Considering the way I was when they showed in August, this news didn’t bring joy to my mother.
I then shared everything about Deacon.
Well, not the parts about him killing people, but (most of) the rest. About Jeannie. About him going off the grid. About him being called Ghost and why. And about his struggle when I went about doing something I didn’t really know I was doing: reviving him.
Not surprisingly, she caved.
Mom had a good heart.
Dad did not cave.
He had a good heart but a big part of that heart belonged to me.
He’d need some convincing.
Even so, they’d agreed to come. Titus was going to look after the ranch while they were gone.
And since they were going to be there any minute, I was freaking.
“I’m sorry to remind you of this, honey, but I wasn’t really in a good state when they showed after you left me,” I told him.
Deacon sighed, pushed away from the jamb, and came to me.
Even though Bossy tried to get his attention, nosing his thigh and wagging her tail frantically, Deacon only had eyes for me.
He lifted both hands and cupped my jaw, dipping his face to mine.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Of course,” I answered.
“Does he love you?” he went on.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Then, Cassie, he may not love me. He may not forgive me. He might not find it in his heart to understand. But if you love me, he’ll find a way to put up with me.”
Suddenly, I relaxed.
Because he was wrong.
Not about the part about Dad finding a way to put up with him.
About the part where Dad might not find it in his heart to understand.
He would.
He just needed to see to believe.
I nodded.
Deacon dipped his head further to kiss me.
Bossy raced from us to the door.
They were there.
I started freaking again.
Deacon felt it, lifted his head, looked in my eyes, and ordered, “Jesus. Cool it.”
“Bossy,” I snapped.
He grinned.
And again I quit freaking.
He let me go but grabbed my hand and took me to the door.
He dropped my hand but draped an arm around my shoulders as we waited on the porch at the top of the steps while Mom and Dad made their way to us (“we” meant Deacon and me, Bossy ran out to greet them).
Bossy got love first then they climbed the steps and I got some.
Introductions were awkward. Even though Mom invited Deacon to call her Beth on a warm smile, Dad invited Deacon to call him Obadiah on an assessing look.
We got them in. Mom and I set about filling cups of coffee. Deacon went back out and helped Dad get the bags.
And I got wired again because Dad allowed this but he didn’t hide he was doing it to be polite.
“It’ll be okay, Cassidy,” Mom murmured to me in the kitchen while they (followed by Bossy) took the bags upstairs.
I said nothing.
Mom knew I was wired, reached out, and gave my hand a squeeze before letting it go.
That was reassuring, as Mom could be, but not reassuring enough.
The men came back, we sat around shooting the breeze at the kitchen table, then Deacon sent my freak out into overdrive when he turned to Dad and said, “Obadiah, been cooped up in a car awhile. You wanna take a walk?”
Oh God.
My eyes flew to Mom’s.
She nodded encouragingly.
“It’s cold,” Dad replied and my heart sunk. “But you know, I think I would.”
My gaze went to my father and my heart swelled.
Their chairs scraped as they got up and left the room, Bossy going with them.
I didn’t move a muscle.
Neither did Mom.
I heard the door close.
“You were right, he’s extremely handsome,” she noted.
I looked to Mom and said nothing.
“Rugged.”
She was not wrong.
“Manly,” she went on.
I swallowed.
“Tall,” she kept at me.
I fought wringing my hands.
“Built.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.
“And, Cassie,” she said, her voice going soft. “It is not lost on your father that he’s being respectful to us, this is not easy on him because we know what he put you through, and he looks at you like you’re the only reason on this earth he’s still breathing.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“It’ll all be okay,” she whispered.
I swallowed again and nodded.
“Love you, angelface.”
The tears threatened to spill over so my voice was husky when I replied, “Love you too, Mom.”
“And so happy you found yourself a man who loves you like that.”
I deep breathed.
She calmly took a sip of coffee even though her eyes were bright too.
When she was done, she stated, “I hope you have a big spread planned for tonight. I’m starving.”
“We can start dinner now,” I offered gamely. “We’ll eat it early.”
“Let’s do that,” she agreed.
We did that.
The men came back.
I glanced at my father’s impassive face but my eyes became glued to Deacon as he followed Dad into the kitchen.
He came direct to me, his expression giving away nothing.
But when he made it to me, he curled a hand tight at my hip, bent close, touched his mouth to mine, lifted away, and said quietly, “All good, baby.”
I let out my breath.
“You get back, we’ll stay a few days, you don’t mind,” Dad said to the room and Deacon and I turned to him to see him sitting at the table, one hand back to his coffee cup, the other in Bossy’s ruff, her jaw on his thigh. “Take our Cassie to the slopes. You up for that?” Dad asked Deacon.
“Absolutely,” Deacon replied.
I nearly choked on my giggle at the very thought of badass Deacon on a snowboard.
But mostly it was a giggle of relief.
Deacon moved toward Dad at the table.
I looked to Mom and she got close to me.
“What’d I say?” she asked under her breath.
