by Lili Valente
He sighs, his fingers curling into a fist. “Fine. But tell her I expect to see her daily quiz scores up this week. I’m checking her grades online. She’s not going to graduate top of her engineering class at Cal Poly if she goes in with a soft foundation in Calculus.”
I give him a thumbs-up—even though I’m not the least bit worried about my brilliant daughter’s math foundation—and sink back behind the wheel. “Talk to you later.”
Hopefully much later, I think as I pull out of the parking space. I have enough drama in my life right now. I don’t need Grant plopping his mess on top of the pile. That’s the only good thing about suddenly becoming a single parent so late in life, I’m no longer responsible for helping my disaster-prone husband out of the messes he somehow always managed to find his way into.
Now, it’s my problems and the girls’ problems—that’s it.
Well, and Virginia’s problems. At least, this morning.
I swing into the shelter’s parking lot twenty minutes later to find Ginny waiting for me at the end of the walk leading up to the shelter, pacing back and forth, rattling the wooden bracelets on her wrist like a witchdoctor warding away evil. The moment she sees me, she hustles across the pavement, urgently motioning for me to hurry.
“They’re finalizing the plans,” she says, nervous energy vibrating off of her in waves. “You have to go. Now. Run. I’ll catch up.”
She grabs my purse and lunchbox from me, tucking them both under one arm as she puts a hand between my shoulder blades and shoves—none too gently. And even though I seriously doubt this situation is urgent enough to require a sprint up to the office building, I take off, jogging through the cool morning. I’d rather run and feel silly than walk and upset Virginia any more than she is already.
I’m mentally composing what I’m going to say to my boss—how to explain to Tristan that endangered salamander lives are in his hands—when the front door opens and the man himself steps out into the sunshine, with six feet two inches of trouble right behind him.
It’s Deacon. Again.
Looking even sexier in the flesh than he did in all my dirty dreams last night.
CHAPTER 9
DEACON
V iolet stumbles to a stop in front of me, her eyes going wide and her lips parting in a soft O that immediately makes me think of things I shouldn’t. Things like the dream that woke me up in a sweat this morning, featuring Miss Boden wearing nothing but a pair of tiny lace panties and a hungry look on her pretty face.
But I refuse to get a hard-on in front of my kid brother.
Or Violet.
I’m done with this woman. I don’t care how hot the chemistry is between us. I’ve got a high tolerance for pain, but I’m not a glutton for punishment.
“Hey, Violet, what’s up?” Tristan asks, glancing past her to the twitchy woman pacing beneath a nearby tree. She’s been shadowing our footsteps all morning, delivering so many cups of coffee I’m a little worried about my blood pressure. “Everything okay?”
“Ginny called me a little while ago.” Violet nods toward her coworker. “She said something about plans to remove the brush behind the clinic? It had her worried.”
Tristan frowns as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Why? There’s nothing to worry about. It’s a good thing. Deacon’s going to remove the brush and build dry creek beds there, instead. Come fire season, the lack of tinder will help protect the building and animals in case a wildfire gets too close.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to get sprinklers installed on the roof, too.”
“That’s wonderful.” Violet’s brow wrinkles. “But we discovered a colony of California tiger salamanders living behind the paddocks last year. They’re endangered in Sonoma County and pretty rare in California in general. Taking out the brush and digging trenches would destroy their habitat, wipe out the entire population.”
Tristan sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Crap. Why didn’t she say anything? I had no idea.”
“She didn’t think you would listen,” Violet whispers, her gaze darting my way as she adds, “and I think she was a little intimidated by Deacon.”
“No need to be,” I say, shooting a smile Virginia’s way, which is met with obvious suspicion. I turn back to Tristan. “Sounds like we need to put a pin in this for a while. See if there are any laws on the books protecting the habitat. You don’t want to get hit with a fine. Some of them are pretty severe.”
“You don’t want to kill innocent, endangered salamanders, either,” Violet pipes up, glaring up at me with narrow-eyed disapproval that’s becoming all too familiar.
“Agreed,” I say with a nod. “This plan was about protecting animals and property, not putting a native population in danger. We’ll have to come up with a Plan B.”
The surprise that sweeps across Violet’s face, softening every tight muscle, would be funny if it weren’t further confirmation that she thinks the worst of me.
“Got it,” Tristan says. “Let me put in a quick call to my guy at fish and wildlife. Do you have a second to hang out, Deacon? See if I can get any info from Don?”
“I’ve got lots of seconds.” I reach for the door, holding it open for Tristan and Violet, who, after a beat of hesitation, drifts closer, pausing to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “What’s up?” I ask, voice huskier than it was before. Standing this close to her still affects me, no matter how much I wish it didn’t.
“I’m just…” She pauses, pulling in a deeper breath. “Thank you. For listening and being so understanding. This is really important to Ginny. And to me.”
“Me, too,” I say. “Contrary to what some people might think, I’m not a brainless cretin who enjoys killing animals for sport. I’ve actually got a soft spot for just about all living things.” I shrug. “Except hornets.”
