Unstable (7 page)

“N…no,” my voice wobbles under the threat of useless tears and Donna wastes no time moving us to sit on a couch in the lobby. I shake my head—
pull it together, Henley
—and exhale slowly through my nose.

But who better to talk to than Donna? And I find myself answering my own question by doing just that. “I looked around yesterday, it’s so much. Calves are weaned, hay’s up,
for now
. But what about next season? I can’t run a farm by myself. And this town? I don’t think I could live here again.”

“Slow down, you’re getting yourself all worked up. One thing at a time. Sounds like you’re set for a few months, and you can always sell some calves if needed, give yourself time to really think about things. Right?”

“I guess so, but I’m not sure I want to stick around Ashfall any longer than I have to. People will start talking. I…I can’t go through that again, Donna.”

“You listen to me.” She wraps me in a hug. “Let them talk. Just a bunch of bored old country folk with nothing interesting going on in their own lives. Anyone who matters
knows
you, knew your family, and will support you any way they can. And the rest…you just tell me who gives you an ounce of trouble, and I’ll send Loy after them with the shotgun! Let them talk about
that
for a while.”

I snort in amusement, thinking of Donna’s husband, Loy, playing bodyguard. Sweetest man I’ve ever known, always with a green pack of Spearmint gum in his shirt pocket, ready to offer a stick to anyone he sees. Imagine him running around town with a shotgun. That’d definitely get them talking.
‘The Gum Guy Goes Rogue’
would make a pretty scandalous headline for the small town newspaper.

“I appreciate that. How is Loy? And Emily?”

“Both are good. Loy’s always busy around the farm, and Emily,” her brow creases, “went off to college and decided to stay. Met a man, they’ve been married a couple years now. I wish I saw her more often than I do.”

I stay silent, not about to chime in on matters of a mother not seeing her daughter. I’m the poster child for that.

I clear my throat, the guilt closing in around me, and offer a polite excuse to leave. “I just remembered, I left Bourbon in the truck, so I need to go. You’ll call me with the details on, the um—”

“Yes dear, I’ll let you know. And Henley?” I pivot and look back at her. “You could always talk to Keaton, if you need any help.” She stares down at the ground as she fidgets with her hands to add, “Or wanted to sell off any part of the land.”

My jaw drops, fury trumpeting through my veins. “
Keaton Cash?”
I hiss, already knowing the answer.

“Uh huh,” she utters to the floor. “Boy’s made quite a stead for himself, did an excellent job taking over that farm. His poor Daddy,
heart attack
,” she whispers…because somehow lowering your voice makes it so it’s not gossiping? “So they moved to Florida and left everything for Keaton to run. I’m sure he’d be happy to work something out with you. Just an option for your back pocket.”

I tamp down the bite in my tone, which is difficult to do while also choking down the threat of vomit. “I’ll die before Keaton Cash gets so much as a blade of grass on my family’s land. And should you run into him, could you make sure he’s clear on that? Wouldn’t want him wasting any time planning on things that will never happen.”

“I’m sorry, honey. Just a silly old woman thinking out loud. Forget I said anything.” She peers up at me, a cowered glaze of shame in her eyes. She probably thinks I’m just offended at the idea of selling. She has no idea how much deeper than that it goes. Or does she? After all, everyone seems to know when you take a piss in this town, so perhaps she’s keen to why I
loathe
Keaton Cash.

But there’s no excuse for me snipping at her. “No,
I’m
sorry. You’re doing so much to help me, and you’ve always been good to me. I was out of line with my tone, and I apologize. It’s just, that name alone makes my blood boil. I’m sorry I took it out on you, Donna.”

“Apology accepted, sweet girl. Now you better go see to that dog of yours before he drives away.”

We share a shallow laugh and hug before I leave, my thoughts a rapidly building vortex of anger and confusion. I’m not even going to think about Keaton. Paying it any thought is paying it credence, and he far from deserves either.

And he better steer clear of me.

Loy isn’t the only one who knows how to use a shotgun

I FLY UP THE
driveway dangerously fast, spraying gravel in every direction, while poor Bourbon hunkers down in fear.

For a split second, I debated calling Merrick to ask if Keaton’s made any noise about buying up my land—after all, he was in cahoots with my mom on everything it seemed—but talked myself out of it just as fast. I’m not inflating Merrick’s ego by asking for his help on anything.

Besides, if Keaton wants to come sniffing around—I’ll be more than happy to send him on his way.

I jump out of the truck and almost slam the door, until I remember my trusty sidekick who’s done nothing wrong. “Come on boy,” I speak sweetly and pat my leg. “It’s okay, Bourbon.”

He doesn’t believe me, his doggy “sixth sense” on point. As are his ears and the hairs along his back, but he slowly obeys and hesitantly jumps out.

“Gatlin! Gatlin, where are you?” I scream, my own extra sense telling me he’s near.

“Hey,” he comes walking out of the barn, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Why the hollering? Everything all right?”

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head. “You tell me.”

