by Jaci Burton
"I understand that." Though Deacon had never truly left her mind. She'd thought about him a lot after the divorce, especially when she'd made the decision to return to Hope. She knew it wasn't going to be a happy reunion between them, and maybe she had expected him to hunt her down and yell at her.
That hadn't happened, of course, and she'd felt ridiculous for even thinking it would.
"I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for the callous way I treated you."
He shrugged. "Like I said, it's in the past, and I'm over it."
Somehow she didn't think those wounds were as healed as he wanted her to believe. Leaving him had hurt her. Thinking about how she'd done it still hurt her. She remembered the look on his face when she'd told him it was over, that she didn't love him anymore. The pain and confusion in his eyes was something she'd never forget. And walking away from him was the hardest thing she'd ever done.
That first year at college in Texas, all she'd thought about was Deacon. She'd developed a relationship with Tom, but a part of her was still threaded to Deacon. She was homesick and miserable and her heart ached for the boy she'd loved and hurt. How could she explain to him that she had broken up with him out of a sense of duty? That made her seem so weak.
Seem? Ha. She had been weak back then. A docile, obedient daughter who'd done what she was told. Who'd become a docile, obedient wife. At least for a time.
"I've changed."
He looked up from his plate. "Into what?"
"A different person than I was before."
"I liked who you were before just fine."
She shook her head. "Back then I let other people make decisions for me. I'm not making excuses for what I did to you, Deacon, or laying the blame on anyone but myself. But I didn't have the strength--or maybe it's the backbone--back then to stand up for what I wanted. It took a lot of years for me to find that inner strength, to learn to say no to being manipulated into doing things that aren't good for me or for my daughter."
He nodded. "Glad you were able to do that. It'll help Hazel become a strong woman someday."
She smiled. "Hazel was born with an inner strength. I don't think that'll ever change. She's very self-assured and knows exactly what she wants--and what she doesn't want. I don't think anyone will be able to deter her."
"I can see that about her. She got you to bring Otis home, didn't she?"
She looked over to where Otis was asleep on the living room floor, then smiled. "Yes, she did."
"I don't think you'll ever have to worry about Hazel."
She dragged in a deep breath, then let it out. "I think there will be a million times when I'll worry about Hazel. Like this week while she's with her dad."
"Nothing you can do about her relationship with him. You'll just have to let her work that out on her own."
"I know. It just makes me sad for her."
"All you can do is be there for her and let her know that you love her. She'll eventually grow up and realize her dad is a dick."
The thought of it filled her with an aching sadness. "Yes, she will."
He stood and grabbed his plate and his empty bottle of beer. "You can't fix everything, Loretta. Sometimes you just have to let things happen."
She got up and followed him into the kitchen, allowing his words to soak in. Was that what she'd been trying to do? Fix the past, and maybe the present, too?
If so, Deacon was right. She needed to stop it. It was counterproductive.
They did the dishes together in companionable silence. She was thinking about their dinner conversation. Maybe he was, too. She wondered if he was upset that she'd brought up the past. A lot of guys buried it and never wanted it dug up again.
She'd brought it up, but they hadn't really talked about it in depth. It had been more like circling around the topic without hitting it head-on. They'd ended up talking more about her marriage than their past. And maybe that had been Deacon's way of avoiding such a touchy topic between them.
One of the things she'd worked on as part of building her strength and self-esteem was not shying away from uncomfortable subjects. Maybe tonight wasn't the night to push Deacon any further on the past, but at some point, they'd have to talk it over further. Because he might say he'd put it aside, but she knew better.
The past wasn't dead and buried between them just yet.
"Another beer?" she asked after she put away the last pot.
"Sure."
She pulled a beer out of the fridge, then poured herself a refill of sangria.
"Let's sit out back," she said. "Otis can run off some energy that way."
They stepped outside. There wasn't much out here yet, but she had ideas for it. Right now it was just a slab of cement, a few chairs and a table. But the landscape back here just called for something better.
She settled in and watched as Otis grabbed on to one of the thick rope toys they'd bought for him. He shook his head back and forth, growling with ferocious fervor, occasionally bonking himself on the head with the rope as he let go of it.
She laughed.
"He's entertaining, isn't he?" Deacon said.
"Never a dull moment with that dog."
Deacon looked around. "This is a great backyard. Tall trees, lots of shade, and a good view of your land. You can see the chicken coop and the garden from here."
"Yes, it was one of the selling points for me. I'm going to put in border flowers around the perimeter as soon as I build . . . something here, besides this plain old cement slab."
"What you need is a deck," Deacon said.
"You think so? I was just thinking about expanding the concrete."
Deacon stood, beer in hand, and wandered the edge of her small patio. "Nah. You have such a nice view. You need a deck to increase your sight line. Great place to host barbecues, and you have the space for it." He walked it out, extending the space by about twenty feet. "You could take it this far and not have to dig up any of your foliage--and still have plenty of space for stairs leading down the side to the vegetable garden."
