Page 132 of Deacon

It takes me a few minutes to get my head on straight after he’s gone. Still burning up, I make some tea and climb up the stairs. In the hall, I peer out the window and see him taking Bones out, breaking into a trot as he heads toward the employee housing.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I’m happy to be here right now.

The house is peacefully silent as I start sorting through the things he bought for me. Journals, pens, bolts of the prettiest fabric I’ve ever seen, yarn, watercolors. I take it out and marvel silently over it.

Aiden hated that I liked my books, my insects. He taunted me for it every chance he got, and Ryland took his lead.

It was only sweet Bittern who understood. He sat on the porch steps after he got back from the mines and let me read to him. He liked the pictures in the fairy books. He’d watch as I colored them with a paint set he bought me from the dollar shop. He said it helped his head stay quiet.

My eyes are wet.

Poor Bittern. It’s only now I’m older that I realize Bittern needs help, and not just for his lungs. He spent nine days in the dark, deep in the rock, and it broke him.

I don’t know what Deacon plans to do to Aiden, but he can’t hurt Bittern or it’ll break my heart. He said he’d save him. I’ll hold him to that.

A little yapping outside breaks me from my reverie a few hours later. I’ve been up here for hours, and it’s well past noon. My knees ache as I get up and cross the room to look out the window.

My breath catches. There’s snow falling from the gray sky, spiraling over the mountains, catching on the frozen ground.

It’s beautiful.

Deacon appears in the yard. Stu hangs from the breast pocket of his coat, yapping his head off. He uses the side of his boot to clear the thin layer of snow and sets Stu down to do his business.

Warmth glows beneath my breastbone. I love how much Deacon cares for his animals. His horses are beautifully kept, even the ones he doesn’t sell. I see the way they lift their heads when he walks by, hoping for his attention.

He’s so good at taking care of things. I think he’ll be good at caring for me if I can be brave enough to let him.

I go downstairs, and he comes in, briefly because he says he has a lot of work before nightfall. We eat sandwiches in the kitchen. He has a coffee and kisses my mouth before leaving Stu and me in the living room. We’re both tired, so I curl up with a blanket over me, Stu in my arms, and let myself drift off.

I’ve never taken a nap during the day before. It’s luxurious.

I dream of home, but not the same way I used to. This time, I’m staring up at the mountains, and they keep getting smaller and smaller until the smoky tops disappear into the horizon.

I cry, but I don’t try to go back.

Warmth trickles down my back. I flutter my eyes open and roll my head to look around. He must have carried me upstairs. It’s dark outside, the fireplace flickering. Deacon sits on his side of the bed, his rough palm running up and down my spine. A tingle of something I didn’t expect—arousal, maybe—follows his touch.

“It’s five,” Deacon says. “Are you hungry?”

I sit up, realizing I’m still in my clothes. “A little, not a lot. Are you?”

He shrugs. “I could eat.”

The way he says it sends a curl of heat down between my thighs.

“I set out your night clothes,” he says. “You get undressed and come downstairs before we have dinner.”

He bends, his lips brush my forehead. My body prickles from my head to my feet, and my nipples go tight under my bra. He gets up, and I listen as his boots go down the hall to the lower floor.

Curious, I rise and turn on the light. On the chair is a deep blue slip with a matching silk dressing gown. I lift it, my brows rising. He must have a stash of clothing he bought for me that I haven’t seen yet. The idea is a little thrilling.

I put it on, leaving the belt undone. I want him to see the rise of my cleavage. The way it makes his eyes wander feels so good, so powerful. Then, I leave the bedroom and go downstairs to find him making dinner. There’s only one place setting. I’m not sure what he wants or where I should sit, so I loiter by the door with my hands tucked behind my back.

He glances up and does that double take I’m starting to love. “Goddamn, girl. You look good,” he says.

I smile without thinking about it.

His eyes linger on me. “You want coffee?”

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