Deacon Johns

by Ciana Stone

  Mica’s composure, posture, and speech were that of a woman who was self-confident and articulate. Etta wondered what Mica had done before she moved here with Mathias. She didn’t seem to fit the role of a simple metalworker. She was too…polished.

  On impulse, she placed a call to Admiral Angel’s office.

  “Is he in?”

  A few seconds later, the Admiral answered. “What can I do for you, Etta?”

  “What makes you think I’m calling to ask for something?”

  “Why else would you call?”

  She realized that he was right. The only reason she ever called him was when she needed him for something. “Maybe to say hi?”

  “Hello then.”

  “How are you, Frank?”

  “I’m well.”

  “Are you?”

  “I am. Finally, I am. And you?”

  “You know I’m getting married. To Jasper Jacks.”

  “I do.”

  “Will you come?”

  “Do you want me there?”

  “I do. It would mean a lot to me.”

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Mathias Gray Horse.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in Cotton Creek.”

  “And?”

  “And I think he needs help, Frank. I saw him. Can I get his files? Something happened to make him walk away and I need to know what it is, so I can help him.”

  “You can’t help all of them, Etta.”

  “I can try.”

  “Fine. I’ll have the files to you by morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think maybe it’s time I thanked you.”

  “Why?”

  “For caring.”

  “We all care about them, Frank. It’s why we continue to do what we do.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”

  “Same here, Etta.”

  The line went dead and Etta smiled as she drove. It had taken a long time for her and Frank Angel to get over the death of his son and learn to deal with their feelings for one another. Frank was accustomed to seeing her as his daughter-in-law. With his son dead, neither of them was quite comfortable with continuing that type of relationship, but they respected and cared for one another, so they’d had to figure out what kind of relationship they could manage. At long last, they were making progress.

  She thought about the conversation, and that led her to thinking about Deacon. If anyone could determine whether Mathias was walking the razor’s edge, it was Deacon. As soon as she got back to Sanctuary, she’d find him and ask him to pay Mathias a visit.

  Because whether he’d asked for help or not, Mathias was still part of the family and SEALs always took care of their own.

  Chapter Three

  Mica locked the front door of the shop and went into the back. They hadn’t had a customer all day and she didn’t expect they would. A blacksmith shop wasn’t a place people frequented often, and it wasn’t like days long ago when people took their horses to a farrier. Now the farrier traveled to the horse.

  That’s exactly what Mathias was doing today. A horse trainer named Kyle Stadler called and asked if Mathias could come take care of a thoroughbred racehorse who’d thrown a shoe.

  If they were going to make this venture a success, it would be a boon to their business to build up a clientele in that area, and Mathias was a skilled farrier. When the call came, Mica agreed immediately and told Kyle that Mathias would be there within an hour.

  Mathias wasn’t thrilled that she’d made the decision for him, but he packed up his things and headed for the Stadler ranch. Now alone, Mica unwrapped the set of throwing knives she’d made as a gift for one of Matty’s friends who was still in the service. She wanted to make sure each was perfectly balanced before she shipped them.

  It was a nice day, so she opened both the heavy metal rollup doors, letting the sun and breeze in. Mica placed the knives on top of a wooden barrel that stood upright and picked up the first blade, feeling its balance.

  It felt right and balanced perfectly when she placed it on one finger. But the real test was in its flight. She looked at the heavy board mounted on the opposite wall with the hand-painted target. The knife came out of her hand smoothly and flew straight and true.

  “Nice throw.” A sexy male voice behind her had her turning in surprise.

  The sight that met her eyes was, in her opinion, every bit as sexy as that low deep voice. The man was well over six feet with icy blue eyes and a face composed of hard planes and angles. The short Vandyke beard lent a hint of roguish sensuality to an otherwise hard visage.

  He was not a young man, but she’d challenge any man in his thirties to look that good. Solid and obviously strong, he wore jeans in a way that made a woman’s eyes wander all the way down to his boots and back up.

  And those icy blue eyes were looking straight at her with something in them that said I’ll take you there.

  Yes, he was potent, and Mica could not recall ever meeting a man a man who tripped that yes please switch. This one did.

  “Thank you.” She shoved erotic imaginings from her mind. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’m looking for Mathias Gray Horse.”

  “I’m sorry. He’s out on a call right now. But, please, come in.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He walked in and looked around with curiosity. His gaze fell on the throwing knives and he walked over to the barrel.

  “This is fine work. Did Mathias create these?”

  “No. I did.”

  “You?” He looked at her.

  “Is that a surprise?”

  “Yes. I’ve never known a woman who did metalwork.”

  “Now you do. Oh, I apologize. I’m Matty’s sister, Mica Gray Horse.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Gray Horse. Deacon Johns.” Deacon extended his hand.

  “Commander Johns?” Mathias thought of Commander Johns as someone near superhuman.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s an honor.” She put her hand in his and almost gasped. She hoped he couldn’t tell that something hot and electrifying had just charged her entire body.