“Okay?” He gives me a slow, fluid perusal, then meets my eyes, his own brimming with confusion. “You’re not bleeding, or crying, so yes…everything is fine?” Smartass. His lip twitches with mirth, but I don’t fall for the playful charm lighting up his face and remain guarded.

“Anybody been by, asking about buying this farm?” I’m seething, but at the same time, almost hoping he says yes. Nothing would help me release some pent-up anger like a fight with Keaton Cash.

“No, why?”

“Just asking. If anyone does, or you hear any talk, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course I will. What’s going on?” He cocks his head.

“Nothing. Yet. Just be sure and tell me.” My words are clipped and venomous.

“You got it. That all? I have work to do.” His tone is resigned as he turns to go.

Well shit. The day’s still young and yet I’ve managed to be rude to the two people helping me most. Because of
him
. I sigh and dig deep. I’m a lot of things—bitter, angry, guilt-ridden—but I’m not prideful. I owe him an apology.

“Gatlin, I’m sorry for being a bitch. It was uncalled for and not about you at all. Just, a bad day.”

“You’re not near as bitchy as you give yourself credit for, Henley. If that’s your worst, I think I’ll survive.” He turns back to me and grins.
I’m forgiven.

I’m. Forgiven.
A concept very foreign to me, one that even if true times before, I refused to acknowledge.

I don’t know what to do with it, so I act on habit and ignore my feelings. And quickly offer, “You hungry? I can make us some lunch.”

“I could eat. Want to go into town and grab something?”

God, no.
I’d rather eat a patch of the front lawn that sit in Ashfall’s only diner, but something tells me he already knows that, and his offer was empty politeness.

“I think here’s just fine. Let me see what I can whip up.” I smile, feeling just a pinch of unfamiliar pride that I sensibly worked myself through a problem and took the reins on my reaction before it got too out of hand, as I turn toward the house. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

LUNCH CONSISTED OF TWO
people in a country kitchen and was still the most “social” thing I’ve done in years. My life in San Diego? I’d worked from home and ordered in more meals than not. But, I find Gatlin easy to talk to, open up with, and never feel as though he’s judging me. And he doesn’t pressure me to say more than I’m comfortable with sharing: no loaded questions, just a warm, understanding smile, and generous listening.

After we clean up the kitchen together, Gatlin says he does actually need to run into town, for what I don’t ask, so I decide to give Bourbon the trip around the farm I’d promised him. Can’t hurt to turn the cows into the back pasture and let them graze there for a while before winter hits and nothing’s green, and I know my canine companion will eagerly help me round them up.

Bourbon and I load up in my truck and head out…and while I make the drive, something dawns on me. I’m about to tackle a “farming task” all by myself. Well not all by myself, but I don’t think Bourbon will mind if I hog the credit. I’ll be damned, perhaps I paid more attention than I thought, my subconscious absorbing knowledge of what had to be done, when, and how—without my knowledge.

Maybe I
could
do this. Stay here and run the farm that’s been in my family for generations. I
am
the only one left to look out for the legacy. And no matter what’s happened in the past, it’s undeniably a legacy worth upholding, with honor.

Once I’ve driven into the field and have the north gate shut and the south gate open, I set Bourbon loose on them. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ve got close to a hundred head to move…piece of cake, right?

And as if we’ve been working together forever, the minute I start driving the truck along the left side, honking and shouting, Bourbon dashes right, barking and nipping at the cow’s legs in a warning to get moving.

“Need some help?” I hear a deep, male voice yell and look around, expecting to find Gatlin.

Wishing like hell I would’ve found Gatlin.

I throw the truck into park and the door open even harder, stomping toward the fence with the angry blaze of a thousand suns pulsing through me.

Keaton Fucking Cash. In the flesh, leaning on my fence, toting a smirk I want to smack right off his face.

I knew it, the minute Donna mentioned his name and I was dumb enough to repeat it, he’d appear…like fucking Beetlejuice.

“Well, well, well, looks like the hen’s come home to roost,” he chuckles through the lame variation of his age-old taunt. Of course that’s the first thing he’d say, been using the same, worn-out “hen” plays off my name since the day I met him.

“Really? Eight years and you still think it’s funny?” I rally, locked and loaded with belittlement.

“Feisty as ever too, I see.” His eyes, an icy blue—like his soul—
don’t
flare with the excitement of a verbal spar…of which we’ve had plenty.

And that pisses me off even worse than if they had, because he’s holding back, and I know why. I don’t want, or deserve, pity from anyone, but when it comes to Keaton? I’ll literally jab his eyes out with a hot cattle prod if I see a hint of sympathy in them.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing on my land?” I shove his arm off my fence. “You have five seconds to get across that river onto your own property before I jump in my truck and run your sorry ass over.”

“It’s good to have you back, Hen. Been waitin’ far too long.” Smug bastard reaches out and taps the end of my nose before I see it coming, and can accordingly, rip his hand off. “Hate the reason, and I’m damn sorry for it. I tried, Hen, I swear. I tried like hell to save them.” His brow folds, but he has the good sense to look at the ground. “But all the same, right or wrong, I’m happy you’re finally home.”