Violet nods seriously. “Well, yeah. Hornets are awful. I mean, lots of other insects have stingers, but they’re not aggressive jerks who go around attacking people all the time. Hornets need to relax.”
“They do.” I attempt to keep my tone neutral, but apparently, I do a shit job of it.
Or maybe Violet’s just a mind reader.
“Point taken,” she says, with a sigh. “I apologize for making unkind assumptions. For what it’s worth, I’m not usually this prickly. I think we just got off on the wrong foot, rubbed each other the wrong way or something.”
I arch a meaningful brow, and Violet’s cheeks go pink.
“Well, right.” She flicks a lock of hair from her forehead as her gaze shifts sharply to the left. “Obviously not all the time. Sometimes we rub each other okay.”
I know I shouldn’t say a word—I’m done with this woman, remember?—but I can’t help asking, “Just okay?”
Her flush deepens, spreading pink to the tip of her nose as she mutters, “Point taken again. I should probably get inside, see if Tristan needs any help.”
“After you.” I nod toward the door I’m still holding, and Violet scurries past, crossing the empty waiting room and disappearing through the door leading to the office area and the animal quarters beyond.
I cross to a couch by the wall and take a seat, grabbing a copy of Sonoma County Weekly and staring at it in a vain attempt to stop thinking about all the ways I would like to keep rubbing Violet the right way. But it’s no use. The words smear and swirl, my brain too busy replaying every kiss Violet and I have shared the past few days to leave any bandwidth for reading.
I’m still on the first page of an article about goat cheese ice cream when Virginia slips through the door, gliding across the blue and white tiles to disappear into the office as well.
Not two seconds later, I hear her whisper, “What’s happening? Do we need to call the cops? Stage a sit-in? Get Greenpeace involved?”
“No, they’re going to make another plan,” Violet says, her voice carrying unexpectedly well, too. It’s quiet in here, but I wouldn’t have thought I’d be able to hear them from this far away. I con
sider moving to a chair closer to the door or heading outside to wait for Tristan, but instead, I stay put, too curious about what Violet’s going to say about me behind my back to resist the urge to eavesdrop.
“Both Tristan and Deacon want to make sure the population is protected,” she continues. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Really?” Virginia huffs in disbelief. “Well…who would have thought? I figured a firefighter would only care about stopping the fire, forget the animals who might be hurt in the process. Especially salamanders. People don’t usually care about amphibians the way they care about cute fluffy things with fur.”
“Well, sometimes people surprise you,” Violet says, a wistfulness in her voice that makes me wonder if maybe…
Just maybe…
Ginny harrumphs. “Yeah, too bad it’s usually in the bad way. You still talking to that dating-app guy who stood you up?”
“No. I deleted our chat history and put my profile on a break. I’m considering deleting the app altogether. Yes, it’s hard to meet people in real life, but I seriously doubt I’m going to find what I’m looking for online.”
“Absolutely not,” Ginny agrees without missing a beat. “If that guy looked as good as his pictures, he would have shown up for the in-person meeting. He’s probably a troll who’s been living under a bridge for twenty years and has forgotten how to shower or clip his toenails.”
“Gross.” Violet laughs. “But I’m not really worried about that. I mean, yes, I’d like someone who’s pleasant to look at, but I’d also like someone who’s kind and thoughtful. Someone who makes me laugh and think and who’s fun to spend time with, you know? The whole package. And I’d like to be his whole package, too.”
Virginia grumbles something I can’t make out beneath her breath, and Violet laughs again. “You’re probably right, but I don’t want to compromise. I’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t check my boxes. Especially kindness. That’s non-negotiable.”
“And showering,” Ginny adds.
Violet hums thoughtfully. “Yes, and showering. Which reminds me, I think there’s a leak under the dog wash station. I keep finding mysterious puddles every time I…”
Her voice fades away as she and Ginny apparently move away from the front desk, making further eavesdropping impossible. But I’ve already heard the good stuff, the stuff that has me on my feet, still pacing the waiting room when Tristan emerges from his office ten minutes later.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. “Don put me on hold to see if he could get his hands on guidelines for moving forward, but there are only a few colonies of these salamanders left in California. They’re so rare that none of his people are sure what to do next. He’s going to put out some feelers and get back to me with options for dealing with the brush while still maintaining habitat. But we’re on hold for now.”
“No worries,” I say, too distracted by nagging questions to focus on fire prevention. “Would you say I’m kind? In general?”
Tristan smiles, cocking his head as he says, “Of course. I mean, you’re grouchy sometimes, but never in a mean way. Why?”
“And fun to spend time with?” I ask, ignoring his question. “I know I’m not a laugh riot, but I can show someone a good time when I put my mind to it.”
“Sure,” Tristan says, studying me with increasing suspicion. “Is there a reason you’re fishing for compliments this morning? Or you just need a self-esteem boost after spending so much time with Dad the past few weeks?”
I shrug. “Nope. No reason.”
His eyes narrow. “Liar.”
“I’m not a liar. I’m keeping confidential intel confidential.”
“Good luck with that. You’re not in the service anymore, big brother,” Tristan says, backing toward the office. “People talk around here, and gossip spreads faster than wildfire.”
