Page 83 of Deacon

We both freeze. Her eyes widen as she sets her tote bag on the table.

“What—oh my,” she says.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, cheeks burning. “You must be Ginny.”

She covers her mouth with one hand for a second. When she takes it away, she’s smiling.

“I’m sorry, I just… Deacon doesn’t have…um—”

“Sleepovers?” I manage.

“Well,” she says, “yes.”

There’s no point in pretending I’m not with Deacon like that.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go back upstairs,” I say, reaching for my coffee.

“Oh, no, no,” she says, bustling into the kitchen. She steers me to the table, pulling out a chair and pushing me down. “You sit, dear. Let me make you something to eat.”

She’s over the moon, which is unexpected. She sets my coffee down and puts a swirl of creamer in it. The caramel scent is welcome on a morning like this, when I can see frost patterns on the window.

“I thought I noticed somebody who wasn’t Deacon was in my kitchen,” she says, still smiling like it’s Christmas morning.

“I’m sorry. I tried to leave everything spotless,” I say.

“Oh, you’re sweet. It was perfect,” she says. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Ginny, my husband Andy is the manager out here on the ranch. I just do the cooking and make sure the house is clean.”

“I’m Freya,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she says.

She actually is thrilled. I’m not sure why. I sip my coffee while she gets eggs going on the stove. In a few minutes, she’s sinking down beside me with two plates of breakfast.

“Now, you tell me about yourself,” she says, sitting back like I’m about to tell her something exciting.

“Um…I just moved to Montana in the winter,” I say.

“Where from?” She has a sip of coffee, watching me owlishly over the top.

“Eastern Kentucky,” I say.

“Oh, that’s where the accent is from,” she says. “I like it. It’s cute. Why’d you move here?”

“My stepfather bought some land,” I say. “He had a huge family farm and he sold it for a lot, so he just picked somewhere and went. At least, I think that’s why. He never gave me a good reason for it.”

“So how’d you meet Deacon?” she asks.

“We ran into each other during that big storm, and he gave me a ride,” I say.

She looks at me like something is dawning on her.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re the church girl.” She says it like it holds a lot of weight, and her expression backs that up.

“I don’t know,” I stutter. “I didn’t know he knew much about where I go to church. I mean, we talked about it a bit, but…not before we met.”

Ginny is looking at me like everything makes sense. I’m uncomfortable under her scrutiny, so I take a bite of toast. Butter and crisp bread melt on my tongue.

There’s a peacefulness in the morning here at Ryder Ranch, that I’m not used to. Mornings are usually my least favorite time. Everyone in my house is in a bad mood, most of them hungover. It’s a race to get food on the table before someone snaps at me.

---