Unstable (32 page)

“Henley,” he steps around the stall to stand directly in front of me, his eyes warm and patient, “this has nothing to do with money. Furthest thing from my mind. I can hear your mind whirling and you need to find Bourbon, put yourself at ease so you can truly hear what I’m saying. Tell ya what, you discuss it with Keaton and get back to me. Sound good?”

I glare at him, my hands finding their favorite spot on my hips. “I do not have to discuss everything with Keaton. This is my farm and my decision, alone.”

“Actually,” he rubs a hand over his mouth to hide the amused smile his eyes still give away, “I’m no expert, but I think that’s exactly what being in love means. Communicating, making decisions together,
wanting
the other person’s help and input. If he was gonna hire a woman to say, clean his house, keep his books, whatever, would he discuss it with you first?” His brows rise, the corner of his mouth twitching

“Elaina,
older and married
, already cleans his house, and Mr. Teo keep his books,” I snark back.

“Henley.” He looks down at me. Down as in, ‘you know what I mean.’

I sigh, leaning against the stall. “Okay, point taken. Yes, he’d talk to me first. Fine, I’ll discuss it with him, but I’m tellin’ ya, he won’t mind.”

“Uh huh, we’ll see. Now go find your dog and get some rest, you look beat. I got things taken care of out here. I’ll look forward to hearing the verdict,” he chuckles, going back to work.

I stomp to the Gator and the tires spin out with my aggravated take-off. Gatlin may leave. Bourbon may be missing. Keaton may go to jail.

And I may lose my shit.

My hands shake so badly I can barely steer and the threatening tears clog my throat, muffling my screams of Bourbon’s name. I drive back to the house, about to go in and grab a pack of hot dogs to start tossing out as bait, when I see him.

Oh, thank God.

“Bourbon,” I squeal, almost forgetting to kill the engine before I jump off and run to him, where he lays in front of the porch steps. “Where have you been?” I kneel and hug him. “You scared Mama.”

He rests his head on my knee, nudging my hand with his nose. I easily grant his request and pet behind his ears.

“Not gonna tell me, huh?” I giggle, so damn relieved he’s here and unscathed. “Fine, let’s go inside and you can help me. I’ve got a lot on my mind, so I need to keep busy. We’re cookin’ a feast, boy!”

He takes the steps slowly and I wait for him, holding the door. I go grab his bed and bring it in the kitchen then set a bowl of food and water beside it. My sous chef is all set.

Then I head to the deep freezer, knowing without a doubt, that all the things I need to make my favorite meal—just like my mom taught me—will be in there.

Sure enough, everything’s there—mom was always prepared in case one of her girls asked to cook with her. Some of the most special times in my life.

And obviously, she stayed prepared…just in case I ever showed back up and asked her to cook with me again.

“Remember Henley Gene, the more love you put into it, the better it tastes.”

She’d say that every time.

God, how I miss her. And to think, I could’ve had so many more years with her—wasted at my own stubborn, misguided hand. Though I’ve made strides in forgiving myself, I know that not a day will go by, for the rest of my life, that I don’t think of her with unconditional love and permanent regret.

Enough of those types of thoughts for now though. I wipe away my tears and start pulling out what I need to make my meal.

THE DESSERT IS DONE
—definitely made with sugar this time—and the crusts on my chicken pot pies are golden, flakey perfection when he walks in the door.

“Smells damn good in here.” He rubs his stomach and hangs up his hat. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Chicken pot pies and lemon meringue pie,” I answer proudly. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He stalks over and gives me a “missed you all day” kind of kiss. “Starving, lemme just go get washed up first.”

I set the table for us and make Bourbon a lil’ plate of his own while I wait—and for the first time today, a tiny sliver of peace finds me. This feels very…domestic, normal, dare I say resembling a life I could get very used to living?

“House is spotless and there’s a homemade meal fixed.” There’s a curious edge to his comment when he rejoins me. “My dad taught me, woman cleans and cooks like mad all day long like you’re hosting a party but you’re not, that means she’s either stewing or nesting. And since you’re not pregnant,
yet
, that leaves stewing. What’s wrong, baby?” He wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my neck. “Talk to me.”

And that glimpse of peace? Gone. I spin in his arms and bury my face in his shirt, finally letting myself really cry. Body shaking, full-out blubbering. Releasing some of the weight I know he’ll help me carry.

“Hey now, come ‘ere.” He picks me up and carries me over to a chair at the table, sitting down with me in his lap. His face is lined with worry as he wipes away my tears and brushes my hair out of my face. “Henny, there’s nothing I won’t die trying to fix for you, so tell me what’s got you this upset, and I’ll set to fixing it.”

“Well first,” I hiccup a sob, looking over at my dog, enjoying his meal. “I couldn’t find Bourbon for
hours
today
.
I thought, you know how dogs will wander off to die? That’s what I thought.” I start shaking again.

“Okay,” he soothes me, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair. “Well he’s fine. He’s right over there, baby, filling his belly. He probably just got to sniffing the trail of a critter and went off a lil’ far.”

“Right, I know.” I nod curtly, jumping out of his lap. “Let me fix you a plate before it gets cold. You want tea to drink?”

He stands, taking my hands and leading me right back to the chair we’d just left. “
You
, sit down.
I’ll
make our plates. And keep talking, I know there’s more you need to say.”

HE MAKES OUR PLATES
and drinks, then takes a seat beside me.

