Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (11 page)

She looked to me. “Manuel can sand that down
and refinish it.”

I moved my gaze to the coffee table. I liked
that coffee table. In fact, I’d found it at the antique place in
Chantelle and thanked my lucky stars, it was so cool, in such good
nick, and so cheap.

Not to mention, Manuel wouldn’t charge me a
thousand dollars to refinish it so I could pocket the rest and that
wouldn’t suck.

I looked back to Milagros. “That’d be
awesome.”

She grinned and replied, “I’ll ask him to
come after work and get it tonight. But it might take him past the
weekend to get it back to you.”

That worked for me and I told her so. “That’s
okay. This cabin is booked next week but if he’s not finished with
it, I’ll bring down my coffee table from the house to act as a
stand in.”

She nodded and grinned at me.

I gave her a mini-grin (which was all I had
in me after the events of last night and this morning) and moved to
the pile of sheets on the couch that we’d pulled off the beds. The
comforters and shams were in another pile. I’d come back later to
get them in order to launder them with a shed load of fabric
softener in hopes of obliterating the smoke smell.

She was headed for the carpet shampooing
machine while I headed to the door, saying, “Come by the house for
a cup before you go.”

“Cassidy?” she called as response.

I stopped at the door and looked at her to
see her gaze was on me, kind but assessing.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Milagros. The mother of five children, the
loving wife of a good man, both meaning she could read people
easily.

And she read me because I wasn’t. I’d had my
heart broken by a stranger. I didn’t know how that happened. I just
knew that it did.

I actually didn’t know how I was moving,
standing, and breathing instead of lying in bed sobbing.

But since I was, I was going with it.

I could fall apart tonight, when I was alone
in my bed (again) and nothing needed to get done until
tomorrow.

“I’m just tired,” I answered, luckily with
the truth. Just not all of it. “There was a lot of drama last night
and I didn’t get much sleep.”

She nodded then told me, “Manuel worries, you
being here alone.”

He, apparently, wasn’t the only one and that
didn’t just include John Priest/Deacon Whoever, but by the look on
her face, Milagros.

“I’ve been doing this for six years, honey,”
I reminded her.

She let me have it all when she replied
quietly, “We just worry.”

“I’ll be okay.” I forced a grin. “I’m a tough
broad.”

She grinned back but I knew she wasn’t
committed to it, just like me.

For me, I was heartbroken.

For Milagros, she didn’t like what went down
last night and Manuel, being a dude with three daughters and two
sons who shared during my frequent dinners at their house that he’d
kicked around for a while so he knew how the world could fuck you
(though he didn’t use those words), would like it less.

Then she said, “You need to take a night.
Manuel and I’ll come; you go out with your girls.”

She was right. I did need to take a night,
call some friends, and plan something not Glacier Lily related.

Though, that something wouldn’t have the
normal girl talk that should include, say, your story about the man
who somehow managed to steal into your heart over six years then he
broke it in one night.

In fact, I’d never tell them about Deacon.
I’d never tell anyone about Deacon. Not just because I didn’t know
what to say because I didn’t understand why I was feeling all I was
feeling, but because I knew down to my soul he wouldn’t want me to
breathe a word about him to anybody.

That was the last thing I had to give him, I
was going to give it.

“I’ll let you know,” I said to Milagros.

“That’d be good,” she replied.

I tucked the sheets close and gave her a
small wave.

She waved back and turned to the machine.

I walked the sheets up to my shed, where
there was a large industrial washer and dryer that I used to do the
laundry for the cabins. I shoved the sheets in, filled the
detergent and fabric softener slots to the max, squirted in the gel
bleach, and set it to going.

Then I went to my house, sucking in a breath
and holding it as I opened my door, eyes to the ground, sure I’d
see the key to cabin eleven there.

Deacon’s Suburban was gone when I’d walked
down to the cabins, which meant Deacon was gone. But he wouldn’t
leave without giving me back my key. And if I were him, I’d avoid
me doing it, as in, wait until I left the house before shoving it
through the slot and disappearing forever.

