Unstable (15 page)

Thank God.

I give him an appreciative smile, but I can feel the shame holding it back from being full. “Thank you, Gatlin, for taking care of them, and fixing the roof. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I know you have a lot to do around here, but I’m gonna start helping more.”

Well damn, I have no idea where that speech came from, but my mood has obviously improved. Maybe it’s the relief of knowing the horses weren’t neglected. Or the signs I finally recognized. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

“You wanna help, huh?” He gives me a crooked smile, eyes glimmering with challenge.

“Yes, absolutely.” I curtly bob my head.

“Well then, get your ass up and come help me fix this fence, cowgirl,” he chuckles.

Looks like it’s time to learn how to mend fences.

I can do this too.

A DAY OF HARD
work is good for the soul.

I’m exhausted, I stink and I smashed my thumb twice, but I feel invigorated. As productive and worth a damn as I have in years.

So much so, that I give “old Henley” a voice and let her speak freely.

“Gatlin, how about after we both get cleaned up, you come to the house for dinner? I can make a pretty decent plate of spaghetti.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He pulls his shirt over his head and puts his hat back on. “So, I’ll see ya in a bit?”

“Yep, see ya then.” I take off as he climbs in the farm truck wondering to myself, about myself, the whole ride home.

There’s still no way I’m ready to ride a horse, and the thought of having to make trips into town literally turns my stomach completely upside down, but I’m making small, enormously important strides.

I may be hiding out, so to speak, within the confines of my own fences, but I’m conversing with people, not every word defensive and snide…and now I’m inviting someone to a real meal I’ll prepare. Not just a quick sandwich.

I’m just sorry it took a tragedy, another one, to force me to finally start to face the inevitable—life.

I’ve showered, changed, and have the noodles boiling and the sauce on simmer when he knocks on the door.

“Come on in,” I holler.

“Smells great.” He grins, hanging his hat on the chicken hook.

“Thanks. Just a few more minutes. I made tea,” I point, “if you want to ice us both up a glass.”

He opens the cabinet to get the glasses, but stops, turning to look at me. “There’s something different about you, Henley. Whatever it is, looks good on ya.”

I search the depths of his brown eyes, finding only sincere admiration. “Thank you. I feel a little different.”

“You’re standing taller, not ducking. Looks like you’re ready to try the high jump instead of the limbo.”

What?
Seriously, does this guy just scroll Google for obscure, inspirational quotes?

“What I mean,” he laughs softly at what I’m sure is pure confusion on my face, “is that you’re ready to reach for something higher, instead of slinking under the easiest route.”

Yeah, never would’ve gotten it without the explanation.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mumble, focusing on the stove. “Maybe not though. Today was a good day, surprisingly, because it started out like shit. But I could wake up tomorrow and be right back where I started. Wouldn’t shock me in the least, pretty much how I’ve spent the last eight years. Back and forth,” I sigh. “Mostly back. Anyway, food’s ready!" I over-exuberantly change the subject.

When we’re stuffed, both leaning back in our chairs and rubbing our bellies, there’s another knock at the door.

“Ignore it,” I drone, knowing exactly who it is. I’m amazed it took this long. He’d driven through his field today, so I know he saw Gatlin and I working on the fence together. Now he’s come for a close-up, nosy-ass investigation.

“Ignore it?” Gatlin repeats, brow bent in curious confusion. “What if it’s something important? Awful late for Jehovah’s Witnesses, of which I’m not aware of any in town.”

“It’s nothing important, trust me.” I roll my eyes as he knocks again, much louder this time.

“Henley—”

“Fine,” I frump, pushing back my chair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Warn me about what?” He stands too, ready to follow me.

“No, don’t get up, that’ll just encourage him to stay.” I motion my hand for him to plant his butt back in the chair.

“Who?” He slowly lowers himself, looking worried.

My response is proceeded by a surly groan. “Keaton Fucking Cash.”

I OPEN THE DOOR
, wearing my annoyance like a badge of honor. “What?”

“Good evening to you too, Darlin’. I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He grins.

“What are you doing here, Keaton?”

“Just thought I’d come around to say hi, check on ya.”

“You are such a shit liar. I know exactly why you’re here, you came to interrogate me about Gatlin.” I purse my lips and narrow my eyes, daring him to deny it.

“Um, actually, I didn’t.”

“Uh huh,” I roll my eyes and open the door wider. “Well you’re in luck, he’s here for dinner. So come on in and meet him, since I know you’re not gonna let up until you do.”

“He’s here
now
?
For dinner
?” He doesn’t exactly ask…more like hisses out the words again just to confirm he heard me right, his eyes holding a flame that makes my skin feel hot and itchy.

“That’s what I said. He worked hard today. I fed him. Not that I have to explain myself to you. So,” I cock a sassy hip, loving the discomforted aggravation emanating off him, “want to meet him or not?”

