Page 12 of Deacon

In retrospect, it was an asshole move, but he made it so easy by being the biggest piece of shit in the county.

I’m twenty one when Phil dies and leaves the farm to both of us. Henderson is back together with Calli, the girl I lost my virginity to, and it’s put a rift between us to the point we barely speak. She tells him to mend it, he screams at her, and she breaks up with him.

An hour later, she’s in my bed with her thighs wrapped around my head.

Henderson and I go back and forth, fighting over her, because Phil was an asshole who used his love like currency to manipulate us. He breaks my nose three times, and I don’t have to retaliate, because I am everything he wants to be. I’m bigger, smarter, and I run the ranch and train the horses that sell for hundreds of thousands.

He can’t seem to get anything off the ground.

And I fuck his women when he’s done with them. That’s the thing that keeps us at each other’s throats.

Until it goes too far, and I do something that ends this cold war once and for all.

I carry that ugly, terrible thing inside me forever.

NOW

I’m standing in the dirty alley between the café and the general store. It’s ice cold, the air dead. There’s a point in winter out here when the cold doesn’t ache. It stands still, drier than dust, too cold for more snow to fall.

That’s January in north-west Montana, specifically Knifley, unbuffered by the mountains.

My fingers aren’t cold. They’re too fucked for that. I flick my lighter and hold it to the tip of my cigarette. It flares, I inhale.

From here, I can see the back door of the café. It has two parts: a side for hot coffee and a side for ice cream in the summer. I smoke here once a week when I come into town to pick up cattle and horse feed. Andy, my manager, goes into the general store to get whatever his wife, Ginny, wants. I stay outside to have a quick cigarette.

Today is the first time anybody has ever walked out the back door of the ice cream parlor. I see it from the corner of my eye—the swing of the metal door, a flash of fern-green, the brightest ice blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

All at once, I’m wide awake.

The person who just stepped into the alley, her cold hand wrapped around a steaming paper cup, is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My breath hitches. I take the cigarette out of my mouth. I don’t want her to see me smoking.

I don’t think I want her to see me at all. I need a chance to gawk, so I step back until I’m behind the corner of the building. She’s visible, but she can’t see me around the edge.

She’s got a petite but curvy body—a narrow waist, thick hips and thighs. My eyes drag higher, over her tight, fern-green sweater, over the swell of her hips, and linger on her breasts. I can’t help it. They’re perfect. I’ve always had a type, and she’s it—short, sweet, and sturdy.

And pretty.

Goddamn, she’s a knockout. Big, pale blue eyes with stark lashes. A small nose with a straight bridge, a heart shaped face, a full mouth. Her hair is rich bark brown. It’s braided, but it’s clear she’s got a head of curls by the bits around her ears.

She leans against the dirty wall. Her fingers tighten around the cup.

There’s something sad about her, like the last breath of autumn before a freeze. Her skin looks cold, her mouth pale pink. Her lashes flutter, her eyes turning up to fix overhead. I glance up, taking in a flock of geese cutting through the winter sky.

She looks up at them like she wishes she could hitch a ride.

I don’t think she was made for this cold.

Entranced, I flick away my cigarette and lean against the corner. She takes a sip from her paper cup. The back door opens, and the store owner, Tracy, leans her head out and says something to her. She nods before the door shuts.

I consider walking up and introducing myself. After all, there’s no cure like just doing it. I’ve always been straightforward.

But something holds me back.

Something tells me this is different.

She flicks away something on her cheek. Then, she throws out the dregs of her cup and pulls open the heavy door, disappearing. My stomach sinks, and the heaviest disappointment I’ve felt in years sets in. I’ve always relied on my instincts. They’ve gotten me to forty without letting me down, And my instincts are telling me not to walk away.

“You alright?”

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