She thought about it, how a deck would look filled with patio furniture and a nice new grill instead of the secondhand charcoaler she'd picked up in the interim. She could put a couple of cushioned chaises on a deck, along with a table, a few more chairs, and some pretty throw pillows. She could really make it an entertaining space for herself and her friends.
"I like that idea. What would it take to make that happen?"
He arched a brow. "You want me to build a deck for you?"
"Of course, you're plenty busy enough. It would be your company, if you have the time and you don't feel this job is too small or not worth your time."
"It's not too small."
"Then you could do up a design and a bid for it, right?"
"Reid could draw up a design. I'd want to bring him out here to look over the space. Then we'd give you a bid."
She nodded. "Okay, why don't you do that."
"I'll take care of it."
"Thanks." She could already see it in her mind. Pretty, finished, and colorful. She wanted to furniture shop right now. "How long would it take to build?"
He thought about it for a minute. "About four weeks."
"Not too bad at all." She looked around, envisioning how it would all look, then shifted her attention to Deacon. "Is this how you drum up new business? You visit people's houses and dream up additions, then make us lust after them until we fork over all our money to make it happen?"
He laughed. "Yeah, that's me. Forcing the fine people of Hope to renovate against their will."
"I thought so."
Otis reappeared from the back of the property, dragging a large tree limb. He dropped it at Deacon's feet.
Deacon looked at Otis. "Dude. That is not a fetching stick. Try again."
Otis cocked his head to the side, his tongue lolling to the side of his mouth, his tail wagging rapidly. He stared at the tree branch, then at Deacon.
"Nope." Deacon motioned with his ha
nd toward the woods. "Go find a smaller stick."
Otis ran off.
"Do you think he has any idea what you just said?"
"Doubtful. But to him, it's a game."
"I just hope he doesn't come back with an entire tree this time."
Deacon laughed, then got up. "Maybe I better go wander in that direction to see what he's up to."
She stood. "I'll go with you."
"You sure you're up for a walk in the woods? It's getting dark."
"I've got a flashlight."
He nodded. "They draw bugs, but it's good to carry one with you just in case. Got any bug repellent?"
"Yes."
"Get that, too. There'll be mosquitos and chiggers in the woods. Maybe ticks."
She nodded. "I'll be right back."
She dashed into the house and went into the kitchen. She had stored the flashlight in one of the bottom drawers, and she found the bug repellent under the sink.
"I only have lotion," she said as she pushed through the screen door.
He grimaced. "It's not girly stuff, is it?"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I mean it's not perfumey."
"No. It's unscented."
"Good."
He took the bug repellent bottle and lotioned up his arms, then his neck.
"Your turn," he said, pouring some onto his hands. He crouched down to apply it to her exposed legs.
Well. This was unexpected. He rubbed it in along her calves and ankles. She tried not to be affected by the feel of his hands smoothing along her legs, but this was the first time he'd touched her in years, and she was definitely affected.
"Hold out your arms."
She did, and she felt the cool lotion on her shoulders. She was grateful she'd chosen a repellent that didn't have an unpleasant scent, and even more thrilled that Deacon decided he'd rub the repellent into her arms as well.
She could hear him breathing; could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as he stepped behind her to apply the repellent onto her shoulders. She shuddered as he moved to the other arm.
"Lift your hair."
She had a ponytail holder on her wrist, so she grabbed it and wound her hair up into a messy half ponytail, half bun high on top of her head.
"How do women learn to do that so fast?" he asked, his voice going low and gruff as he massaged some of the lotion into her neck.
"Years of experience."
"It's cute."
She liked that he thought anything about her was cute. "Thanks."
"Let's go figure out what Otis is doing in the woods."
"Okay."
He held the flashlight and led the way as they walked toward the woods. She'd explored a bit back here when she first looked at the place, but since then hadn't bothered. She knew it was deeply wooded with thick trees and bushes. She had wandered in far enough before she purchased the property to realize two things: One, she wouldn't have to mow it, and two, one of these days she'd have to clear it out--but not right away.
"Be careful."
She looked down where Deacon was pointing to see two fallen limbs crisscrossed over each other. Because of the denseness of the trees in here and how fast they were losing daylight, it was getting hard to see. If Deacon hadn't pointed them out she probably would have tripped over them.
About twenty feet farther, there was a fallen tree trunk. "Someone needs to come in here with a Bobcat and clear this land."
"Yeah, it's on my list for someday. Just not right away."
They climbed over the trunk. Deacon took her hand to assist her, but didn't let go of it as they moved deeper into the woodland.
"Dammit."
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He pushed his way past several thin, low-hanging branches. "Should have brought my machete. You need a path in here, at least."
"It's easier to see in the daylight."
"Won't help you much if you need to go hunting for your dog. Or a missing goat or chicken. Or something that comes onto your land at night that you need to shoot."
She stopped, and since he was holding her hand, he stopped as well. "Uh, something I need to shoot?"
"Yeah. Like a possum or a skunk or something coming after your chickens."
"I am not going to shoot an unarmed critter."