He dips his head, rumbling lowly in my ear. “Oh, that’s a fuck yes, Hen. Country Kitchen?”

I nod, suddenly unable to speak, body strung tight from his hot determination against my sensitive flesh.

He starts to tromp that way and I somehow pull myself together, darting in front of him. Gatlin stands as soon as we enter, his back bowed and chest out just like Keaton’s.

Oh, brother.

“Gatlin Holt, this is Keaton Cash, owns the farm next to mine and kinda an old family…friend. Keaton, this is Gatlin, my farmhand,” I rush out the introductions in a nervous, high-pitched voice, watching both of them for any sudden movements.

Gatlin is the first to step forward, extending a hand with a “Nice to meet you,” but Keaton just stands there, not reciprocating.

I elbow him in the ribs, hard, and scold him out the side of my mouth and under my breath. “Don’t be a dick. Shake his hand.”

Keaton turns his head and stares at me like I’m asking him to give the guy a hug and kiss on the cheek, a muscle visibly ticking in his jaw.

Okay, got to fix this because the testosterone in the room is suffocating. “Why don’t you two sit and get to know each other and I’ll bring you a drink Keaton? And I have dessert. Anyone?”

“Please.” Gatlin smiles at me.

Keaton says nothing so I ask again. “Keaton? Drink? Dessert?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Thanks,” he mutters, not looking at me.

“By the way,” I add, just inside the doorway, “Gatlin explained about the horses, they were cared for, so no need to go over that, Keaton.” I warn him, then scurry to get something to occupy their mouths, lest they really should start to talk to each other.

I hurry to pour a glass of tea and serve up two plates of the cobbler I’d unthawed, balancing it all carefully as I rush back in to join them. But Keaton’s already on his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” I ask, caught between shocked and relieved.

“Yeah, I need to be going. It was, um, nice meeting you, Gatlin.” He tips the brim of his hat. “Hen, will you walk me out?”

“Nice meeting you too,” Gatlin replies.

I set everything down and follow Keaton to the door. But he doesn’t say goodbye there, taking my hand and pulling me all the way outside, shutting the door behind us.

“So, this Gatlin guy, he was here waiting when you got back?” he asks me, his voice solemn.

“Yes, why?”

“And he’s good to you, helps you out? Never makes you feel uncomfortable?” He rubs his thumb across the knuckles of my hand that he’s still gently holding.

“Never. He’s very nice, easy to talk to, and a great listener. He understands what I’ve been through, you know, because of his dad."

He deliberates, a low and long rumble rising up from deep in his chest. “Okay, well, he seems alright, and I’m glad he’s helping you. But remember Henley, I’ll help you too. And you can always talk to me. I’d love it if you trusted me enough to do so. I know all about what you’ve been through, so please, consider letting me be there for you too.”

“Are you just saying this as some sort of macho thing, or do you mean it?”

Why do I need clarification?

Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Gatlin doesn’t elicit any feelings in me besides friendship, kinship, comfort. Whereas Keaton stokes a fire—whether it be an angry fire, flames of desire or forbidden heat—in me. All different, but I always feel
something
…strongly.

Maybe I always have—just another thing I so expertly refused to acknowledge.

“Both.” He rubs the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “I can be both, Hen. Your best friend and
your man
. I can be everything you need.”

Dear God, my belly just went off in rapid flutter and my pussy clenched. The hated neighbor…not so much anymore. That deep sultry voice drapes over me like silk. The reverent promise in his eyes the color of the clearest ocean.

I feel my resistance weaken more every time we interact.

But I can’t let it matter. I won’t. Not until I’m sure.

“I…I have to go,” I take a step away from him. “I better not go back in there and hear you were a dick to him.”

“You shouldn’t, because I wasn’t. Do me one favor?”

I lift a brow in question.

“When he’s gone, call me before you go to sleep.”

“Why? And I don’t know your number.”

He grins, full lips parting to showcase straight, white teeth and endless charisma. He’s a really good grinner. “Because I asked you to. And yes you do, as I have yours. Check your phone, I’m under “Irresistible Neighbor.”

“You hacked my phone? And do you know how to spell irresistible?” I taunt with a smile.

“Your code is your birthday, that’s not hacking, just pressing buttons. And yes, smartass, I know more than you think I do. Just call me, okay?”

“Whatever. Goodnight.” I turn to go in.

“Not yet. You can tell me that when we hang up later.”

Infuriating.

“I’m sorry that took so long.” I’m already talking when I walk back in to join Gatlin. “I hope he wasn’t a complete ass. I really don’t think he can help it. He’s been, well, him, since forever.”

“He wasn’t anything but friendly. Eh, maybe not friendly,” he chuckles, “but definitely not rude. You remember when I admitted to you I cried like a baby?”

“Yes,” I answer, gathering up the dishes.

He rises and helps me, following me to the sink. “Think that set the tone that we can talk openly. So can I ask you something?”