess.
Why
?” I narrow my eyes.

“First of all, it’s gonna take more than just you and him to run this place. Secondly, how do you know he’s any good at farming? Your mom very well may have just been throwing him a bone since he was Jack’s son. And last, but far from least, Darlin’, I just wanna meet him, don’t need a reason. Wanna meet anyone else you hire too.” He moves in fast, and close, our toes touching and his heady scent of virile man hard at work, making it difficult for me to think straight. “Why’s that a problem,
Henley
?”

Oh, he’s mad—he never calls me by my actual name.

I move back a step, reminding myself that a few acts of kindness don’t undo years of animosity and that Keaton is pushing his luck, too soon and
way
too overbearingly.

“I didn’t say it
was
a problem, but you’re making it one. I appreciate your help, that night and today, but that doesn’t give you the right to come barging in here and making demands! I’ve really been trying to be nicer, to
everyone
today, but you’re seriously testing me, Cash.”

He steps into me again, erasing the space I’d just put between us, and my back finds the side of my truck. “Hen…”
There it is
, he drops his voice to a silky baritone. “I’m only looking out for you. I just don’t want you hiring out of charity or some Joe Blow passing through looking for work, who might take advantage of your money,
or
notice you’re a young, irresistibly gorgeous woman, alone on a farm.”

His hands lightly skim my arms, and I’m pinned in, unable to thwart his touch, but his eyes are serene and kind so I don’t even attempt to. “Your tough act, although sexy as all fuck, won’t protect you against male farmhands you don’t really know.
I’m not going away, Hen. You may hate me, and to this day only God knows why, but you
do
know me. And way deep down, as much as it burns your ass, you know you can trust me.”

I
want
to believe him, and I
could
use his help, but even considering conceding feels like a direct betrayal.
She’d been crazy about him.
But she was young, so was he…so maybe it’d be okay to give an amicable, working relationship a try? Would she be alright with that?

“I’ll think about it,” I mumble, very unsure.

“You do that. Now, let’s go introduce you to your horses. They’ve gotta be going stir-crazy in there.”

He takes my small, clammy hand in his large, calloused one…and I let him, my guilt returning immediately.

Yep, I’m definitely going to need to have a talk with her soon.

“THIS ONE HERE WAS
your Mom’s favorite. Anytime I saw her riding, it was him.” Keaton pats his back. “Never with a saddle though. He—”

“Scotch,” I cut in on a drone. “His name is Scotch. Saw it on the stall door.”

“Yeah, me too. Just wasn’t sure I should mention it in case you hadn’t. Anyway, this one here knows the farm from what I could tell. The hay I gave ‘em is good quality, but why don’t you bring him a salt block while I finish picking his hooves?”

I can do that.

As I pass by the other stalls, I read the names on those doors: Rye and Barley. The theme is not lost on me—all named with whiskey in mind.

“Hen, you good, Darlin’?” Keaton asks, his question the only reason I regain my awareness and discover I’ve stopped cold in my tracks.

“I…don’t know,” I answer in an honest stammer and spin to look at him. “Three horses, all named like Whiskey. And why have three at all? You can easily run a farm with the truck and the Gator. Kinda old fashioned, don’t ya think?”

“Go on, boy. We’ll get ya a treat next time.” He lets Scotch free from the stall, sending him out the open doors to freedom, then approaches me at a leisurely, but deliberate pace.

“My answer isn’t simple, Hen. Sure you wanna hear it?”

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets, ‘cause…I don’t know, it somehow makes me feel the relaxed I’m anything but?

“Horse people tend to stay horse people forever, you know that. I have trucks, a four wheeler, and an ATV, but I damn sure have horses too. There’s something about riding that never leaves ya. So that’s
my
answer for that, but I suspect there was even more to it for your mom.” He dips his head, peering up at me, silently asking for permission to continue.

“Go on,” I answer.

“I’d say the names she chose speak for themselves, and as far as having more than one,” he rubs the back of his neck, “maybe she was hoping somebody would be back to ride ‘em with her? Help her train up the yearling over there, teach him the farm? Few times I’ve seen him worked, he’s taken to cutting pretty damn fast. You don’t want him, I’ll buy him from ya right now.”

“I’m not selling Barley! We haven’t even gotten acquainted yet. Sheesh.” My misty eyes give him a critical glare. “A lil’ quick on the trigger there, aren’t ya?”

“Hen,” he growls, deep and gravelly, honing in on me with both his now smoldering eyes and shirtless body. “I assure you, Darlin’, my trigger is anything but quick. In fact, you’ll squeeze yours off
multiple
times before I even cock back my hammer.”

The slow, sexy glide of his tongue across his bottom lip confirms it—we have definitely veered off in a salacious direction. And while my mind is ready to throw up roadblocks, my body is humming, throbbing,
everywhere
, at full-speed ahead.

“Ke…Keaton,” my whisper is broken with sensuality…that
cannot
be entertained. I snap out of it, the guilt helping immensely, and jolt back. “I’m not, we aren’t, just—”

“Okay, okay,” he speaks gently, putting up both hands and backing away. “I got it, just relax.”

“You were…about to kiss me, weren’t you?” Horny haze—my only excuse for daring the words.

“You’re damn right I was,” he grunts, “but I’m a patient man.”

“Well, don’t waste it on me, never gonna happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take care of my horses, who you’re also never getting.”

I calm myself before grabbing a salt block and pick, entering Barley’s stall slow and steady. “Hey there, I’m Henley. Can I take care of you, beautiful boy?”

Keaton laughs and I turn my head to find out why.