Unstable (26 page)

“No need, I can do it.”

“Know that too. Can’t really think of anything you can’t do,” he winks. “Still gonna help ya. Eat, Henley.”

It smells great and it’d go against my raising to waste food, so I fork a bite of eggs into my mouth.

Fluffy. Flavorful. Of course he’s a good cook…he’s good at everything.

Except manipulating me. No more. No way in hell.

“Took care of Bourbon. He’s looking much better. Damn glad to see it.”

I can’t not smile at that, I’m beyond glad too. “Thanks again for helping me with him.”

“None needed. Oh, and Hen? I
do
know what the word let means, which is why I’m gonna
let
you start. Ask me your questions.”

“Eavesdropping is rude, and, I don’t have any questions,” I snark back.

“None?” His left brow arches. “You sure?”

“Yep.” I take another bite.

“Fine by me, I’ll start, ‘cause I’ve got plenty,” he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell me again how you knew I was with Addison last night.”

“That’s not a question, and I wasn’t whispering when I said I
saw
you.”

“So you were
in
the bar, with Gatlin?”

My fork clatters on the table and I feel my forehead crease as my eyes narrow. “
Obviously,
Keaton!
These
are your burning questions? What’s next, ‘did I breathe air while I was there?’”

“Gonna tan that ass,” he snarls, shaking his head. “How long were you there?”

“One beer. That’s
this
many,” I sneer, holding up a finger. “I wanted to stay longer, what with the
entertainment
being so enjoyable and all, but I had to drive.”

“Keep it up, Darlin’. Nothing’d make me happier than pulling you across my lap and lighting up that pretty backside of yours.”

“I am not a child, and if you dare try to
spank
me, I swear I’ll stab you with this fork!” I pick it back up…might be needing it.

He leans forward, both arms on the table. “You dance while you were there?”

“No.”

“Any drunk fuckers hit on you?” His nostrils flare with the question, his anger spiking at the mere possibility, so I should say yes to further goad him…but then he’d be mad at Gatlin for allowing it, so I answer honestly.

“No.”

“Anyone hassle ya in the parking lot on the way to your truck?”

“No! Why are we reviewing
my
night?” I raise my voice.

“Because
you
didn’t have any questions, remember?” I seriously consider making good on my fork threat. That’d wipe that smirk off his face for sure. “Got some now?”

“Nope,” I pop, getting back to my now lukewarm food.

“Okay, my turn again then. How’d you do at the sale?”

There it is—the pang in my chest, remembering how eager I’d been to tell him about it.

“Don’t frown, baby girl. I want to hear it all, and I’m sorry it had to wait. Tell me, Hen.” His soft remorse seems sincere…
but what’s real and what’s an act with him?

“Took twelve steers. Sold ‘em all. Ten grand.” I deadpan, spirit crushed.

“Atta girl, Hen!” He whoops. “I’m so fucking proud of you. Let me hug you, baby.”

“Hell no!” I hold up my hands. “Don’t touch me. Thank you, though,” I tack on the polite mumble. “I’m kinda proud of myself too.”

“You should be,” his voice is subdued, so I look at him. Big mistake. Huge. A painful splinter cracking through the middle of my heart when I see his face—devastated, like I’ve never seen it before.

“Keaton—”

“No, don’t. Not yet. ‘Bout to fix that shit real fucking soon and
then
, I’m gonna do a helluva lot more than hug you. And you’re gonna let me. Over and over.” It’s a gritted promise that tingles up my spine in a scandalous mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Anyone else know how much money you made at the sale?”

It takes me a second to catch up to his sudden gear shift. “Just Gatlin. And the man who wrote me the check.”

“No one else, you sure? I assume you haven’t done anything with the check since the bank’s not open?”

“I’m positive and no, it’s in my purse. Why?”

He stands, gathering our dishes. “We’re done pretending to care about this cold food, right?”

“Um, yeah.” I rise to help. “I guess. Keaton, remember before when I joked about being checked for A.D.D.? No longer joking, you
need
checked. My temples are literally pulsing trying to keep up with you this morning. You’d tell me if you had an amphetamine habit you needed help kicking, wouldn’t you?”

Sadly, I’m only half joking. He’s all over the map: scattered, to skittish, then scary in the span of minute to minute.

So he’s either snorting coke…or he’s hiding something big.

“Funny, babe. You don’t know how bad I wish it was as simple as me being a junkie,” he sighs, putting the plates in the sink.

“It’s
worse
than if you had a drug problem? Jesus, Keaton, spit it out! No wait, don’t. You did sleep with Addison? Is that it? If it is, don’t say it, just leave.” Now we’re
both
talking in crazy circles…fabulous. “I mean it. I said it didn’t matter but it does. Damnit, it does! I can’t hear it.”

He takes a firm hold of my shoulders and stares directly into my eyes. “I did not touch Addison. It was not a date. I. Only. Want. You. Do you believe me or not, Henley? Yes or fucking no? Last time I’m gonna say it, and last time I’m gonna ask.”

I close my eyes and breathe, focusing in on what my gut, intuition…and heart are telling me. I hear them, agree, and open my eyes.

“Yes. I believe you, Keaton.”

He dips his head, skimming his nose along mine, cupping both my cheeks. “There she is,” he whispers. “My Henny.”

“Keaton?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, caressing his face on mine.

“I haven’t wanted to hurt your feelings, but it’s gotta be said. You are the absolute, hands down, worst storyteller in the history of the human race.”

