Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (26 page)

Even though I gave her work and it was work
she was good at that she liked because she could do it on her
schedule, they were far from rolling in it as their lovely, but
small (and especially small for seven people) house attested.
Manuel worked as maintenance for some office buildings in Chantelle
about thirty miles away. The pay was decent but the commute was a
bitch, on time and gas.

But pay had to be freaking awesome to take
care of a house and five kids.

Decent meant every penny had to stretch.

They didn’t complain. They just worked, did
their best with what they had, loved their kids and each other, and
were good friends to me.

In other words, they were the bomb and I was
fortunate Milagros drove down my lane looking for work, and not
because her doing it gave me free time.

What I didn’t know was at that moment, in her
kitchen, she was going to prove that thought absolutely
correct.

She stopped well away from the door and I
came to a stop a couple feet in front of her.

I opened my mouth to speak but she got there
before me.

“He stays with you.” This was an
accusation.

“Uh…yeah.”

“
Querida
, you’re not married.”

I pulled up all my thirty years in the face
of a woman who was only a few years older than me but reminded me
of my mother on more than one occasion, except scarier.

“No, we’re not,” I replied firmly.

She held my eyes and nodded sharply, letting
that go, and saying, “You’re very beautiful and he’s staying with
you. Which means he doesn’t have to pay for a cabin.”

I fought back a smile. “You think he’s taking
advantage of me.”

“He doesn’t touch you.”

Sheesh, she noticed everything.

“He’s not into PDA,” I explained.

“PDA?”

“Public displays of affection.”

Her head cocked to the side as she noted,
“This is odd for a man like him.”

“Just saying, Manuel isn’t into that with you
either,” I pointed out.

“Of course not, I’m the mother of his
children,” she said and I was surprised she did that without
gasping in shock that I’d suggest such a thing out loud.

Again, I fought back a smile. “Was he into
PDA when you met?”

She leaned in to me, holding my eyes, “John
Priest is not Manuel Cabrera.”

She could say that again. Not that Manuel
wasn’t attractive and sweet, he just wasn’t a huge, hot guy,
badass.

She looked to the door then to me and I
didn’t like the expression on her face when I regained her
eyes.

“I have a bad feeling about this,
Cassidy.”

I didn’t like that either.

“Milagros—” I started but she shook her
head.

“He’s very handsome. He’s good with the
children. He’s respectful. But there’s just something…” she paused,
took a breath, and finished, “
off
about him.”

At that moment I vowed that my next best
friend was going to be blind, deaf, and learning disabled.

I got closer to her. “Honey, he’s a good
guy.”

“You seem certain.” This was said in a way
that shared she was not.

“I am.”

“How?” she demanded to know.

“Because he fixed my gutters.”

She leaned back. She got that. I’d been going
it alone for a long time, but more, she knew there weren’t many men
who would fix their new girlfriend’s gutters.

“And he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman
he’s ever seen, and he’s told me that,” I continued.
“
Often
,” I stressed. “He likes my cooking. When he was away
the last time, he didn’t eat or sleep on his way back and it took
two days to get to me.”

She pulled in a soft breath at that, but I
wasn’t done

“Because he likes sitting on my porch with
me. Because he listens to me when I babble and when I say that, I
mean he
listens to me
. Because, when I talk to him about the
cabins, he gives good advice. Because, when I have a situation at
Glacier Lily—which he was there during what happened a couple of
months ago, honey—he’s present but he doesn’t take over. He lets me
run my business and defers to me. Because he knows I can take care
of myself but he’s made it clear I need to budge on that because
the man he is, he can’t not take care of me. Because he’s
beautiful. And because I feel like I conquered the world just when
I make him smile, but when I make him laugh, I feel like I could do
anything.”

“You’re falling in love,” she said
softly.

“Yes,” I replied softly.

She held my eyes then did the sign of the
cross, put her fingers to her lips, looked to the ceiling, and
started talking to God in Spanish.

