Page 86 of Unstable

WHEN I FINALLY GIVEin and crack my eyes open in the morning, feeling content as a cat with a belly full of cream, I take a moment to stretch.

Big mistake. It hurts like hell—my body shrieking in protest that I’d disturbed the muscles that got deliciously used and abused last night.

How does a morning stretch possibly send cramps shooting up my pelvic region? The aftermath of being sinfully worshipped by Keaton Fucking Cash—that’s how.

I can still feel his power and adoration in every part of me.

Speaking of which…why am I alone in this bed? I listen for any noise in the house—dead silence. I sniff for signs of breakfast—nothing.

I get up, very slowly, and damn near limp to the bathroom for my robe. I walk in the kitchen, looking for both Keaton and Bourbon, who needs his pill, and that’s when I see the note on the counter.

“‘I didn’t want to wake you, baby. I admit, three times was probably a bit much and you’re gonna be sore. Take some painkillers and go back to bed. I took care of Bourbon and let him outside. I’ll be back soon, had to go meet with Boles. And, Henley, last night was amazing. I love you.”

As thoughtful as it is and as damn good as it sounds, I can’t just lay around in bed all day. I have a farm to run. And I haven’t checked in with Gatlin in what seems like forever. Plus, I can pay him now and need to discuss that with him.

I down two Tylenol with some juice then go and take a very long, hot shower. With each minute I spend under the soothing spray, the more relaxed my muscles become.

After I’m dressed, hair braided and out of the way, I head outside. I call for Bourbon, who doesn’t come, then Gatlin—maybe they’re together.

Nothing. Hmmm.

I go fire up the Gator and set off to look for them. And cringe with every hole, rock and bumpy patch I hit—the Tylenol and shower no match for a ride on an ATV.

As I approach the field, I see the horses turned out, roaming majestically, so I try that barn.

And find Gatlin.

I turn off the motor and wince as I sling a leg over, way too fast, to climb off. But thankfully, the pain subsides quickly.

“Hey, stranger,” I greet him cheerfully. “Long time, no see. How are you?”

“Not as good as you,” he laughs with a bright smile. A sincere smile, sharing in my happiness.

“Have you seen Bourbon this morning?”

“No.” His brow furrows. “You want me to help you look for him?”

“Nah,” I wave a dismissive hand. “He’s just out wandering, been cooped up a lot lately.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, he’ll turn up. He always does.” I tamp down my premature worry, it hasn’t been that long, and set my mind to something else.

“You missed a lot.” I pick up a shovel and start helping him, while filling him in on Merrick, Mr. Boles, and Keaton the jailbird. Especially the explanation of why he was out with Addison.

He whistles and takes in all the news with a few comments and chuckles here and there, but at a break in conversation, he seizes his chance to ask me about what I didn’t say.

“Sounds like Keaton really stepped up, took good care of you, just like he said he would. I’m glad that worked out, Henley. He loves you, dearly. You believe that now, don’t you?”

I feel myself blush. “Yes, I do, without a doubt. And I…I love him back. Even told him so, several times.”

“He’s a lucky man, and you are cherished. I couldn’t be happier for you. Now I can stop worrying about you. You’re in good hands, gonna be just fine. Better than fine actually.”

“What are you saying?” I drop my shovel, intent on focusing solely on the tone and expression adjoined to whatever he says next.

He rubs the back of his neck, taking too long to meet my eyes. “Henley, you ever heard the expression, ‘only room for one rooster in a henhouse?’”

“I don’t have a henhouse,” I blurt out, something ominous creeping up my spine.

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