I humph in response, but I know he’s right. The second I make a serious play for Violet, everyone we know will know about it. There are no secrets in this town or this family. If I’m going to give this a shot, might as well be upfront about it from the beginning.
“What would you think about me asking one of your employees on a date?” I ask softly, just in case Violet or Virginia have wandered back into earshot.
“I’d say that Ginny’s a little old for you, but that love can work miracles,” Tristan says, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You know that’s not who I’m talking about.”
“I know.” His grin stretches wider. “Violet’s number is on one of the fliers on the corkboard. She teaches pottery classes in her spare time. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind getting a text from the most eligible bachelor in Sonoma County.”
I roll my eyes. Hard.
“It’s true, big bro,” Tristan insists, aiming a finger in my direction and pulling the trigger. “Now that I’m off the market, anyway. Touch base with you when I hear from Don. Let me know if you need help flirting via text.” He pauses, frowning as he adds, “Or calling. Were phones even invented the last time you were dating?”
I flip him the bird, he laughs, and I head for the door.
I don’t intend to stop by the corkboard—if Violet wanted me to have her number, I’d have it already—but my hand reaches out of its own free will, ripping one of the remaining rectangles from the bottom of the page. My hand doesn’t care about looking overeager or getting shot down a fourth time by the same woman. My hand just wants to touch her again.
I tug my cell out of my back pocket on the way to my truck, figuring there’s no point in waiting. Now is as good a time to be shot down as any. Punching in Violet’s digits, I shoot off a quick message—You’re right. We got off on the wrong foot. But maybe it’s not too late to get on the right one. Can I take you to lunch today?
I don’t expect an answer anytime soon—she’s at work, and I’m sure she’ll need some time to decide how best to let me down easy. But before I can slide my phone back into my pocket, it makes a swooping sound.
I look down to see—Lunch sounds nice. Want to meet somewhere in town around twelve thirty?
A grin tugging at my lips, I text back—I’ll pick you up. That way we’ll only have to worry about parking one car. Looking forward to it.
She responds with a thumbs-up, a smiley face emoji, and a Me, too.
Win. Big win. Not really. Actually, kind of a small win.
Still, it feels pretty damned good.
CHAPTER 10
VIOLET
This isn’t a date. It isn’t even close to a date.
It’s just lunch, the midday repast and least interesting of all meals.
Dinner begs to be lingered over. Breakfast is the start of a bright and beautiful new day. Lunch is something you throw in your mouth to keep your blood sugar stable while you’re busy getting shit done.
And I have tons of shit to get done, a fact I’m reminded of as Deacon pulls into a spot on the street near the weekly farmer’s market, currently in full swing in the adjacent parking lot.
“I should pick up lettuce and carrots before we head back.” I jump out of the truck, even though I’m pretty sure Deacon is an “open a lady’s door” kind of guy. But having my door opened would confirm that this was more than a friendly lunch, and I’m not ready for that.
I’m still not sure why I said “yes” to meeting up in the first place. Temporary insanity? A momentary lapse in judgment? Or am I just that much of a soft touch when it comes to people showing kindness to my friends and salamanders?
Soft touch. No doubt about it.
But that doesn’t mean I should drop my guard completely. Deacon has given me plenty of reasons to keep my defenses in place. At least for now.
“And radishes if they have any,” I continue. “Maybe some asparagus. We’re out of bunny treats at the shelter.”
“Not a problem,” Deacon says, circling around the front of the truck.
He stops just a hair too close, and I cross my arms over my c
hest, putting an extra barrier between my nipples and his raw animal magnetism.
Oh God, why am I here? Why did I agree to have lunch with this man who turns me into a feral sex monster every time he gets near enough for his delicious scent to invade my space bubble? What if I start humping his leg under the table at the sandwich shop or something equally embarrassing? It sounds ridiculous, but I’m not my usual relatively level-headed self when I’m around Deacon Hunter.
“I mean, if you’re not in a rush,” I add as he shifts even closer, making my pulse race as he pushes the truck door closed behind me, summoning a nervous laugh from my lips. “Sorry. I thought I’d closed it.”
“No worries.” He smiles down at me, making it even harder to breathe. “I’m not in a rush. Now that we have salamanders to consider, I’ve got the entire day free.”
My tongue slips out to dampen my lips. “Salamanders to Consider. That would be a great band name.”
He smiles, and I see stars, fireworks exploding in the blue sky behind his even deeper blue eyes. Damn, he’s pretty when he smiles.
“It would,” he agrees. “But what kind of music would STC play?”
“Country maybe? Bluegrass?”
“Bluegrass with an old-school indie rock edge. Ben Folds Five meets Allison Kraus and Union Station.”
I nod slowly, a grin curving my lips. “That would actually be pretty amazing. The more I think about it, the more I like it. So you’re pretty into music?”
“I am. I play with a band when I’m in town. Mostly classic rock, but we add some country into the mix every once in a while.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, delighted and ashamed of myself at the same time. I’ve definitely jumped to some unfair conclusions where Deacon is concerned. “I’d like to come and hear you play sometime. Classic rock is my favorite dancing music.”