Page 25 of Deacon

“I work at the café,” I say, my voice squeaking.

“With Tracy?”

“You know Tracy?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, I know Tracy,” he says, making another turn. We’re on a smooth road now, driving on a gentle incline. The rain is still pouring down, and the wind beats on the truck. “We do city meetings together sometimes.”

A little tension eases from my shoulders.

“She’s never mentioned you,” I say.

“We’re more business friends,” he says. “You like what you do?”

He has such a strange way of making small talk. His voice is casual, but it feels like he’s really listening and wants my answer. Nobody listens to me, but this man is listening with his whole concentration.

It’s intimidating.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say.

Before he can speak, an overhead sign that says Ryder Ranch looms out of the darkness. He pivots the truck to the right, and we’re heading up a long driveway. Through the rain, I think I see lights.

He rumbles to a halt and puts the truck in park. “I’m gonna get you inside. Then I need to check the barn.”

I nod, wordless. He leans in, and for a second, I think he’s reaching for me. Then, he pulls a black cowboy hat from the backseat. Before I can move, he puts it on my head. There’s a second where he looks at me too long, like this means something.

“Keep the rain off your face,” he says.

I nod, wordless. He disappears, and I hear his boots crunch for a second before my door yanks open. He holds out his hand. I hesitate, then put mine into it. Everything is cold in that second, but where our skin touches, that’s bright hot.

It travels up my arm.

And down to my lower belly.

Down between my thighs.

Shocked, I let him lift me out and usher me through the dark. We go up some porch steps, and he taps the keypad on the door. Then, his broad arm wraps around my waist and guides me into the front hall.

I don’t know what to do but go along. He pushes the inner door shut, abruptly cutting off the storm’s raging.

My eyes adjust. His house is beautiful. The wooden walls are stained until they’re almost black. The hall floor is rich oak, shining with a deep blue rug rolled over it. On the walls hang black and white photographs of different horses, probably prize studs from Ryder Ranch.

Someone cared a lot about this house when it was built. I wonder if it was him.

“You’re shivering again, sweetheart,” he says.

He steps closer and takes his hat off, hanging it by the door. Our eyes meet, and something crackles in the air, like a spark. There, then gone. I look down, aware our bodies are inches apart.

He’s enormous, bigger than he was in the truck. The Henley over his torso is soaked, sticking to every ridge of his stomach. My eyes drop lower. There’s a slight rise under his zipper.

Oh, God—I jerk my eyes up to meet his dark gaze. There’s that off-kilter smile again.

“You good?”

I shake my head. There’s something wrong with me, or I wouldn’t be ogling him. “I think I’m shocked,” I whisper. “I don’t know… I was really scared when I had to walk alone and I lost my coat at the river.”

My body shivers harder in response. He clears his throat.

“You need to get those wet clothes off,” he says, voice husky.

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