My breath came out in a soft gush when I saw
there was no key.

He’d told me when he’d checked in that he was
going to be here for five days.

He couldn’t mean to stay the whole visit
after all that had gone down.

Could he?

And if he did, would that mean in a month or
three or eight he’d come back and take us back to the way we were?
I’d see him at check in, he’d shove his key though the slot as his
way of checking out?

He’d said we’d changed.

Now I was wondering what that meant.

But I couldn’t think about that. Thinking
about that would drive me crazy. Or to the bourbon. Or to bed to
sob myself to oblivion and I had stuff to do and comforters to
clean.

I had to think of other things and luckily I
ran my own business so I had a bazillion other things to think
about.

I dealt with about five of those, namely
checking e-mails, confirming bookings that came in, handling my
calendar, dealing with a cancellation, and looking up the phone
number to Vista Real Condos.

I called it and asked to be put through to
Annabelle and Peyton’s unit, just to see if they were okay.
Reception rang me through but there was no answer.

I disconnected, deciding not to leave a
voicemail and instead get in my Rover and drive there to check on
them in person.

I made this decision when a knock came on the
door.

I looked toward the foyer.

It couldn’t be Milagros. Shampooing rugs and
furniture took forever and the woman was a neat freak. Although the
boys cleaned that cabin, she’d go over it again until you could eat
off the floors.

Maybe it was another renter or someone who
saw the sign and pulled in, thinking correctly: a night at Glacier
Lily was just the thing. This didn’t happen often, I mostly rented
through bookings, but it happened.

I pulled myself out of the chair, walked into
the foyer, and stopped dead.

This was because I could see Deacon’s big
body in my front door window silhouetted by the late morning sun
behind him and partially obscured by my filmy curtains.

My heart pulsed hard in my chest and my mind
was warring with being annoyed he was dragging this crap out (and I
didn’t know him but that didn’t seem very…
him
) and being
overjoyed that I’d see him one last time.

Leave it to Deacon to check out in person the
only time I wouldn’t want him to do just that.

I pulled myself together, walked to the door,
unlocked it, opened it, and looked up into his impassive but
impossibly good-looking face, wishing in that second he’d taken me
on the table with the lights on so I could watch him do it.

I did all this opening my mouth to say
something.

I again got nothing out.

He moved into me and I was forced to move
back.

The thing was, he kept moving. He didn’t
stop, grunt something, and hand me my key then exit the premises
immediately (this being what I imagined Deacon’s form of good-bye
would be).

I turned to watch him move and saw he had a
brown paper bag, the top rolled over and clenched in his fist, and
he was heading to my kitchen.

Stunned silent by this, I closed the door and
followed him.

I stopped two feet into my kitchen to see him
at the table, the table where he’d fucked me.

Seeing him standing there, the sun coming in
the windows subdued by the trees around my house, and doing it like
he’d done it thousands of times before, I remained stunned
silent.

So did he (though without the stunned part)
but he didn’t do it immobile. He was unrolling the top of the bag
he’d put on my table.

I watched him wondering what was going
on.

Did he buy groceries?

His head turned slightly, not fully, so it
was really just his eyes that slid to me.

“Cassidy. Here.”

Here?

Was he summoning me?

I was too dazed by what was happening to
retort. Instead, my feet moved slowly and I went there. I stopped
two feet away. He was reaching into the bag.

He came out with a black can that looked like
insect repellant but with a much bigger trigger.

“Pepper spray,” he stated and my eyes shot to
his. “Keep it somewhere out of the way but somewhere you can get to
it. Shake it to make it live. Aim. Shoot. Do not do that in an
enclosed space or against the wind. It will not incapacitate
somebody but it will slow them down. Shoot it, get the fuck
away.”

I stared at him but he didn’t stare at me. I
heard the can hit the table and he was back to digging in the
bag.

