Page 62 of Unstable

“Well, go on in, take a closer look.” He gently nudges me forward with his hand on my back. “Anything you wanna change, we can.”

I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

It’s absolutely perfect.

Just like I’m starting to allow myself to believe he might be.

In a single day, Keaton made the third bedroom…mine.

The walls are painted the exact blue I described on the phone, there’s a white four poster bed set up with several pillows and a comforter with accents of the same color, two night stands with lamps, a dresser, huge rug and a bookshelf in the corner. And in the other corner, Bourbon’s bed.

“All the stuff that was in here, I moved to the hall closet. And I wasn’t sure what to hang on the walls, you can let me know that over time,” he explains with some unhidden hesitancy. “But it’s a start, your own space. No more couch, babe. So whadda ya really think?”

I spin to look at him, really look at him, then…jump. He catches me effortlessly, laughing as I wrap my arms and legs around him, covering his face with kisses.

“My girl likes it,” he smiles, whispering in a deep, pleased silkiness.

I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh happily. “It’s…well…the best surprise I’ve ever received. I love it, Keaton. It’s wonderful, perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’d do anything for you, Henley Gene. Anything. I’m glad you like it. And pretty damn pleased with having you jump me and wrap me up, too. What room do you want me to do next?”

I laugh into his neck, thinking how cute most of the things he says are.

“What can I do for you to return the favor?” I ask.

He hugs me closer, resting his lips on my hair. “Just keep letting me in, Hen. That’s all, just let me in.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Iwake up in my new bed and…smile. A whole new kind of smile. One that requires the use of muscles in my face that feel the stretch of their stir from dormancy.

I haven’t slept so peacefully in who knows when.

I look around the room and am once again filled with a joyful appreciation and renewed spirit.

Bourbon’s up, standing at my bedside with a normal speed to the swish of his tail. Beyond relieved to see he’s obviously feeling better, I decide he’ll be alright outside today, after his pill of course, while I’m gone.

I hurry to get ready, running behind due to my night of peaceful sleep. We should already be on the road to the sale.

I skip breakfast, grab everything I need and am loading it in the truck when Gatlin walks up.

“Morning. ‘Bout ready?”

“Yep. Let’s go get ‘em loaded.”

Quicker than I expected, we get the twelve steers I’d decided to sell in the trailer and we’re on the road. Gatlin offers to drive, as always, but I politely decline. As always.

Funny how he never pulls the “man card” and argues with me about it.

I’ve got a fancy new room of my own and a growing new lease on life—I’m staying—to run my farm. Which means, I have to be able to drive pulling a trailer of restless livestock.

And I can.

We pull into a truck stop with a parking lot large enough for me to navigate the trailer safely, and run in to grab something to eat while on the road. Between that, some music and easy conversation, we’re at the sale barn in what seems like no time at all.

And it slams into my awareness. I have no idea the protocol at a sale. Gatlin offers to explain, but I stop him.

“I appreciate it, I do,” I smile, “But I have to learn how to do all this stuff for myself, it’s important to me. I hope you understand.”

He must, because a grin splits his face. “Absolutely. Go get ‘em, farmer girl. I’ll be waitin’ right here.”

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