Since God was multi-lingual, I let her
deliver her message, standing there quiet while she did.

Finally, she stopped talking to God and
looked back to me.

“If he travels, how can he be there to take
care of you at the cabins?”

Suffice it to say I wasn’t falling in love
with Milagros. I’d fallen, head over heels. Her concern that was
based in love and affection was one of the many reasons why.

I got closer, took her hand, and pulled it up
between us.

“He does what he does and I have to let him
do it. I can take care of myself when he’s away and I know you
worry, but I can. I have been for six years. But it’s nice to know
that he’ll be back to help me with the gutters. I haven’t had that,
Milagros,
ever
. And I really,
really
like it now that
I know just how good it feels.”

“And this is okay with him?” she asked.
“Leaving you to take care of yourself?”

“No, that’s why he bought me pepper
spray—four cans —a Taser, a stun gun, and a dog.”

Her eyes widened at that. “He bought you the
dog?”

She knew about the dog. I just hadn’t told
her that Deacon got it for me.

“He paid a fortune for a pure breed, wouldn’t
let me pay him back because he says, if it’s something he has to do
to feel better about me being safe when he leaves me, I gotta let
him do it.”

Her gaze drifted to the door again. “Maybe
I’m mistaken about him.”

I hoped she was.

“He makes me happy,” I told her on a hand
squeeze and she looked back to me. “He makes me happy in a way I
didn’t know you could be happy and we’re just starting. Now all I’m
left with is wondering how much better it can get, and trust me,
Milagros, that’s what I’m wondering because he’s given me
absolutely no indication it’ll go the other way.”

She held my hand fast. “I hope you find out,
Cassidy.”

I hoped I did too.

I grinned at her and gently shut it down.

“You don’t need any help in the kitchen, do
you?”

Her brows snapped together in affront. “Of
course not. Everything was ready thirty minutes before you knocked
on the door.”

“Can I set the table?” I requested.

“Done,” she denied.

“Fill water glasses?”

“Silvia and Esteban will do that.”

“Mop your kitchen floor?” I teased.

“What do you think I did in that thirty
minutes before you knocked on the door?” she asked.

I stared at her in shock. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have guests with a dirty kitchen
floor.”

That was when I smiled at her. “You so rock,
I wanna be you when I grow up.”

“I think you’re growing up just fine, being
you.”

Yep.

I’d fallen for Milagros.

Head over heels.

“Okay, now you’re gonna make me cry and
that’d be all right normally, but I’m wearing mascara.”

Her gaze moved over my face. “I’m uncertain
how God feels about painted ladies. I’ll ask
Padre
at mass
on Sunday.”

“Keep me in that loop.”

She rolled her eyes.

I again squeezed her hand. “You need to feed
me or I’m gonna pass out.”

Her eyes rolled back only to roll again on
her “So dramatic.”

“No, seriously,” I lied.

She let my hand go and declared, “You can do
something for me. Go. Tell them to get to the table. Dinner is
being served.”

“You got it,” I muttered and moved toward the
door.

I got two strides in before I heard,
“Cassidy?”

I looked to my friend.

“Whatever happens, Manuel and I are always
here.”

I felt my face go soft as my lips tipped
up.

“Have I said you rock?” I asked.

“You have,” she answered.

“Well, you do,” I whispered.

That was when her face got soft.

Then she bustled to the oven.

I strolled out the door.

* * * * *

When we arrived back from dinner at Milagros
and Manuel’s, I was experiencing such intense conflicting emotions
I was surprised I didn’t split in half.

On the one hand, I was delighted to know that
Deacon was right. Outside my conversation with Milagros in the
kitchen, the rest of the evening had gone great. Manuel seemed to
warm to Deacon, probably because Deacon had all the time in the
world to give attention to the kids who all seemed fascinated with
him. After our talk, Milagros either decided to give Deacon the
benefit of the doubt or she got better at hiding those doubts. The
kids just thought Deacon was the bomb. Since the food was great and
conversation flowed, the night was a success.

