Page 26 of Unstable

“Who the fuck is Gatlin?” He tosses the bag on the pile he’s started in the corner and whirls around to aim a heavy scowl at me.

“One of my mom’s farmhands. Jack’s son actually. If I decide to stay and keep this place, pretty sure he’ll be staying too.”

He scoffs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “One hell of a job he’s doing. These horses had no water or hay in here, and should’ve been out. Their hooves are packed, stomping around in their own shit.”

“You have no idea what all he does around here! You said yourself you didn’t come around, near my mom, so don’t judge what you don’t know.” I prop both hands on my hips, starting to get real ruffled.

I’ll be the one to talk to Gatlin about this situation, because it’s unacceptable, loathsome if it’s been as long as I suspect since the horses have been seen to. Without Keaton butting in. Despite the fact I’m beyond grateful he butted in.

“Well you can bet your sweet lil’ ass I’ll be coming around more now. Wanna meet this hand of yours too. How old is he?”

“I don’t know,” I hitch a shoulder. “‘Bout our age, I guess. Why?” I narrow my eyes.

“First of all, it’s gonna take more than just you and him to run this place. Secondly, how do you know he’s any good at farming? Your mom very well may have just been throwing him a bone since he was Jack’s son. And last, but far from least, Darlin’, I just wanna meet him, don’t need a reason. Wanna meet anyone else you hire too.” He moves in fast, and close, our toes touching and his heady scent of virile man hard at work, making it difficult for me to think straight. “Why’s that a problem, Henley?”

Oh, he’s mad—he never calls me by my actual name.

I move back a step, reminding myself that a few acts of kindness don’t undo years of animosity and that Keaton is pushing his luck, too soon and way too overbearingly.

“I didn’t say it was a problem, but you’re making it one. I appreciate your help, that night and today, but that doesn’t give you the right to come barging in here and making demands! I’ve really been trying to be nicer, to everyone today, but you’re seriously testing me, Cash.”

He steps into me again, erasing the space I’d just put between us, and my back finds the side of my truck. “Hen…” There it is, he drops his voice to a silky baritone. “I’m only looking out for you. I just don’t want you hiring out of charity or some Joe Blow passing through looking for work, who might take advantage of your money, or notice you’re a young, irresistibly gorgeous woman, alone on a farm.”

His hands lightly skim my arms, and I’m pinned in, unable to thwart his touch, but his eyes are serene and kind so I don’t even attempt to. “Your tough act, although sexy as all fuck, won’t protect you against male farmhands you don’t really know.I’m not going away, Hen. You may hate me, and to this day only God knows why, but you do know me. And way deep down, as much as it burns your ass, you know you can trust me.”

I want to believe him, and I could use his help, but even considering conceding feels like a direct betrayal. She’d been crazy about him. But she was young, so was he…so maybe it’d be okay to give an amicable, working relationship a try? Would she be alright with that?

“I’ll think about it,” I mumble, very unsure.

“You do that. Now, let’s go introduce you to your horses. They’ve gotta be going stir-crazy in there.”

He takes my small, clammy hand in his large, calloused one…and I let him, my guilt returning immediately.

Yep, I’m definitely going to need to have a talk with her soon.

“THIS ONE HERE WAS your Mom’s favorite. Anytime I saw her riding, it was him.” Keaton pats his back. “Never with a saddle though. He—”

“Scotch,” I cut in on a drone. “His name is Scotch. Saw it on the stall door.”

“Yeah, me too. Just wasn’t sure I should mention it in case you hadn’t. Anyway, this one here knows the farm from what I could tell. The hay I gave ‘em is good quality, but why don’t you bring him a salt block while I finish picking his hooves?”

I can do that.

As I pass by the other stalls, I read the names on those doors: Rye and Barley. The theme is not lost on me—all named with whiskey in mind.

“Hen, you good, Darlin’?” Keaton asks, his question the only reason I regain my awareness and discover I’ve stopped cold in my tracks.

“I…don’t know,” I answer in an honest stammer and spin to look at him. “Three horses, all named like Whiskey. And why have three at all? You can easily run a farm with the truck and the Gator. Kinda old fashioned, don’t ya think?”

“Go on, boy. We’ll get ya a treat next time.” He lets Scotch free from the stall, sending him out the open doors to freedom, then approaches me at a leisurely, but deliberate pace.

“My answer isn’t simple, Hen. Sure you wanna hear it?”

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets, ‘cause…I don’t know, it somehow makes me feel the relaxed I’m anything but?

“Horse people tend to stay horse people forever, you know that. I have trucks, a four wheeler, and an ATV, but I damn sure have horses too. There’s something about riding that never leaves ya. So that’s my answer for that, but I suspect there was even more to it for your mom.” He dips his head, peering up at me, silently asking for permission to continue.

“Go on,” I answer.

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