Page 48 of Deacon

Angrily, I untie the puppy and carry it back into the café. It fits in one of Tracy’s tote bags, its little head poking over the edge. Then, I put on my coat and lock up, stepping out onto the street.

“You got a dog in that?”

I jump out of my skin. There’s a tall man wearing a Carhartt and a cowboy hat standing at the curb.

“It’s not mine,” I say, glancing around. The street is still populated, so I’m not alone. “Somebody abandoned him in the alley.”

He steps closer, leaning in to look. He’s got a nice face, rough like the rest of the men in Knifley. I can’t get a good look at it because he’s focused on the puppy, but he doesn't give me a bad feeling.

“You gonna keep him?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’ll take it to the shelter.”

“There’s no shelter,” he says. “Take him to one of the local ranches. They’ve always got space for one more.”

He touches the brim of his hat, and then he’s gone, crossing the street. I stare after him, realizing that’s not a bad idea. The other night, Deacon said he wanted one, he just hadn’t found the right dog yet.

Maybe this is too perfect not to be a sign.

Bittern picks me up and promises not to say a word about the puppy. I feed it and put it in the barn. The next morning, I don’t have work, but he doesn’t know that. I ask him to take me to the bottom of the road that leads to Ryder Ranch, spinning a story about Tracy needing me to pick something up. His eyes are dull, as usual, and he doesn’t ask questions. He just gives me a pale smile and drives off.

I’m in one of my moods where I don’t regret what I did with Deacon. When the night comes, I’ll probably sink into depression, but for now, I feel fine as I head up the hill and around the corner to the gate of Ryder Ranch.

I pick up the puppy, letting it sit on my shoulder. It yaps all the way up the driveway to the front porch.

The yard is empty, but I can hear a commotion in the barn. Quietly, I walk over the driveway to the attached paddock.

Through the open end, a big, dark gray stallion, likely Bones And All, enters the paddock with Deacon astride him, riding at an easy posting trot. The puppy whips its head around and starts yapping again.

The stallion spins on a dime and pricks his ears forward. Deacon’s dark gaze settles on me, and his brows rise. He comes to the fence, looming overhead. Suddenly, I feel incredibly small.

He clears his throat. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

Right away, my knees go weak. I’m not sure I remember why I’m here in the first place. Am I delivering a dog or wanting something else?

“I found a puppy,” I say, but it comes out in a whisper.

He dismounts, steel tipped boots hitting the ground in a spray of mud. His horse shakes its head, bridle jingling. He comes to the fence, leaning his inked forearms over it.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s a dog,” I say.

The side of his mouth jerks up. “I mean, any idea what the breed is?”

I shake my head, feeling silly. He drags his eyes from the dog to me, and they linger there, hotter than fire. My neck is burning up, and all I can think about is how he felt inside me. Big, overwhelming, intensely perfect.

“You walk here alone?” he asks.

I shake my head, then nod. “Bittern dropped me a few miles back on his way to work.”

A crease appears on his forehead. “I’ll bring you back. Don’t be walking on the roads alone. It’s not safe. Come on into the barn for a minute, sweetheart.”

That word is like a hook in my heart. I circle the barn, and he heads through the paddock entrance. We meet inside, and he takes the dog from my arms, flipping it on its back and holding it up.

“I’d say a Heinz fifty seven,” he says. “It’s a boy. You got a name for it?”

I shake my head. He turns over a milk crate and puts the dog in it. Then, before I can react, he picks me up and carries me to the tack room and kicks the door shut with his boot.

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