Page 4 of Hold the Line

Dropping my bag by my door, I picked up the pastry box and headed up the stairs, the knot of anger in the pit of my stomach unraveling with each step. Most likely, it had been an accident. Surely, they’d be deeply apologetic. There was no sense in holding a grudge. I loved those pots, but they were just things, and I had to share walls with the person who’d moved in above me. We weren’t going to be enemies before we even met.

Thoroughly talked down, I put on a cheery smile and knocked on their door, the pastry box in front of me. The thumps and grumbles that followed weren’t what I’d expected. Then the door swung open, and the man who stood there wasreallyunexpected.

Lean and rangy, like so many of the cowboys who worked on the ranches around town. That’s where the similarities stopped, though. His arms, covered in gray and black tattoos, were crossed tightly over his chest, covered in a faded band T-shirt. Bracketing his mouth was a frown so deep it’d worn grooves. It was only when I got to his eyes—storms frozen in Jurassic-age amber—I recognized him.

Deacon Slater.

When had he gotten out of prison?

Chapter Three

Deacon

Pink.

Cheeks, sweater, box—all of it pink.

What all this pink was doing on my doorstep was a wonder. I didn’t want visitors, least of all a woman like this, with her rosiness and long, shiny brown hair draping over tits I could tell were round and soft, even with a sweater covering them. All of her looked that way, like there wasn’t a single sharp corner.

What was sweet little Phoebe Kelly doing knocking on my door? No doubt her daddy and brothers would not approve.

“Yeah?” I gruffed.

“Hey.” She dug her teeth into her full bottom lip, waiting like she expected something from me. I didn’t know what. She’d been the one to knock on my door. “I stopped by to say hi. It seems like we’re neighbors.”

“Ah.” This news rocked me back on my heels. I hadn’t given much thought to who rented the apartment below mine. Seemed I should have. “Sorry ’bout the pots. Hit ’em when I was moving my bed in. Give me the name of the store you got ’em from, I’ll replace them.”

She shook her head. “Thanks for that, but they came from an artist who lives on Wind River. Too far for you to be trekking to buy some pots. I’m going to try to glue them back together if I can. Otherwise…” She sighed as she trailed off.

“All right. Then tell me what they cost. I break something, I’m going to settle up.”

Her brown eyes were big and bright, and she had them pinned on me, scraping over my face. With recognition? Doubted it. She’d know my name. Everyone in town knew the Slaters, and that was so they could steer clear. There was not a chance Phoebe had given a thought to me since we’d been in school together.

“Don’t worry about it. I understand accidents happen.” She smiled straight at me, confident and friendly. “I’m just glad to have a new neighbor. My sister, Hannah, lived here before you. It’s been too quiet, not hearing her footsteps marching around upstairs.”

“I don’t plan on making much noise.” I’d need to take my boots off when I got home so this soft, pink woman didn’t have to put up with any extra racket.

“Well, as long as you don’t set fire to your oven like Hannah, I think we’ll get along fine.”

I nodded. “I noticed the scorch marks on the wall. I’ve got no plans of adding to them.”

Her giggle was sugar-laced. “Yeah, Hannah and cooking don’t mix. Fortunately, our parents had supplied her with a fire extinguisher when she moved in. They knew all too well the kind of damage she’s capable of.”

I didn’t have much to say to that. Having the kind of parents who cared enough to buy me a fire extinguisher was as foreign to me as Japanese—a language I’d never learned and only heard in passing.

Phoebe sucked in a breath. “Anyway, I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. I brought you some baked goods from my shop, Sugar Rush. I don’t know what you like, so I picked out some of everything.” She tapped the lid of the box in her hands. “And I wrote my number in case you ever need anything.”

I didn’t need to look inside the box to know I wouldn’t be eating the contents.

“No thanks.”

Her eyes flared with surprise. “No…you don’t want it?”

I shook my head, as much as it pained me. Something sweet on my tongue that’d been baked by this pink woman would have more decadence than I’d know what to do with. But life had served me a hell of a lot of lemons, including allergies that might kill me if I ate the wrong thing.

“Appreciate the gesture. Won’t eat it. Might as well give it to someone who will.”

She withdrew the box, hugging it against her middle. “Okay. I know not everyone likes sweets…” She put on another smile, this one a little wobbly. “I’ll leave you to moving in. If you need anything, I’m downstairs at night or at Sugar Rush all day. Oh, and I’m Phoebe.”

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