Page 181 of Deacon

He bends in, and we kiss deeply. My heart that longed for home finally found it. I know he feels the same way. Our house is happy and we’re all together.

I’m always safe. He’s always loved.

We both got everything we wanted. I can’t wait to see what the future holds.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

DEACON

FIVE YEARS LATER

It’s autumn. The fields smell like sweet grass. The woods smell like earth and ferns.

Bittern and I have been out haying the fields all day. The sun is just starting to drop. He went back to employee housing, to his wife, Janie, who’s a few months pregnant with their first baby. I’m closing the gates to the back pasture and locking it for the night.

In the distance, I hear a door fly open. That’ll be the boys, probably on the run from Ginny. I turn and see them, streaking up the hill at top speed. Slate wears a pair of muddy shorts, and his younger brother, Gage, runs after him in just a diaper. He’s so young, but he’s already climbing through the fields and woods of Ryder Ranch, every bit as wild as his brother.

I married a woman in love with the outdoors. She’s happy to let the fields and streams raise her babies to be wild and free, and I have no complaints. I’m proud of how strong my sons are. Slate isbold and chatters about anything and everything. Gage is the strong, silent type, an ever-present scowl on his tiny forehead.

“Dad,” Slate yells.

I break into a slow run, catching him with one arm. I grab Gage with the other and carry them giggling down the hill, tucked under each arm. We burst into the house, waking Stu from his spot on the living room rug. He shakes his heavy coat and barks, chasing after the boys as they spill onto the couch.

A door shuts upstairs. I look up to see my wife’s legs appear, the hem of her skirt and her beautiful face following. She’s changed since we met, for the better. When she moves through the house, it’s clear she’s comfortable. This is her home and she knows it.

I lean on the railing, and she stops, bending to kiss me. I linger, tasting her on my tongue. When I draw back, she’s smiling.

“You’re a little horny,” she whispers.

“I’m always horny when I see you,” I say quietly, even though the boys are yelling so loudly, they couldn’t hear us anyway. “Let’s get these kids in bed.”

She touches my temple, tracing the tattoos under my buzzed hair. “I’m wearing what you set out,” she murmurs.

I glance down, warmth tingling in my veins. This morning, I laid out a set of deep red lingerie and the dress she’s wearing. She lifts her neckline an inch, and I see the crimson strap of her bra.

Alright, time to get these kids in bed.

I turn. “Boys, go brush your teeth,” I holler.

She laughs, shaking her curls back and floating down the stairs. My sons start arguing like a pair of lawyers, running through every reason under the sun why they shouldn’t be in bed. I duck around the couch and grab them both, turning them in the direction of the stairs.

“Go on, let’s go,” I order.

They obey, already arguing about who gets to brush their teeth first. I follow them, herding them to the bedroom at the far end of the hall. They have a set of bunk beds I made and Freya painted with forest animals. I built a fort in the corner, complete with a fake treethat reaches the ceiling. It’s the room every child dreams of, the kind neither Freya nor I would have dared to dream of as children.

“Dad,” Slate yells from the bathroom. “Gage is pouring the toothpaste in the toilet.”

I sigh, stepping in just in time to snatch the toothpaste from Gage as he squeezes it into the toilet. Slate is brushing his teeth, but only the front two. I correct him, even though I’ve done it a hundred times before. Gage clings onto my leg, begging for the toothpaste back.

I set him on the sink. “Alright, show your teeth,” I order.

A glint appears in his eyes. Grinning, he clamps his jaws shut.

Damn kids. I do the best I can to brush his teeth, even though he’s giggling. Apparently, this is the funniest thing he’s ever done, because he’s gasping for breath by the time I give up and put the toothbrush away. I turn on the shower and toss them both in, scrubbing all the dirt from the garden off, and get them into their pajamas.

They give me hell, but my life is perfect.

A son under each arm, I carry them out to the bunk beds and sling them into bed. Freya appears with two cups of water and a storybook. Immediately, they straighten up and pretend they weren’t acting like little animals.

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