Page 51 of Unstable

BRIGHT AND EARLY, KEATON’S at my door, looking more like he’s headed out to a “Hot Cowboys” calendar shoot than a mere trip to the veterinarian.

Jeans molded perfectly to his body, leaving no need for one to wonder as to the exact shape of his ass, the bulk and strength of his thighs or his…very generous endowment. Long-sleeved shirt complementing his thick arms, broad shoulders and impressive torso. All topped off with his signature black Stetson and a splash of cologne, that if it isn’t already, should be named “PantyMelter.”

He’s clean shaven and his crystal-clear blue eyes dance in time with his bright smile.

Okay, I confess—Keaton Fucking Cash is as good-looking as a man can be made.

And his charisma, that easy charm emitting from a strong, confident man you know could, and would, always protect you and love you in ways too sinful to even try and imagine…it’s intoxicating. Impossible not to take in, with hungry eyes.

And here’s another admittance.

I want Keaton Cash in the most primitive, carnal of ways.

Maybe not forever, maybe not even twice. But just once…I’d sure like a turn on that ride. To sate a curiosity that riddles my mind and sets my body to tingling every time I look at him.

And while I’m standing here, hoping to hell I’m not actually drooling or panting aloud, my dog comes limping up to say hello to us.

Keaton notices him and squats, giving his head and back a good petting. “You’re looking down on your luck, buddy. We’re gonna get ya fixed up though, don’t you worry. Tell your Mom to put her tongue back in her mouth and shake a leg.” He looks back over his shoulder and winks at me.

I roll my eyes in pathetic denial and quickly swipe at my chin. I don’t feel any drool. Must’ve been some panting that gave me away. “I’m ready. Lemme grab my keys,” I say loud and eagerly, itching in my own embarrassed skin.

He stops me short with a dismissive laugh. “I’ll drive, Hen.”

“Why? I can drive, and Bourbon knows my truck.”

“He’s a dog, truck’s a truck. And try to take this as hot and manly instead of gettin’ pissy, but I’m not riding while my woman drives me around. So get your pretty ass in my truck and let’s go.”

I give him the look, the one created and reserved for him, and my hands naturally fly to my hips. “You’re being a chauvinistic pig.”

“Oink.” He flashes a cocky grin.

“I can drive!” I insist. And once this part is settled, I fully intend to address the “my woman” remark with just as much fiery adamancy.

“I know you can, seen ya do it. But when we’re together, I’ll be the one driving. Now load up, Bourbon’s hurting. You can stew about it on the drive. You need a boost in?”

“No, I do not need a boost in,” I grumble, stomping toward his truck. The nerve of him. I open the back passenger door and call Bourbon to jump in. He comes over, but just stands there, giving me helpless eyes and a tiny whine. He can’t make the leap.

And in an instant, my aggravation over Keaton’s dick-swinging demands is forgotten and my heart flips to concern, tears springing to my eyes. Don’t take my dog too. Please.

“He’ll be okay, baby. Let me lift him in,” Keaton soothes me, now at my side. He picks Bourbon up in his arms, and I watch as he gently lays my dog, my very last, faithful companion, into the back seat.

Once we’re on the road, I ask in a cracked voice. “Keaton, do you really think he’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure hoping so.” He reaches over and takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “How old is he? I was figuring about thirteen.”

I think back and do the math. “Yeah, that’d be about right, thirteen or fourteen.”

Out of nowhere, a shallow laugh pops out of me and Keaton glances over, then back to the road. “Whatcha’ thinking about?”

“Do you remember the time I got stuck in that big old Oak tree? Found my way up, but for the life of me, couldn’t find my way back down. Bourbon sat at the bottom and never left, just kept barking and barking for help.” I shift and reach back to pet him. “Such a good boy. Stayed right with me.”

Keaton lets out a breath that sounds heavy with thought. “I remember, Hen. Not much I don’t.”

“You’d have thought my mom, or,” I pause for an inhale of contentment then say it, “Hadley, would’ve come searching for me. Guess they were used to my wandering and exploring though. But of course, you showed up.”

“Yep.” He tightens his grip on my hand.

"How’d you know where to find me?" I should ask how he always knew where to find me, but we’ll start here.

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