Page 128 of Deacon

He clears his throat. “Alright. We got into it one night. Henderson and I had gone out to fix the fence line. We argued, and he took one of the fence stakes and fucking stabbed me with it. He put one through my shoulder and one in my thigh. I think he was going for an artery.”

The room is blanketed in silence. Outside, the wind whistles. I glance over, watching as flakes start swirling in the pale blue light.

“You didn’t die,” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. “I ripped the spike out of my shoulder, walked back to the house, and put it in the side of Henderson’s head. Then, I burnt the house down with him in it.”

My stomach tightens. I’m a little sick, like the floor is tossing.

“That’s how you got Ryder Ranch,” I whisper.

He nods. “I got it by killing the son of the man who took me in.”

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. I push myself into a sitting position. His dark eyes are dead, disconnected, like pulling back into his shell is the only way he can say those words out loud.

I don’t know what to feel.

“Did you want to?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “In the moment, yes. I thought I was in love with this girl. We fought over who had the real birthright to the land. He was so fucking angry that Phil left half to me.”

“What was your name before?”

He shrugs. “On the hospital records, I was John Williamson. There was a nurse who named me. Guess she wasn’t all that creative. Phil had this prize barrel racer called Deacon, and I was his rider. He changed my name to Deacon Ryder when they adopted me.”

“Henderson was angry they adopted you?”

“That was just one brick in a whole wall,” Deacon says. “When he stabbed me, he said I stole everything, his land, his future. And he wasn’t wrong. But he was an asshole first.”

There’s a long silence. His story changes things, for better and for worse. I never wanted to fall for a man with blood on his hands, but I swear, every time I look at him, my heart goes weak.

Deacon runs a hand over his face.

“I think…maybe the reason I’m so angry about the easement is about this,” he says. “I killed my brother. I hated him, but he was my brother. If I let that land be used like that…I’d think it was all for nothing.”

“Deacon,” I say gently. “It sounds like he tried to kill you first.”

He nods once. “All I’ve ever wanted was a home. Phil gave me that, and I killed his son. They were both assholes, but the point stands.”

“Do you regret it?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“No,” he says.

His words hang heavy. It’s obvious he doesn’t like talking about this. He’s cagey. Slowly, like I’m approaching a big animal, I crawl onto his lap and settle my thighs around his hips. He touches my naked waist, encircling it with his broad hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, low, like he’s marveling to himself. “I don’t want to go out for chores.”

I touch his temple, where he has a few graying hairs.

“You scared me,” I whisper. “At first.”

He releases a sigh. “I know, sweetheart. I tried not to.”

The words I never meant to say slip out. I know they’ll cut him like a knife. Maybe they’re necessary. It’s hard to tell.

“You reminded me of Aiden,” I say, voice shaking. “I’m trying hard to break out of this cycle. I don’t want to be my mother, running from a man like him. I want a good future.”

He winces before he picks up my hand and weaves his big fingers through mine.

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