Page 21 of Deacon

I tilt my head back. The Milky Way spills overhead.

Maybe that’s the root of why I haven’t talked to her yet.

She’s sweet, she goes to church, she works at a café where she makes pastries all day. I’m not her kind of man. Yet, here I am, thinking about what she’d look like suspended naked from my ceiling.

Thinking hard, I go downstairs and make a coffee while I find the blueprints for the attic room.

I think it’s time to get back to work.

CHAPTER FIVE

FREYA

AUTUMN

There’s an odd feeling in Montana that I can’t name, and I don’t get used to it. It’s like somebody’s watching me. It comes and goes. One moment, I’m hopping out of Bittern’s truck and heading down the street to work, feeling fine. The next, I’m unlocking the café door and looking over my shoulder, scalp prickling.

I consider asking Tracy if this is normal for Knifely, but when I think through the conversation, it sounds silly. So, I keep my mouth shut, because how am I supposed to explain I feel like I’m being stalked?

Maybe I’m stressed out being in a new place. Aiden is as horrible as usual. I’m lonely, and maybe I’m starting to imagine things.

Usually, Bittern comes to get me after work. He works up on the McClaine Ranch because he can’t hold down an official job. Every night, he leaves around six and swings by the old gas station, about two miles from the café, before picking me up.

Then, one night, he doesn’t come.

Tracy is gone in the city for a business conference. I spend the day prepping trays for a catering order. Everything is ready for Tracy in the morning, all wrapped in plastic and put in the fridge. I eat a leftover croissant as I sweep and wipe everything down. Then, I put my coat on over my skirt, thick tights, boots, and sweater and lock up.

Overhead, buffered from my view at the counter, gray clouds roil on the horizon. Everything smells ominous. The leaves on the maple at the street corner are flipping.

There’s that feeling, the one I hate. Like I’m not alone.

I lock the café and push the key into my pocket with my wallet. The street is cleared out, save for a few people at the bar a few blocks down. I consider going there and calling Bittern to come get me. But no, I don’t want to cause him extra trouble.

If I hurry, I can get to the drop-off point before the rain hits.

The wind picks up. The further I get from town, the more that feeling fades. My body relaxes as I push my hands in my pockets and walk fast, head down. I’m not scared of rain. Iamscared of being stranded, easy prey for anyone passing by.

The drop-off is a patch of gravel where the state route meets the back road up to the McClaine Ranch. Bittern’s truck isn’t there; he’s a few minutes late. But that’s not uncommon.

I stand, waiting.

Overhead, the clouds churn. An icy raindrop hits the back of my neck and trickles down. Shivering, I wipe it away, but they keep coming, hitting the pavement with loud splats. I’ll be soaked by the time Bittern shows up.

A cold, lonely wind whips through, tugging my curls. There’s a heavy rush to my left, and I turn, expecting to see a car. Instead, a thick gray mist rolls over the hills, heading right for me.

My heart drops. It’s a solid wall of rain.

It hits me before I can move, and I’m soaked in seconds. Breathless, I rip off my coat and hold it over my head. Rain pelts me from all angles as the wind tears at my skin and clothes.

I wait, miserable and scared. I don’t like standing at the edge of the road on a good day. In a storm, it makes my heart pound in my throat.

The wind is getting stronger. I manage to look at my phone, which has no service on this part of the road, and see Bittern is almost thirty minutes late.

Something must have held him up at work.

Pit in my stomach, I start walking, because I don’t know what else to do. There’s no one else to call. Aiden and Ryland are in the city today—not that they would pick up if I called. Tracy is miles away at her conference. There’s nobody else to call, and I have no place to go.

The road blurs in my vision. The rain is so heavy, it’s dripping into my eyes, even with my coat pulled over my head.

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