“We’re not supposed to eat in here,” I mumble. “That’s what the country kitchen’s for.”

“I think it’ll be okay.” He leans over to rub my shoulder. “Now whether it is or it isn’t, I’m not sure yet, but
you
seem to think that the sky is falling. So start talking, Henny Penny. Can’t stand to see you cry, not about to just sit here doing nothing about it.”

I play with my food, no longer hungry. Keaton however, digs in, chewing while he waits for me to start talking.

“This is delicious, baby. Thank you.” He takes a drink. “Done waiting. Talk or eat, your only two choices.”

“Bourbon’s gonna die soon.”

He nods and swallows, wiping his mouth. “Yeah, sweetheart, he is. But soon may mean a year, maybe two. He’s fine now though, so why worry about it until you have to?”

“Because I love him! I don’t want him to die,” I raise my voice in indignation.

“Neither do I, Hen, but that’s a part of life. Helluva dog, and he’s had a helluva life. Roaming free on a farm, chasing herd, lots of love. He’s lived to the fullest. And when he goes, I’ll be right here to hold you. Now I understand you’re worried about Bourbon, rightly so, but there’s more going on with you. Told ya before, you can’t pull anything over on me.”

“There is,” I let out a deflated breath. “A lot more. I don’t want to lose you either. How’d it go with Mr. Boles today?”

“Well,” he rubs his jaw, “that’s up to you.”

“What? Up to me?” I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. “What’s that mean?”

“Take a bite, you need to eat. And if it’s my turn to talk, want you eating. You worry yourself into losing any of that sweet ass of yours and I’m gonna be very unhappy.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I’m not in the mood to tell you,” he counters, voice and eyes steady.

Swear to…the man drives me insane sometimes. Bartering by forcing me to eat? Next thing you know he’ll be doing the “airplane” bit, feeding forkfuls to me like a baby.

I begrudgingly take a bite, glaring at him while I do. He’s right about one thing though—it
is
delicious, if I do say so myself.

“Thank you, stubborn ass.” He winks. “So, about pussy boy. His daddy and Boles came to an agreement, but
I
haven’t agreed, not even to have them draw up the paperwork. Wanted to talk to you first.”

I open my mouth to ask, futile effort…

“Take another bite,” he demands and waits until I do so to continue.

“They’ll agree not to pursue any charges against me as long as you agree to do the same on your end. Ah, don’t talk,” he holds up a hand, “now I just don’t see how getting your sorry ass beat, which a grown man shouldn’t whine about anyway, possibly compares to fraud and embezzlement, but, that’s small town politics for ya.” He shrugs. “I gave them leverage, Hen, and I’m sorry for that, how it might affect you, because you deserve justice. But I’m
not
sorry for beating the shit out of that shitstain crook. So I am
more
than happy to pay restitution or spend a couple months in county for you to go after him for what he did to you.”

I choke down my food, literally, almost choke, and stare at him as though he’s sprouted a second head. “Merrick, Krista, nobody can mess with any of my accounts or anything else ever again, right?”

“More than taken care of. Boles got that done first thing.” He nods.

“Then we have a deal. Where do I sign?”

“
Henley,
” he snarls, his face folding in anger. “That means Merrick would get away with everything, no consequences. He wouldn’t lose his license to practice law, no jail time. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to pay you back any of the money he
stole
! Don’t let him get away with it ‘cause you're worried about me. I’m a man,
I
pay my dues, and I won’t be in jail that long. You make him pay too, baby.”

I’m about to show Keaton that he’s damn sure not the only boss around here. Seems it’s been too long since I have and he obviously needs reminding.

I lean toward him, wearing my “no nonsense” face and tap the table with the end of my index finger with my nearly hissed words.

“You listen to me, Keaton Fucking Cash, and you listen good. Only gonna say this once, and if you even
think
about defying me, I will make you wish you
were
in jail, being protected from me. This is
my
decision to make and It. Is. Made. We’re taking the deal. And it has nothing to do with Merrick, what he does or doesn’t deserve. It is
only
about you, and me. You don’t deserve to have to pay him shit, and I’ll be damned if you sleep a single night in jail when I have the power to prevent it. And
I,
deserve you. Here with me. Any questions?”

Oh, it’s killing him not to “man up” on me, argue, threaten to spank me…I can feel it brewing in him from here. But gradually, his stormy blue eyes settle, just like crashing waves eventually do and a loving smile splits his face.

“You don’t want revenge?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Justice?”

“Nope.”

“Your money back?”

“Nope.”

“Scandalous headlines that would probably run his whole family, Krista, and Addison out of town forever?”

“Nope.”

“Just me then?”

“Just you, Keaton. I choose you, with me, every day. That’s my justice, I get to be happy and keep building something real with you. They can keep their cheating, lying lives and go on. Doesn’t affect me anymore. Won’t let it.”

He moves so fast, nothing could slow him down, and I’m being kissed ravenously the entire way to the bedroom, where I’m being carried.

He kicks the door shut with his heel and is stripped completely naked by the time I catch my breath. Oh Lord, his dick is an angry looking engorged, and the feral hunger in his eyes tells me—this is gonna hurt. I’m still so sore.

“Don’t worry, baby, I know,” he grates with a clenched jaw. “You undress for me, real slow and sexy, and by the time you’re done, I’ll be calmed down enough to go easy. Know you’re tender from last night. I won’t hurt you, but you choose me, no thinking about it. I
have
to have you, right now.”