Griff wakes the next morning to an empty bed. He showers and changes quickly, and then he’s exiting the bedroom, a smile on his face after a good night’s sleep. He finds Alabama in the kitchen. She’s standing behind the counter, a cup of coffee clasped in her hand.

“Hey, good mornin’, sweetheart,” Griff says, slipping close and bringing her in for a kiss. But Alabama turns her face away and the kiss glances off the side of her lips.

She sets down her mug. “How’s your shoulder?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Like it never happened.”

“That’s good.”

He surveys Alabama as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Somehow she’s got herself dressed for the day, wearing skintight blue jeans and a low-cut sweater that show off her gorgeous curves and utterly destroys any ounce of self-control he thought he had left.

“How ’bout we take a trip to Austin today?” Griff asks. “I was thinkin’ we get us a hotel. Go out for a nice dinner. Listen to some live music.” He palms her bare shoulder, leaning in to kiss her freckles. “Lord knows you’ve been workin’ too hard.”

Alabama stiffens at his touch. “Not today, Griff.”

With that, she moves out of his space to walk toward the bay window. Her eyes are empty as she stares out at the lawn.

Griff frowns. There’s a chill in the air. Alabama’s expression more closed off than Fort fucking Knox. They had left things okay last night, or so he thought. Maybe he got carried away talking about the future.

Either way, he’s gonna figure it out. Fast.

Griff moves to her side. “Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’,” comes her curt reply.

He gives her an evaluating glance. She’s pale, dark circles lingering beneath her eyes. His heart twists and guilt hits him like a Mack truck. If she ain’t taking care of herself, that’s on him. She’s been working hard as hell to fix his mama’s place and it’s taking a toll on her.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, pressing a palm to her forehead.

She shrugs off his hand, her expression unreadable. “I’m fine, Griff.”

“You tell me, then,” he says, at a loss for what’s eating her. “We got the house done. What do we do today?”

Finally, she faces him. Her eyes flash fire. “Let’s take a drive.”

Before he can respond, she turns on her heel and strides to the hallway. She snatches the keys from the entry table and storms through the screen door without a backwards glance. Griff hurries after her to catch up, watching as she pulls herself into the driver’s seat and starts the truck.

“I’m drivin’,” she says when he pauses by the window. “Get in.”

He opens his mouth to argue with her, to tell her that driving one-handed is a goddamn stupid idea, but sees that if he does, he runs a good risk of her running him down.

Griff climbs into the passenger seat. Before he can get settled, Alabama’s gunning the gas and hauling ass out of the driveway.

He snaps on his seat belt. “Where we goin’?”

“You’ll see.”

He sits back, unnerved, watching the scenery flash by. Soon the long dirt road leading out of the house turns to paved road as they enter Clover proper.

“Easy,” he warns as she plows down Main Street. “It’s thirty-five here.”

But she doesn’t let off the gas. Alabama steers the truck one-handed, a herky-jerky movement that has Griff cringing. “What do you care?” she asks, side-eyeing him. “Aren’t you supposed to be a rebel, Griff? Play it fast, play it loose, and not care who you hurt?”

Her words are harsh and Griff sucks in a breath, his hackles rising. “What the fuck’s goin’ on, Alabama?”

“You tell me.” She punches the gas. Griff lurches forward, bracing himself with a palm to the dash, the truck picking up even more speed now that they’re off the Main Street drag. “Why did you leave Clover?”

His eyes jerk her way. “Al—”