On the other hand, before we left for dinner,
I’d been outed as someone who wanted to try bondage and Deacon had
said straight up he was into it, intimated he was good at it, and
this meant sex was going to get even more interesting.

I couldn’t believe that was even
possible.

He’d also said he was going to tie me to the
bed that night.

I was excited and I was totally
terrified.

So by the time we walked up the steps to my
house together, holding hands (this time with Deacon taking my
hand), dinner with my friends was not on my mind.

Deacon making me immobile and seeing how hard
he could make me come was.

My thoughts consumed with this, I was taken
off guard when I let us in and Deacon closed the door, grabbed my
purse and keys, tossed them on the registration book, and backed me
right into the wall.

Then, in the dim light we left glowing in the
foyer, he dipped his face to mine.

“Vanilla.”

“Sorry?”

“Woman, you’re wound up so tight, it’s a
wonder you don’t snap and ricochet around the room.”

I stared at him.

“Do you vanilla,” he stated. “You’re ready to
play, you either say it or find a way to communicate it, then we
play. But I’ll say this now, when that happens, you might be the
one who’s takin’ what I got to give, but you’ll also be the one
leadin’ it. You get me?”

I got him.

And what he said made me a lot less
terrified.

Then again, that was Deacon’s way.

“Yes.”

“So tonight, vanilla. You sleep on what I
said. Find your time. Call it. Or don’t. I got what I get from you
naked, I’m happy either way.”

I was thinking he got better every day too
and was about to tell him that when he spoke again.

“You good with that?”

I nodded.

“Right,” he muttered. “Time to see if that
bra has matching panties. Then take them off.”

Before I could utter a noise (or, more aptly,
fully experience the quiver in my nether regions), he pulled away
but dipped low, hit me in the belly with his shoulder, hefted me
up, and carried me up the stairs.

An hour and a half and three orgasms later, I
had further proof “vanilla” with Deacon was magnificent.

I still was looking forward to “play.”

Life Was Sweet

The next day, late afternoon, after gutter
work at the cabins all day (thankfully, the previous owners took
better care of their cabins than their house, meaning the gutters
had been cleaned sometime in the last decade; regretfully, some of
them were in a sorry state and needed replacing), I was standing in
the cereal aisle of the grocery store with Deacon.

I had grabbed my oatmeal and was perusing the
other selections, bored with oatmeal and wanting to give some
excitement to my mornings, not to mention giving Deacon time to
pick whatever he wanted, when I asked, “Why is cereal so freaking
expensive?”

I received no answer.

Then again, this had no answer since Deacon
probably didn’t know.

I still looked his way, or what I thought was
his way, except when I looked that way he was not there.

I turned my head the other way to see if he’d
gone back down the aisle.

No go. He wasn’t in the aisle with me.

Damn the man!

Teeth clenched, I put my hands to the cart,
pushed, rounded the aisle, and found him four feet into the next
one.

I shoved the cart in, stopped, planted my
hands on my hips, and as his head turned my way, I declared, “Fruit
stand.”

He smiled, big and white, the grooves around
his mouth deep, the crinkles at his eyes fanning out.

“Do not give me that hot guy smile I’m
thrilled beyond belief I’m able to give you, Deacon Deacon,” I
snapped. “We had a badass/ornery chick understanding.”

“I was an aisle away, woman,” he pointed
out.

“Fruit stand,” I returned.

“You want me to make the only meal I know how
to make that’s any good?” he asked.

“A break from cooking would be welcome,” I
said by way of answer.

“Then I need to be in this aisle to get the
shit.”

“Is your recipe a secret that you’ll have to
kill me if I discover the ingredients therefore I cannot be with
you when you get them?”

He didn’t reply, but he did smile again.

I kept going.

“Don’t take this as me being a clingy, pyscho
girlfriend. I’m not a clingy, psycho girlfriend. I’m a talker. I
talk.
A lot
. And it makes me feel stupid when I say
something and find out I’m saying it to no one.”