Page 55 of His Tenth Dance

She’d been to the doctor almost every day since the accident, and she had not been back out to the barns or stables at all.

Well, that part wasn’t entirely true. She’d visited Lady a couple of times on the three short walks that Hunter made her take every day. She got visually and auditorily overstimulated easily, and she had to retreat to a dark room and be alone—or at least, the person who sat with her had to be silent.

And one of Deacon’s superpowers was being quiet.

He often came to sit with Molly in the afternoons so that Hunter could deal with his restless teenagers, as well as anything out on the farm that needed to be done. Jane ran her husband’s mechanic shop, but she’d been bringing food and company whenever she could.

“I have to go,” Jane said. “You guys are all okay here? Her parents said they wouldn’t be back until after dinner.”

“We’re fine here,” Deacon said. “I just have some paperwork to sign in the office, and then I need my afternoon downtime.” He smiled at his sister, and she hugged him again before she left.

Deacon followed her out and sat in the swing his brother had installed on the front porch.

I’m just sitting in the swing,he texted.Text me when you get back and I’ll come sit with Molly while she naps.

It’s not a good day,Hunter said.Our walk won’t be very long.

No problem,Deacon replied as his heart ached for both Hunter and Molly. He should probably get up and get thatpaperwork signed while he had the chance. Just like Lady, he didn’t like leaving Molly alone once she was in his care.

A car came around the curve a couple hundred yards away, and Deacon watched as it slowly trundled toward the barn. He recognized the SUV as Kristie’s, and she turned and technically went off-road on the south side of the barn.

She was here to check on Lady.

Deacon admired her tenacity and dedication to the horse’s care. And if there was a man who spoke less than Deacon, it was Mission Redbay. He had not brought up his relationship with Kristie since their Sabbath Day lunch at Opal’s—that had been three weeks ago now—and as far as Deacon knew, they were still together.

Deacon had turned twenty-six a few months ago, and he certainly wasn’t old by any means. Hunter had returned to town when he was twenty-six, and he and Molly had been married soon after that. Deacon had been almost seven at that time, and he’d grown up with Molly on the farm and in his life—as Hunter’s wife and through all his most important memories.

She was practically a second mother to him, and she’d always treated him with love and kindness. Like he was the smartest person in the room.

Deacon knew he wasn’t, and most days, he could barely believe that he owned this farm. He and Hunter ran it together right now. Tuck hadn’t wanted it, and neither had Jane. The farm felt like it lived in Deacon’s blood, fused into his DNA, and he’d never wanted anything but to work the land, raise the cattle, and ride the horses right here where he’d grown up.

He thought of his parents, who now lived in Coral Canyon, Wyoming, and a powerful wave of missing rolled through him.

Everyone in his immediate family now had a significant other except for him, and he had never felt so lost and alone and afraid as he did in that moment.

You could do something and change that,he said to himself as he toed the swing gently back and forth.You could ask a woman out.

He met plenty of women at church and around the farm. They had cowgirls who worked here, and female counselors, and a dozen suppliers who came and went. The fact was, no one had ever really caught Deacon’s eye or intrigued him very much.

And with those thoughts stuck in his mind and a huff coming out of his mouth, he pushed himself to his feet and went inside to get his paperwork done.

A couple of hours later, Deacon sat in the dark bedroom with Molly several feet away, asleep in the bed.

He liked the recliner in the corner best, as it faced her. He could instantly look up from his phone—or open his eyes, if he’d been resting—and see her.

But the noise he just heard had not come from her.

He also liked this spot because once Molly fell asleep with her weighted blanket and her eye mask over her face, he could twitch the curtain back a little bit and let the daylight in. He’d done that and cracked the window at the same time, so he could listen to the Colorado breeze as it rustled through the trees.

Another sound came. A small cry. Almost like the tiny meow of a newborn kitten. An extra rustle followed, and Deacon realized he was not listening to Molly have a fitful dream—or the cries of a cat.

The rustling had been a sniffle, and the sound was very much human.

His heart beat a little faster. Deacon wasn’t the most emotional man on the planet, and he would rather avoid conflict than run headlong into it.

His muscles tensed.

He waited.

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