I looked to what I was doing at the counter.
But I did it muttering, “Whatever.”
She chuckled quietly.
As for me, I smiled at the counter.
Huge.
Somehow Deacon had made it all right.
I shouldn’t have worried.
I should have believed.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not ever.
Because my man could do anything.
* * * * *
It was snowing, late afternoon, skies gray, when Deacon pulled up to the curb outside the tidy, little house on a sweet street in Iowa.
He didn’t even stop before the door opened and a woman’s body filled it.
This wasn’t surprising. In the hotel that we’d checked into forty-five minutes ago, he’d made the call to tell them we were in town and he wanted to see them.
He suggested dinner at a restaurant that evening.
His mother had told him to come immediately.
We’d come immediately.
As I heard Deacon’s door open, I watched the woman walk out onto the porch, a man followed her, more people were inside.
His sister, maybe.
I pushed my door open and Deacon was there when I jumped out.
He closed the door for me, grabbed my hand, and guided me to the walk.
I took in deep breaths as I saw them, his parents, his sister, a man hanging back in the house, a little boy at his side, leaning against his dad’s leg, a toddler in the curve of the man’s arm.
Deacon’s nephew and niece, both he’d neve
r met.
Deacon let my hand go halfway up the steps that were nearly covered with empty pots awaiting spring flowers, making the ascent awkward for two people.
He didn’t let me go because of that.
He let me go because his mother was losing it. It was plain to see.
And when he hit the porch, she lost it.
I stopped moving one step down.
She rushed him, rolling up on her toes, her hands clasping his cheeks, and stood still, silent tears streaming down her face.
The same happened to me.
“My boy,” she forced out in a voice cracked and scratchy.
“Yeah, Mom,” Deacon replied gently, lifting one of his hands to cup her cheek.
“My boy,” she repeated, lost the silent, and sobbed.
Deacon folded her in his arms, bending his head deep to put his lips to her hair, and he whispered to her words I couldn’t hear.
She clutched him harder.
I concentrated all my efforts on not making a fool of myself and losing it too by letting loose ugly, sloppy tears.
“Got someone I want you to meet,” Deacon said, his voice now louder. “So you gotta let me go so I can introduce you to the woman who brought me back, Mom.”
She nodded, took her time letting him go, and turned to me, wiping her face.
“Mom, meet my Cassie,” Deacon introduced.
I forced a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Gates.”
“I…you…” She sucked in an audible breath and invited, “Call me Rosalie.”
I kept smiling. “I’d be delighted.”
Her face started crumbling so I rushed up the steps and took her in my arms.
She clasped on tight.
I looked around her and saw Deacon shaking hands with his dad, his dad’s eyes glued to his son’s, his other hand lifted and thumping Deacon on his arm. Then his expression shifted, melting, and I watched Deacon tighten their hold so he jerked his father to him until they were hands clasped between them, arms around each other.
“Home, Dad.” I heard Deacon mutter.
Another quiet sob burst from the woman in my arms.
“Yeah, boy. Good. Good you’re home,” his father replied, voice thick, now pounding him on the back.
“Sweetheart, let’s take this inside,” the man in the door suggested and Deacon’s sister moved.
She got us inside and the door barely closed before she fell into her brother’s arms, bursting into the tears she held through the earlier reunions. So that was when Deacon bent his head and talked into her hair too.
I met his dad, Lou, his brother-in-law, Chet, his four-year-old nephew, Chandler, two-year-old niece, Pearl, and when she let Deacon go, I met his sister, Rebecca.
We had coffee in the kitchen.
Through this, Deacon disappeared into the living room, first with his parents. Then with his sister and brother-in-law.
They seemed calmer after that was over, settling into relieved, and reaching toward happy.
I wasn’t surprised at this. Deacon could do anything.
It wasn’t until much later, after dinner that started stilted then, mostly because I was part-lunatic, ended up with people laughing, it happened.
I was at the sink in the kitchen with Rosalie doing dinner dishes, Rebecca moving around the room, putting away the plates I was drying.
“I don’t know what you did, but I’m glad you did it,” she told her hands in the water in a voice so quiet, I barely caught it.
But I caught it.
“I just loved him,” I replied, not as quietly since I wanted her to hear me.
She looked to me and I knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“I loved him too.”
“Mom,” Rebecca got close and joined in our quiet-speak. “You know what she means.”
Rosalie shook her head. “I mean no offense, Cassie—”
“None taken,” I cut her off. “But you need to know, the difference is, he took himself from you so your love couldn’t get in. He needed to be where he was for reasons I know you understand, no matter how painful they may be. But for whatever reason, he kept coming back to me. He did it but he didn’t let me in. Not for years. I did the best I could do with what he gave me, and when he opened the door, I went for it. He took away your shot to help him because that was what he needed. We just all lucked out that I was there when he was ready.”
“We did,” she replied. “We all lucked out.”
I nodded.
“She was weak,” she whispered.
She meant Jeannie.