  “So, you and Mathias bought the shop?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mind if I ask why you left Wyoming?”

  “It was time, sir.”

  “You don’t have to call me sir.”

  “I feel a bit like I do. Mathias has talked about you so much, it’s something like meeting the President or a superhero.”

  Deacon’s laugh sounded genuine and sexy as hell. “Neither, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Mica was horrified once the words were out of her mouth. She shouldn’t be flirting with Commander Johns. Careful, girl. You’re just a simple metalworker from the reservation. Don’t let your libido get you in trouble.

  And yet, he didn’t seem offended. “Did Etta ask you to pay Mathias a visit?” she asked quickly to cover her discomfort.

  “She did.”

  “That was kind of her.”

  There was a momentary silence that should have been uncomfortable, but was sexually charged thanks to their gazes connecting. “May I try?” He ended the moment as he indicated the knives.

  “Yes, of course. I was testing them to make sure the balance is right before I ship them to a friend of Matty’s.”

  Deacon’s aim was true and she was impressed. Not everyone had the knack of throwing a knife. He definitely did.

  “These are good blades. Do you have others? For sale, I mean.”

  “Yes, in the storefront. Would you like to see?”

  “I would.”

  “Wonderful. Just this way.” She led him into the front of the store and stood by the counter as he made his way around, looking at the various blades.

  “This is unusual.” He lifte
d one blade from its stand. “Is the handle horn?”

  “Yes, buffalo and before you ask, it wasn’t poached. I know a man who owns a buffalo ranch and when an animal dies, he sells the hide, bones and horns. This one is a hunting Karambit knife. Damascus steel with a bolster.”

  “Out of curiosity, why the bolster?”

  “Several reasons. First, it provided a defined transition from the blade to the handle, and it also added strength and provided a counterbalance.“

  “I’ve never seen a Karambit hunting knife, only the small pocket knives.”

  Mica was impressed with Deacon’s knowledge. “Well, technically I suppose I should say it’s Karambit inspired, since they’re typically more utility than hunting, but I’m attracted to the claw-like shape.”

  “It’s a beautiful blade. Do you also do the engravings on the blades?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re very talented. Is this one for sale?”

  “No.”

  He looked a bit disappointed and then surprised when she said, “But I’d be honored if you’d accept it as a gift.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Of course you can. You were an important part of my brother’s life and you were there for him during times that were difficult. For that alone, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. The small gift of a knife can certainly be accepted as a token of thanks, yes?”

  Deacon’s gaze connected with hers, and in that moment, Mica knew two things. The attraction was mutual, and Deacon was the man for her. The difference in their ages didn’t matter. She knew it as surely as she knew her name.

  The question that troubled her was, would he feel the same about her and if he did, could she pursue a relationship with him or would she end up leaving Cotton Creek and running again?

  “Thank you, Mica.”

  “You’re welcome, Commander.”

  “Deacon.”

  “Deacon. I’m so glad you stopped by. I know Matty will be sad he missed you. Perhaps you could come again?”

  “I will. Have a good evening, Mica, and thanks again for the knife.”

  “It’s my honor. Walk well, Deacon.”

  He smiled, and she escorted him to the door. She watched as he left, got into a white pickup truck, and backed up. He waved as he started forward and she returned the gesture, then leaned against the door and watched him drive away.

  “Deacon Johns.” She liked the way his name felt on her lips, the way it tasted on her tongue. The fact that he affected her so strongly was a surprise. No man had ever had this effect on her.

  She’d heard a lot about Deacon but never in a million years would she have imagined that she would be so attracted to him. Now she wondered what, if anything, he thought about her.

  Chapter Four

  The moment the meeting with Grady, Mason, and the engineer ended, Deacon excused himself and started the walk back to the ranch. Barring unforeseen problems and bad weather, the training center was on schedule to be completed in three months.

  He knew it didn’t show, but he was excited about getting the center up and running. The truth was, he missed military life. Hell, that wasn’t the whole truth. He missed the action. But Deacon was smart enough to know that the action was better left to younger men. He might be fit, but his days in the field were a thing of the past.

  A fact that sometimes annoyed the bloody hell out of him. At least with the new posting, he’d be back into a real training regimen because he didn’t ask of his men anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.

  He hoped he wasn’t about to bite off more than he could chew with that attitude and prayed he’d be able to keep up. Damn, if aging wasn’t a pain in his ass.

  Like the deep-seated irritation it gave him every time he thought about Mica Gray Horse. He didn’t know how old she was, but feared he was old enough to be her father, and a man shouldn’t be lusting after a woman young enough to be his child.

  He knew that, lived by it. So, why couldn’t he get her out of his head? It’d been days since they met, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Even now, he could picture her in his mind. That long flow of hair the color of midnight, braided into a shining plait, pulled back to bare a face that belonged in a dream.

