Page 23 of Deacon

A trickle of relief goes through me. The people who come into the café talk about the surrounding ranches all the time. Ryder Ranch comes up in conversation the most. I’ve never seen Deacon, but I know he runs it, and he’s rumored to be one the best horse trainers around. I just didn’t realize he looked like that.

“I won’t bite,” he says. “Get in the truck, sweetheart.”

I look at the water, rising by the second. It does make me feel better that he’s a prominent person in the community. It feels like the chances of him hurting me are somehow lower.

Heart pounding, I reach for the handle and try to pull myself up. My foot slips. A warm hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me into the passenger side. He reaches past me and pulls the door shut, cutting off the raging storm.

“There’s a blanket behind you,” he says, spinning the wheel to reposition the truck. He backs up and squints. “That water might be too high.”

My body is shaking so hard, I can barely pull the blanket over it. He flips the heat on full blast and spins the wheel again, turning the truck all the way around.

“I think we’ll have to take the back way,” he says. “The highway is closed for an accident. Semi jackknifed.”

“This is the back way,” I whisper.

He shakes his head, accelerating. The truck speeds down the road, spraying mud. It eats up the distance I stumbled through with ease. In seconds, we’re back on the state route.

“What are you doing out here? You don’t have a car?” he asks.

I look sideways, studying him. He’s handsome, despite his face having brutally cut angles. There’s a bump in the middle of his nose. He glances at me, and I’m taken aback by seeing his eyes up close. They’re dark, but there’s a softness to them I didn’t expect. In the middle of such a rough face, it’s startling.

He’s like Aiden but not like Aiden.

I shiver.

“You okay?” he says.

I nod. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked why you were out here,” he says. “You don’t have a car?”

I shake my head, still feeling like a deer in headlights. “I can’t drive, really. I don’t have a license.”

His forehead creases. “Why not?”

“Nobody taught me to drive,” I say. “I don’t have a car.”

He doesn’t answer, but I notice his jaw muscle flickers. I turn, and through the window, I see we’re almost at the drop off. There’s no sign of Bittern waiting for me. I check my phone, which is stuffed in my pocket.

My stomach sinks. It’s soaked. I hit the button and nothing happens.

I have to fight back tears. It took me a month of saving to get this cheap phone. Now, it’s ruined.

Deacon turns the truck onto the gravel route that veers up the mountain. My muscles tense up. I’ve never been this way before.

I wet my dry lips. “Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

He swings his head around, like he’s surprised.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” he says.

I shift, pushing my back against the door. “That’s what somebody who was going to hurt me would say,” I manage.

He lets out a quiet sigh. “Open the glove box,” he says. “There’s a gun in there. Shoot me if I try to hurt you.”

That shuts me up. It takes me a moment to recover from the image of shooting him. Then, I shake my head.

“No,” I say. “Just don’t hurt me.”

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