He laughed. "City girl."
"I know how to use firearms. I am not a city girl."
"Is that right?"
"Yes. But I'm not keeping guns in the house. Not with Hazel around."
Deacon went quiet for a few seconds, then said, "She should learn to handle firearms safely."
Loretta opened her mouth to object, but Deacon held up his hand. "You're not living in the big city anymore, Loretta, and Hazel's going to be around other kids whose parents might have shotguns and rifles and handguns just lying around. Education about them is much better than ignorance."
"You're right about that. I'll have to teach her to shoot. And all about gun safety."
Something else to add to her list of things to educate her daughter about. Living on a farm in a small town was often a lot different than living in a condo in the city. And she needed to remember that.
Loretta heard barking. "He's up this way."
Deacon took her hand again and led the way. It was pitch-dark now, and thickening clouds obscured the moon, making it even harder for them to maneuver their way through the heavy bushes and brambles. Deacon still hadn't turned the flashlight on. No doubt to keep the bugs away.
"Can't we just whistle for him?"
"We could, but I'd like to know what he's barking at."
They finally made their way through the woods. "We've hit the fence line," Deacon said.
There was Otis, head tilted back, barking at a cat that was sitting on the other side of the fence. Otis was jumping up and down trying to get at the cat, who sat completely calm as he observed Otis.
"That cat is mocking Otis," Loretta said.
"Of course he is. He knows damn well Otis isn't going to jump that fence or he'd have already done it. So he knows he's safe. Now he's just egging him on."
Loretta sighed. "Well, at least Otis is getting plenty of exercise."
Deacon let out a short whistle, and Otis whipped his head around in attention.
"Let's go home, boy."
And just like that, the dog was at Deacon's side, as if the two of them had some kind of psychic bond.
They wound their way back through the woods and to the house, where Otis completely emptied his water bowl in about ten seconds, then went over to Loretta and drooled all over her shoes.
Deacon shook his head and went to get the water hose so he could refill the water bowl.
"You have him on a flea and tick medication, right?"
She nodded. "One of the first things I did when we got him, because of the woods on the property."
Otis had already started drinking again as soon as Deacon began to refill the bowl.
"Worked up a thirst on your hunt tonight, didn't you?" Deacon asked, then leaned over to scratch Otis's ears.
"Another beer?" she asked.
"No, I'm good. But I could use something cold to drink."
"Let's go inside where it's cooler. Come on, Otis."
Otis followed them as they went inside. He went right to the cold tiles in the kitchen, turned in a circle, dropped to his stomach and laid his head on his paws, and went right to sleep.
Loretta moved around him to get to the refrigerator and poured two glasses of iced tea.
"Will this keep you awake?" she asked as she handed one to him.
"Not much keeps me awake after a hard day of work."
"I'm sorry. If you're tired--"
He laughed. "Loretta, it's barely dark outside. I don't go to bed at nine o'clock."
"Okay. I didn't want to keep you if there was someplace you needed to be. Or if you were tired, or if you had, like . . . a date or something."
He gave her a look she could onl
y fathom as direct and interested. "No date. No place else I need to be. You trying to get rid of me?"
"No. It's actually kind of lonely here without Hazel's constant noise. Maybe I'm trying to keep you here awhile longer to stave off that incessant quiet."
"Then I'll stay awhile longer."
She had to admit she was grateful for that. While she loved the remoteness of the farm, the past day or so without Hazel had made her realize just how remote it really was out here.
And then Otis started to snore.
"Not too quiet, though, is it?"
She laughed. "He doesn't sleep in my room."
"That's probably a good thing."
"You want to watch TV or something?" she asked.
"Sure."
They went into the living room and sat on the sofa. She grabbed the remote and handed it to him. He handed it back to her.
"You find something. I'll be good with whatever you choose."
That was unusual. Tom had always chosen the shows. It was only when he was late coming home or out of town that she got to watch what she wanted.
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
She shrugged and randomly searched, deciding on a West Coast baseball game.
He looked over at her. "Oh, now you're just placating me."
She laughed. "I like baseball, and you know that."
"That's right. You do like baseball."
"I came to all your games. I played on the softball team."
"I remember. I went to your games, too."
Her lips lifted. "Yes, you did. You used to throw peanut shells at me through the dugout cage."
"Until your dad would yell at me that I was messing with your concentration. Your dad yelled at me about a lot of things."
"Which never bothered you."
"Not really. I was only interested in what you thought."
Her lips curved. "I liked the attention from you. You always showed up."
He smiled. "You were good at first base. I was better."
She had kicked off her tennis shoes. She flipped around on the sofa and pulled her feet up. "That's bullshit. I was much better--more limber, and therefore had a longer reach. You know damn well I was better."
Deacon liked seeing Loretta riled up instead of watching every word she said, as if one wrong word would send him into some kind of rage or make him leave.
"Think so?"
"I know so."
"Still have your glove?"
"They'll bury me in it."
He liked that answer. "I play in a summer league. Maybe you can put that arm where your mouth is."