Page 62 of Deacon

“Shoot,” says Jack.

“You know I want to settle down,” I say, squinting over the horizon. “Why do you think that hasn’t happened for me yet?”

He stares at me for a long second. Then, he shrugs.

“Possibly because you live in the middle of fucking nowhere,” he says.

“That’s a legitimate point,” I agree. “That’ll do it.”

Jack’s eyes sweep over me. “If you’re worried about all the ink and broken nose, don’t be. Women don’t pick men for surface-level shit, not when it gets down to it. They like it when you notice things they like and make them orgasm consistently. That’s about it.”

That’s good news for me, because I can do both things.

“What about all the…you know.”

Jack glances over, shaking his head. “No, I don’t.”

“The murder.”

Jack knows how I got Ryder Ranch, knows the rest of the shady things I’ve done for myself and others, including him. It’s part of thereason we’re such close friends. We both know far too much about each other.

“If you’re worried about the Hatfield girl not liking you, I wouldn’t,” he says. “I looked into that family, and every man in it has a mugshot or twelve.”

We turn back, starting at a slow walk toward the ranch house.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say.

Jack’s jaw works. “I can’t help you there. That’s a whole other conversation.”

We don’t speak. My mind is fixated on the idea of Freya just living in my house. Rising in the morning and humming in the kitchen while she makes her coffee. Falling asleep on the couch in the afternoon, surrounded by books about insects and butterflies. Having dinner with me after the sun is down and the chores are done.

I want the small business of living more than anything. I want her time, every minute of it. The boring parts, the hard parts, the difficult parts.

She was so easy to fall for, and I fell hard. Now, I just have to pinpoint what’s holding her back.

We head to the barn, and Jack pulls to a halt outside the door, stacking his hands on the saddle horn.

“I should have guessed you had company,” he says. “I can tell when you just got laid.”

“Shut up. You can’t.”

He jerks his head at my hat. “You sleep on your right side when you sleep alone. The other side is flat.”

I touch the side of my head. The corner of Jack’s mouth curls.

“She’s on the porch,” he says. “I’m just fucking with you.”

We both turn. Freya stands there, a dark figure with her arms wrapped around her body. She’s dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and a close fitted skirt that comes to the middle of her thigh, tights, and brown leather boots. Soft dark curls are piled on her head, highlighting her elegant neck.

We both look at her for a long moment. She looks like something from a book. Pretty, whimsical, and homey.

“Yeah, she’s out of your league,” says Jack.

“I’m aware. Come on, let’s get the horses fed and put away,” I say. “Then we can talk about whether you want Exile.”

He nods, and we head into the barn. The entire time I’m putting Bones away and pouring out his grain, I have the image of Freya on the porch dancing in my mind.

I got a taste of her last night and, God, was it good. I love animalistic sex, the same way I like kink. Last night proved she gets off on it too. If she hadn’t gotten tired, I could have spent all night with her thighs around my head and her pussy on my mouth.

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