  Elegant arched brows crowned eyes that could pierce the strongest man’s defenses, laying waste to his shields and obliterating all resistance. He’d seen that pale gray color change. When they shook hands and she looked up at him. The color had deepened like a storm gathering strength.

  The first time she spoke his name, he had a mental flash. Call it a daydream or maybe a fantasy. Whatever label he assigned wasn’t important. The content was what counted. That fleeting glimpse of her looking up at him, wanting clear on her face and in her voice as she spoke his name.

  He was honestly shocked at the power that memory held. Maybe he could have written it off as the imaginings of a middle-aged man if it hadn’t been for the one small detail. He knew she was interested. Age hadn’t robbed him of the ability to discern when a woman was attracted to him and his empathic ability told him quite clearly that she was interested. God knew it was one huge boon to his ego. Still, she was too young.

  Wouldn’t you know? There’d been plenty of ships in the storm, so to speak. Deacon had never been celibate, but he also was extremely discreet. Women came and went. He enjoyed every one he was with, but was honest enough to admit that the couplings were more of need than attraction.

  Attraction came in more than one form. There was minimal attraction, the kind that would last through the night, but no longer. Next came mild, which might endure a week. He’d had more than his share of those.

  Then there was the monumental, earth-shattering attraction. Twice in his life he’d had that moment. A shared look that left him with certainty that would withstand the ages. That assurance that this was what his heart sought and this was the woman he’d waited for.

  The first time, he’d been eighteen, headed off to the Citadel. Her name was Iris and he’d married her the day after he graduated. They’d shared ten years. Years he was gone more than he was home. He’d lost touch with her and never really gotten to know his daughter, Rose. Like a fool, he hadn’t even realized he was standing apart from the woman who’d captured his heart, and that when he was home he wasn’t really there.

  Deacon knew the fault was his when he found out she was seeing someone else. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry that she wanted out of the marriage. It hurt that his daughter wanted nothing to do with him, but even that was understandable.

  He hadn’t earned their love.

  Since the day his wife walked out with their daughter, he’d been alone. Except for Etta. She came along and saved him by needing him. Deacon knew she would be whatever he wanted, so he made her his family, the family he could finally care for, protect, and cherish.

  Then three days ago, he saw Mica and a chime sounded deep inside him and he knew. It had happened again. This was what his heart sought, and this was the woman he’d waited for.

  And damn it all, he couldn’t have her.

  Just his luck.

  Now the question was, how the hell did he make himself stop thinking about her? “Whoa.” Etta’s voice had him jerking to attention. She was walking toward him, and he had no doubt that she was aware he was in turmoil.

  “What’s eating at you?” Her face registered concern.

  “Normal things.” He kept walking and she fell in step beside him.

  “Wow.” Etta stopped, and two steps later, so did he.

  “What?” He looked over his shoulder at her.

  “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”

  Busted, his conscience crowed. Deacon resumed walking and she quickly caught up with him. “It must be something that you felt you had to lie.”

  “I didn’t lie. It is a normal thing.”

  “What kind of normal thing.”

  “The kind that I’m not inte
rested in discussing.”

  “Fine.” Etta turned and headed away from him. For a few moments, he just watched. Then he hurried after her.

  “Hold up.” He took hold of her arm and stopped her.

  “No, it’s fine.” She pulled free of his grasp. “You don’t want to talk about it and you certainly deserve your privacy, so I’ll leave you to it. I have things to do so I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening, Deac.”

  She’d just turned away when the words blurted out of his mouth. “I went to see Mathias.”

  He could tell from the expression on her face when she looked at him that his statement concerned her. “And?”

  “He wasn’t there.”

  Etta put one hand on her hip. “Okay, I’m just plain confused. If he wasn’t there, then why are you upset?”

  “Have you met his sister?”

  “Mica? Yes.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  With that, he was the one to turn away and resume the walk home. He didn’t slow his pace or look back; he just made the walk to the house, climbed the steps, crossed the porch, and opened the door.

  Deacon knew she was following. After toeing off his boots and hanging up his hat, he went into the kitchen, took two beers from the refrigerator, opened both, and placed them on the table. Etta sat and picked up one of the beers. One drink and she placed it back down.

  “What did you mean by that?”

  Deacon sat, took a long draught from his beer, and then leaned his chair back on two legs and regarded her. “She’s a talented metalworker.”

  “I know. Amazingly talented. So is Mathias. And?”

  “Hell.” Deacon let his chair bang down onto all four legs. “Fine. The truth is, she got to me.”

  “Got to you? As in, you’re attracted to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “So?” He couldn’t believe she was so indifferent. “She’s young enough to be my daughter.”

  “Bull. Mathias is thirty-seven and she called him her baby brother so she’s at least thirty-nine and that makes her no more than thirteen years younger than you. Which means you are not old enough to be her father.”