Page 84 of Deacon

But here, nobody raises their voice at me.

Nobody is angry at me for existing. In fact, Ginny is looking at me like I just made her whole week.

“So how long have you worked for Deacon?” I ask, eager to fill the silence.

“About fifteen years,” she says.

“And…you like it?”

“Oh, Deacon’s a sweetheart,” she says. “Andy and I will work here until we retire.”

My mind goes back to his face in the truck: jaw set, nose broken, bleeding hand on my thigh. I’m not sure I’d ever call Deacon Ryder a sweetheart, not after he beat Aiden bloody.

“You alright?” Ginny asks.

I rearrange my face and nod. “Sorry, it was an eventful night.”

Ginny’s brows go to her hairline. I blush, unable to help myself.

“It’s not that—”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

“No, no,” I stammer. “My stepfather, he got really angry and drunk, and Deacon came and got me. That’s why I’m here.”

Ginny’s face goes from flustered to concerned. Her brows knit, and she gives me a look that stares right into my soul.

“Do you need to stay up here with us, dear?” she asks.

“If Deacon wouldn’t have beat my family up in a bar, it wouldn’t have happened,” I say, unable to stifle the little bite in my voice.

That’s not really fair. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. Ginny lets out a tired sigh. Her eyes drift to the window that, from her chair, looks out over the barn and yard.

“He does that sort of thing,” she says, shaking her head.

“Is he safe?” I blurt out.

She swings her head back around. “Safe?”

My throat is dry. I’m hoping I can trust her judgment, woman to woman.

“Is he safe, or does he get angry?” I whisper. “Like my stepfather does.”

Ginny’s face softens, her eyes getting a faraway look. She picks up my hand and squeezes it. My chest aches.

“He’s safe for you. Your stepfather, probably not,” she says.

My lips part. “I don’t want him getting involved with my family.”

She pats my hand and stands, taking away our empty plates. “I suggest your stepfather not use his fists on you, because I can’t vouch for what Deacon will do if he catches him doing that.”

“He doesn’t,” I say, shaking my head.

Ginny starts the coffeemaker on a second cup and goes into the back room, behind the kitchen for a minute. When she comes back out, she has a plastic grocery bag in her hand that she sets on the table.

“I keep a few changes of clothes up here at the house in case of spills,” she says. “I reckon you didn’t bring nothing but your nightgown on you last night.”

“I was in a hurry,” I say.

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