“I’m not,” I replied firmly. “I’m a tough broad.”
She blinked. Then her face cracked. Then she burst out laughing.
Rebecca moved in to bump me with her shoulder. When I looked at her, she winked.
That felt good.
Deacon had an awesome family.
Again, I wasn’t surprised.
Rebecca took the plate I was drying, and with Deacon’s mom and sister, we finished the dishes.
* * * * *
Late that spring, I stood at the end of the side porch, looking into the new clearing, watching what was happening there, close to the river.
Deacon, Manuel, and Deacon’s (very handsome) friend Raid were working on the gazebo.
He’d chosen the octagon.
It was going to be beautiful.
Esteban and Gerardo were helping. Gerardo even had a little man’s tool belt on his hips. Of course, it was filled with plastic tools, but it worked for him. Silvia was hanging around, handing men nails, helping with boards, mostly to be near Deacon. Though, I was beginning to wonder if it was mostly to be near Raid.
She needed a boyfriend.
But only in a few years.
Like, ten of them.
Down the way, I could hear, but wasn’t looking at Raid’s woman Hanna playing what sounded like ring around the rosy with Margarita and Araceli, Bossy dancing around them, barking happily.
And behind me, I heard Milagros come up.
I didn’t look at her, even as she got so close our shoulders brushed.
Needless to say, Deacon fixed things with the Cabreras.
It took him a while with Milagros.
But he did it.
He was also taking downtime, hanging with me, helping with the cabins. Since there wasn’t a great deal to do, this meant we went to the slopes a lot when there was snow. And Deacon took to snowboarding like Deacon, effortlessly, explaining this by saying, “My feet were nearly surgically attached to a skateboard when I was a kid, woman.”
Whatever. So he could do anything. And snowboarding with Deacon worked for me.
Anything with Deacon worked for me.
The rest of the time, we dinked around a lot.
Now that the ground was not frozen, he was back to work.
He’d go back to work when I had my gazebo and laundry building. In helping me with the cabins, it became clear that there wasn’t enough for him to do and he’d told me he needed to be busy. So he was going to find a job.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do yet, just that he was going to go back on the grid, officially.
I worried about this. Uncle Sam, I figured, might have a problem with someone dropping out for ten years plus, then showing back up again.
“It becomes a problem, Cassidy, we deal,” Deacon said when I shared these fears with him. “But, woman, shit happens in life and people drop out all the time. I was a homeless man, lost and wandering. You don’t make a homeless man pay taxes.”
This was true, even though Deacon was a homeless millionaire.
But he was right. If it became a problem, we’d deal. Deacon was good with dealing, after he survived the ultimate and came out the other side. It took him some time, but he did it.
So there was no use worrying about it now.
And bottom line, he was back. Not in the shadows. He was living, free and clean.
With me.
“I like his friends,” Milag
ros noted, taking my mind from my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “They’re likeable.”
And they were. Extremely. More so because Raid looked at Hanna a lot like Deacon looked at me.
Like she was his reason for breathing.
That said it all about Raid Miller.
As for Hanna, she was just lovely. And sweet.
“Friends say a lot about a man.”
Milagros wasn’t wrong about that, and Hanna and Raid said everything.
“Manuel no longer worries.”
I closed my eyes as that swept through me.
I opened them again, saying, “I’m glad.”
“I am too, Cassidy.” Her voice was heavy with meaning. “Very glad.”
I drew in a breath, let it go, turned to my friend, and smiled.
She smiled back at me.
Then she said, “Let’s get those workers a drink.”
“You’re on,” I replied.
Her eyes twinkled.
Then we walked into the kitchen to get the workers a drink.
* * * * *
I was barely containing my excitement when the knock came at the door.
“Get that, will you, honey?” I asked the sandwiches I was making at the counter.
“I do, you gonna stop bein’ so fuckin’ jumpy?” Deacon asked back, and I knew he was moving from the fridge to the door.
Deacon asking this wasn’t because he could read me. This was me being obvious.
“Let’s just say, no surprise parties for you,” I stated.
“What’d you do?”
His tone made me look to him standing in the kitchen door.
Standing. Not walking to open the front door.
“Deacon, you need to—”
“What’d you do?” he repeated.
To get him to get a move on, I answered, “Happy birthday.”
“Woman, it’s April.”
“So?” I asked but didn’t wait for his answer. “You said you didn’t want presents on your birthday. Therefore, you’re getting one not on your birthday.”
He shook his head, staring at me, lips twitching.
I was about to come out of my skin.
“Deacon!” I snapped then bossed, “Go get the door.”
He kept shaking his head, turned, and sauntered through the foyer.
I wanted to go to the kitchen door and watch. I really did.
I didn’t. I knew if I did I might explode with the happy excitement gushing inside me.
I heard the words, “Special delivery for Deacon Gates,” and Deacon replying, “That’s me.” Then, “Sign here,” and I had to shift from foot to foot to stop from running into the foyer.
Deacon (Unfinished Heroes #4) Page 32