My eyes drifted down and I saw him come out
with three smaller canisters that were silver with black tops. He
lined them up on the table by the big black can.

“Same thing,” he stated and I looked back to
him. “Smaller. One for your nightstand. One for your purse. One for
somewhere around the house. These expire in a year. When they do,
dispose of them carefully and replace them.”

“I…uh…” I stammered. “Okay.”

He dipped his chin sharply to acknowledge my
agreement and went back to the bag.

He came out with a box.

“Taser,” he said. “Keep it charged. Keep it
in easy reach but also out of the way. Two prongs will release,
both will give a jolt but if only one reaches your target, it might
take him down but it won’t take him out. You get him, keep your
finger on the trigger three seconds then drop the gun and haul
ass.”

I said not a word as he tossed the box to the
table, went back to the bag, and came out with another box, holding
it up like the last one and turning again to me.

“Stun gun. Taser won’t do long range but you
got range. A few feet. This is short range. By that I mean, the
guy’s close enough to reach. Activate it and touch it to him,
again, three seconds. This will take him down. Then you go. You
have a situation, you take the spray, the stun gun, the Taser, and
your phone. Your phone is most important. When you slow them down
or incapacitate them, you haul ass back to the house and you do it
calling the police.”

“Right,” I whispered, not entirely clear on
what was happening except for the fact Deacon really,
really
wanted me to be prepared should another situation happen at my
cabins.

I didn’t have a chance to share with him that
in six years, I’d only had two and only one of them I was involved
in (and I would never share with him that that didn’t mean I didn’t
have annoying, loud, rude, or dishonest people who attempted a
variety of scenarios to bamboozle me).

I didn’t have this chance when he tossed the
stun gun box on the table, his hand shot out and wrapped tight
around mine.

I also didn’t have the chance to process the
feel of his big mitt wrapped around my hand, as in, how marvelous
it felt. This was due to the fact I was following him out of the
kitchen mostly because he was dragging me.

We went right to the study, right to my
computer where he stopped us and let me go. He then shoved his hand
in his pocket and pulled out a scrap piece of paper. He smoothed it
out perfunctorily and tossed it on my desk as he rolled my chair
out of the way and leaned over my PC.

I watched with some fascination as he pulled
up my web browser and started typing.

Not surprisingly, he typed by jabbing just
his two beefy forefingers on the keys.

What was surprising was that this wasn’t hunt
and peck. He went fast.

He hit enter and straightened.

“Called them,” he declared, pointing toward
the computer screen. “Closest breeder that’s got a litter coming.
Expected about two weeks until delivery, you gotta wait six weeks
after that. They had three people who already put a deposit down
but I convinced them to give you first pick. Tomorrow, we drive out
there and give them what I promised in order to convince them to
let you have that.”

I blinked at the website that was for a
breeder of German Shepherds, Deacon’s words blasting through me
because he said we had to drive out tomorrow to put a deposit down
on a dog.

And the part of that that blasted hardest was
the word
we
.

Okay…

What was happening?

Stiltedly, my gaze lifted to his and he
continued to shock me by continuing to speak.

“Thought about a Rottie or a Doberman. Your
business, you don’t need a dog around that’ll freak the clientele.
They’re great dogs, great company, but might not be good for
business. Shepherds are loyal, protective, but also friendly and
less threatening. So you’re getting a Shepherd. Boy or girl,
doesn’t matter, both are strong, smart, and affectionate and both
can be fierce. If you need to find someone to look after the place
tomorrow, find them. The breeders are seventy-five miles away,
country roads, it’ll take time.”

I opened my mouth and shut it.

I opened it again and shut it.

I looked down at the website, taking in a big
picture on the home page of a gaggle of utterly adorable German
Shepherd puppies that I wanted to scoop up and cuddle. All five of
them. At the same time.

I looked back to Deacon, opened my mouth
again, and asked, “What’s happening?”