Unstable (23 page)

“Also,” I have to find my voice, “How much for that belt buckle?” I point.

Linda can’t hide her piqued curiosity, yet answers professionally. “Normally two hundred, but for you, with the earrings too, we’ll say one-fifty for both.”

I have that much on me, and boy would that buckle look good on Keaton’s waist. Plus, I owe him many a thank you too. But what message would it send?

What message do I want it to send?

I don’t know the answer to either, so I go with illogical impulse and buy them both.

I thank Linda, promising to come by again soon, and hop back in my truck.

Well, clothes shopping is out, I just spent the bulk of my cash—but I feel good about doing something nice for others. It’s been far too long since I have.

I drive through town, looking around at all that I had blocked out before. Nothing’s changed. I mean really,
nothing
. It’s actually a quite picturesque little place if you can numb your mind to the scenery only.

When I get to Nelson’s, an icy chill zings through me. I didn’t stop to think what being here again would drudge up inside me.
Dumb.

I’m here though, and Donna was a Godsend, so I take a deep breath, count to ten and get out, her gift in my unsteady hand.

The terribly misplaced bells carol melodically as I enter and like clockwork, out pops Donna from around the corner.

“Henley, honey, is everything alright?” She rushes over, giving me one of those hugs I love so much.

“Yes, I’m fine. I…uh…brought you something.” I shove the gift at her in all my graceful etiquette.

“For me?” She puts a hand over her heart and blushes. “What on earth?”

“Open it,” I encourage with a smile.

She peels at the paper slowly, either savoring the suspense, or like some older ladies, wanting to save the paper. Who knows. When she finally lifts the lid and sees the earrings, she looks up at me with tear-filled eyes.

“Henley, you sweet thing. I love them, but you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” I jut out my chin and say proudly.

“Well thank you, honey.” She wraps me in another hug, dampening my shoulder with tears. “Do you have time to sit, tell me how you’re doing?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” I easily agree and follow her to the couch in the lobby.

She studies me, then says, “My eyes may be deceiving me, but I do believe something’s changed. You look…happy.”

“I might be,” I croak, my own eyes moistening up. “Would it be okay if I was?
Trying
to be at least? Is it too soon? What will people say?”

Lord, I’m a mixed-up mess and Donna’s so…motherly, that it all just comes pouring out.

“Oh, sweetie,” she wraps a loving arm around my shoulder and tucks my chin to her chest, “it’s
always
okay to strive for happiness. What else would be the point of life, to try and be miserable? That doesn’t make much sense does it?”

“A lot’s happened. I need help sorting it all out in my mind, and my heart,” I plead.

“Start at the beginning and we’ll see how far we get.” She pats my cheek. “Least I can do for those fancy schmancy earrings,” she giggles, delighted with the treat I know she’d never treat herself to.

I open my mouth, deciding where to start, and next thing I know, there’s a pile of wadded up Kleenex in my lap and I’m blubbering about the belt buckle. I did
not
share a single word with her of the hot and heavy session in the truck, but I think she suspects something. My face was probably glowing neon pink even from skipping over it.

“Well,” she heaves, “where to start. You’re good with your sister and your mama, you know that in your heart now. So no more beating yourself up about that. Sounds like you’re feeling out the farming, so no worrying about that anymore either. Which leaves Keaton. Which is what’s really got you wound in knots.”

I nod. She’d see right through any other act I tried to play.

“He’s a good man, Henley. And you’re a good woman. I’m not seeing the problem, honey.”

“What if people talk, disapprove?” I bite my lip.

“Pardon my English, but fuck them! What’d I say about Loy and his shotgun?”

Oh. My God.
Is it okay to laugh, once my heart starts beating again, that is?

Donna Simms just dropped the F bomb, with authority…in a funeral home.

Greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Don’t look at me like that, this isn’t the House of the Lord,” she justifies herself brazenly.

“But what if I’m just a passing phase, and once he’s obtained the unobtainable, he leaves? Hurts me? What then? I’d be further back than where I started.” My teeth toy anxiously with the inside of my cheek.

“Don’t you ever get tired of carrying every possible ‘what if’ around on your shoulders all the time? If he does, you pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, and keep going. You’ve proven you can do that, Henley. And my dear, have you considered the alternative? What if he doesn’t? What if he means every word he says and loves you forever? For Heaven’s sake, it’s been fifteen years and he hasn’t lost interest yet. But you listen to me, be
sure
before you leap. Be sure of your faith in yourself and especially in him, because you head into it waiting on and looking for the bad—that’s exactly what you’ll find. You’ll create it, imagine it, if that’s your mindset. And then you may end up being the one to crush him. Until you’re ready to expect, accept, and look for the good, slow down. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

“Thank you, Donna. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I hug her first this time, gather up my Kleenex and stand to throw them away. “Is that clock right?” I ask, panicked.

“Yes. I’ll be, I didn’t realize it was so late. We’re already closed,” she snickers.

“I’ve been gone all day and my phone’s in the truck. I gotta get home and check on Bourbon. Bye Donna, thank you again!”

“Thank you for the earrings,” she calls as I rush out the door.

I speed home in the fast approaching darkness, no idea where the day went.

When I pull up to my house, Keaton’s truck is there, and before I have mine in park—he’s stomping toward me.

Uh oh, Keaton angry
.

He flings open my door, eyes blazing with fury. Yet he forces himself to grit out past a clenched jaw, “I'm glad to see you’re home safe. I was very worried.” And since he got through the niceties, he now fires up for the impolite, alpha part. “Now would you mind telling me where in the ever-loving fuck you’ve been all day, and why you weren’t answering your phone?”