He starts laughing, his hot breath bringing forth goose bumps on every inch of my flesh. And throwing my earlier opposition and adamancy out the window, I could stay like this forever. Body to body, his face grazing mine, taking his time coveting me gently.

But there’s still a big ass elephant in the room, sitting on my chest.

“Keaton, your huge secret, worse than a crack habit? Can we
please
get back to that? My stomach actually hurts with worry.”

“I guess,” he pouts, pulling away, “if we must. And we must. Let’s go sit on the couch though. More comfortable, and this is gonna take a while.”

Oh yeah…that made my stomach feel so much better.

“I HAVE A BETTER
idea. I’m so damn sick of that couch I could scream, and honestly, it’s not comfortable at all. If you’re gonna deliver bad news, I don't want to just sit and take it. I’d rather be up and moving, dodging bullets. Can you tell me while we see to the animals?”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Rather, he takes me in—every last inch and nuance of my face—with eyes that have turned a dark, smoldering indigo. And his hard-working hands move with a feathery touch down my neck, arms, and back up again to weave in my hair.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps in a husky timbre, “we can do that. Have I told you lately how damn beautiful you are? You’re amazing, Henny. I’ve always known both, but now that I finally get an up-close view? Everything about you, inside and out, is fucking mesmerizing.”

The low rumble in his chest is my only warning before his mouth descends and demands the surrender of mine. Strong, urgent lips massage my own open and he slides his tongue inside, seeking a taste of every part of my mouth.

“Touch me, baby,” he groans, sharing my breath. “Anywhere, just touch me.”

I do, unbidden by thought; because he’s erased that capability. My hands sneak under the hem of his shirt and slowly, greedily rub along the bare skin of his abdomen.

Damn, farm work does a body good.

I feel his muscles, firm and many, tighten under my touch so I tease some more. Using a single fingertip, I trace each individual line that defines one cut muscle from the next and that has him making deep, animalistic sounds and taking my mouth harder, faster, deeper.

It makes me heady with power, knowing I have such an effect on him. That
my
hands can cause his masculine moans and his skin to flush heatedly.

So I take more, exploring further up over his flat, hard stomach to his rigid pecs. And what I feel…I
have
to see.

I tear my mouth from his and lean back, surveying the physique I’ve uncovered. I inhale a tiny gasp and pray my eyes aren’t bulging, but I know it’s futile, ‘cause…holy mother of hot damn!

“All yours, anytime you want it, baby,” his murmur is hedged with cocky pride, knowing I’m beyond impressed.

And then, in what I can only attribute to an out-of- body experience, I lean in to press an open mouth kiss to his chest and slink a hand down to fondle the bulge in his jeans.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “Henny, playin’ with fire, woman. I want you so God damn bad.” His mouth finds my neck, sucking and licking in crazed chaos. “Can I take you baby? You want me between those sweet thighs?”

Do I ever.

I should wait though, until I’ve heard what he’s got to tell me. Something that may change everything.

So…maybe just let him use his hand then?

No. There’s no way I’d be able to stop there. Keaton Cash touches my most intimate spot and I’ll rocket straight into another hemisphere—an unknown layer between reality and euphoria where the word no or any self-control ceases to exist.

“H…horses,” I protest in breathy non-protest.

“What?” His laugh tingles on my neck.

“Horses. Cows. Chores.” I find reason and duck, escaping under his arm to dash across the room, catching my breath.

He slowly spins to face me, his expression a mismatch of humored frustration. He adjusts the hard-on he’s packing and grunts.

“Darlin’, you have
more
than exceeded the whole ‘hard to get’ thing. Just in case that’s what you’re going for. You can stop torturing me, anytime. You’ve set the bar high enough, baby.”

“It’s not that. I just…have a lot to do today,
and
you have a lot to tell me, right? I think we should get all that out of the way before we complicate things on a whole new level.”

“
That’s
what you think, that finally giving yourself to me will
complicate
things?” Uh oh, he’s prowling closer again, a male determination glimmering in his eyes. “Henny, listen closely. We’re already halfway there, and I’m laying all the groundwork so nothing or
no one
will ever complicate things for you again. Pretty soon, the only thing you’ll ever have to worry about a day in your life, is if you’re in the mood for me to love you fast or slow, hard or sweet.”

I put one hand on his chest and push him back—well actually, he doesn’t budge, but it creates a false sense of space. “As a man, I think you’re associating sex with way too much. Sex is sex, not a lifetime of my mood, opening jars, and who drives. Do you secretly read Nicholas Sparks?”

“No idea who that is. I read
you
, Henley Gene.” He lightly skims the back of his hand down my cheek. “Spent as much of my lifetime as I could reading
you
. And that’s what I’m associating sex with. You. And
you
associate sex with a lifetime of love, opening jars, and
me
driving. You and I both know it’s true, baby, and I’m totally on board. When you give yourself to me, you’re giving me all of you, forever. And I’m fucking taking it.”

“What would you have done if I’d never came back?”

“You were always gonna come back, eventually.”

I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t. So what would—”

He lays a finger over my lips to silence me. “Yes, you were. Wish like hell it would’ve been for different reasons, and sooner, but I always knew you’d be back. It’s called faith, Hen. Never lost mine.”

WHEN WE FINALLY MAKE
it out to the horse stalls, no chance for intimate distraction while shoveling shit, I ask him.