“
Not
that I have to answer to you, I
again
remind you, but I got caught up visiting with Donna and lost track of time. How’s Bourbon? Do you know if Gatlin came by and checked on him like he promised?”

“
I
took care of Bourbon. Didn’t need any help,” he seethes.

“Do I want to know how you got in the house?”

“Very stealthily. You left the door unlocked. Why didn’t you ask
me
to watch the dog, Henley?”

“Because Gatlin’s already here and gets paid.” I stop and add to my mental list—I haven’t paid him since I’ve been here. Need to ask Merrick about those arrangements too and take them over.

“Dog’s not part of his job, dog’s personal. Personal’s
my
territory.”

Oh brother. If I wasn’t tired, anxious to check on Bourbon and…his territorialism wasn’t just a little bit hot, I’d put up a fight.

But I don’t.

“Got it, don’t wanna argue. Now, can I go in
my
house and see Bourbon for myself?” I try to scoot past him, but he's not having it.

“We really need to make up or it’s going to spoil things,” his voice softens and his eyes adopt a silky quality.

“Okay, I’m sorry I worried you, and I just said I got it. There, we’re made up.”

“Not even close,” he grunts, grabbing me and lifting me off my feet to take my mouth as he sees fit.

And it’s a perfect fit.

BY THE TIME WE
finish “making up,” my lips are swollen, my legs feel limp, and there’s no breath left in me. Was it the worrying him or simply agreeing that caused his reaction? I really need to be certain—so I can mimic it, like…every single day.

Keaton Cash doesn’t just “kiss.” He
claims
, dominates, and obliterates your entire sense of reason, leaving you wanting more and incapable of any thoughts that don’t include the feel of his mouth possessing and devouring yours entirely.

“Trust me?” he asks, sporting the confident expression of a man who knows the effect he has.

Trust.

I consider it a monumental word. One I haven’t ever taken lightly—especially in recent years. To
trust
, you must believe infallibly in that person’s inherent goodness, be able to rely on them and their honesty, strength, morals, and ethics. That their intentions and motives are pure.

Keaton exasperates me on a daily basis and takes
huge
liberties regarding my business and body, not always with expressed permission, but at the core of it all—yes, he more than meets all the criteria. I do, indeed, trust him.

“Yes,” I answer him in a sure, thoroughly considered tone. “I do.”

“Like hearing that too, Darlin’,” he hums lowly. “Then put this on for me.” He pulls a bandana out of his back pocket and moves to…
blindfold me with it?

“Whoa, cowboy!” I hold up my hands and falter back a step. “I said I
trusted
you. Nowhere in there did we discuss how I feel about being blinded and led into a den of bondage or whatever it is you’re thinking.”

He throws back his head and laughs with his whole body, taking well over a minute to recover.

“I love that I never know
what’s
gonna come out of that pretty mouth of yours. So, ease our way into bondage, noted. Now will you put on the blindfold so I can
not
show you the whips, chains, and handcuffs nowhere included in the surprise I have for you?” He’s still chuckling as he asks.

“What kind of surprise?” I practically hiss my nervous skepticism.

“Um, the
surprise
kind of surprise,” he oozes playful charm. “You’re familiar with what the word means, right?”

“I don’t know, Keaton,” my voice wobbles. “I’m…this…it’s a bit much for me.”

“Henny,” he steps closer and touches my cheek. “Trust me, baby. I’d
never
push you too far. Especially
that
far. It’s a good surprise, I promise you.”

Eight years of avoiding human contact of any sort and I’m actually considering letting my once arch nemesis blindfold me?

I give up even attempting
to figure myself out anymore.

“Okay,” I surrender, because I have a flashback of what happened the last time I did so, my lips still swollen.
Yes, please
. “Fine, let’s do it. Blindfold away.”

He walks behind me, leaning into my ear as he ties the bandana around my eyes and whispers sensually, “Thank you for trusting me. You have no idea what it means to me.”

“Anything weird, and I
will
kill you,” I feign toughness, every muscle in my body cramping with antsy adrenaline.

“Promise, nothing weird. I’ll guide you.” He takes my hand, weaving our fingers together, and leads me toward the house, his other arm around my waist.

He tells me when to step up, turn a corner, talking in a reassuring tone that provides some much needed comfort.

I hear a door creak open and tense up…but this house doesn’t have a basement, so that’s also encouraging. A little.

“Ready?” The excitement in his voice holds a childlike quality.

“More than.” Perhaps not for the surprise, but definitely for the blindfold phase of our adventure to be over.

He unties my blindfold. “Surprise!”

Keaton Fucking Cash…just blasted down another of my walls and ignited another spark of hope in me that life
can
be enjoyed. Relished at times.

I’m momentarily speechless…and instantly crying. “You, you did all this? For me? In one day?” I babble while simultaneously pulling off being a blubbering mess.

“I hired a little help, but yeah, mostly. Do you like it?”

I can only bob my head up and down in amazement, too enraptured to adequately respond. My eyes dart here, there, then back again, taking in every last detail of thoughtfulness.

“Well, go on in, take a closer look.” He gently nudges me forward with his hand on my back. “Anything you wanna change, we can.”

I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

It’s absolutely perfect.

Just like I’m starting to allow myself to believe he might be.

In a single day, Keaton made the third bedroom…mine.

The walls are painted the exact blue I described on the phone, there’s a white four poster bed set up with several pillows and a comforter with accents of the same color, two night stands with lamps, a dresser, huge rug and a bookshelf in the corner. And in the other corner, Bourbon’s bed.

“All the stuff that was in here, I moved to the hall closet. And I wasn’t sure what to hang on the walls, you can let me know that over time,” he explains with some unhidden hesitancy. “But it’s a start, your own space. No more couch, babe. So whadda ya really think?”