by K L King
As he sat outside Iris’s cottage in his truck, he looked into the rearview mirror. Shit! His wolf’s yellow eyes stared back at him. He’d scare her to death if he showed up like this. “Our mate,” he heard from the wolf inside his head.
“Not now,” he told his wolf. He had always been able to manage the beast inside him. It was unusual for him to keep losing control. He closed his eyes and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. He tried to slow his heartrate down and encouraged his wolf to take a little rest. He opened his eyes and glanced in the mirror once again hoping like hell he wouldn’t see yellow.
Chapter 10
Iris quickly finished prepping the living room for painting. She moved the furniture to a pile at the center of the room and covered it with old sheets. Riley, displaced from his perch on the loveseat, flopped onto the floor right next to the pile, stretching lazily. He was enjoying a spot of sun near one of the two large windows in the room. She set to work taping the edges of the wall and mused to herself how strange this activity would have been just one year ago.
In less than a half an hour, Deacon would be here to help her paint. It’s not a date, she reminded herself. As sexy as he was, she’d had enough bad dates to last a lifetime. She didn’t need to deal with another condescending control freak. She was in no mood for that nonsense right now. She was in town to work, to make a life for herself on her own terms, away from her family’s influence. Most of all, she wanted to be happy. She didn’t want to get involved with a man who would try to control her.
She remembered all the drama with her family. Before leaving Providence, about once every couple of months since she’d turned 21, she was set up on these “dates” that her parents, mainly her father or older brother, had arranged. The men, or bland imitation of men, that they picked were always the exact opposite of what she was interested in. They were businessmen working for her family that were trying to move ahead in her father’s company.
It was always the same. They would show up at her apartment still dressed in a business suit from work with disdain on their faces. Each of these “dates” was a carbon copy of the last, from her brother’s intern Ian who “had just graduated from Harvard Business School” to Ben who was in contention to become one of her father’s new vice presidents. The men were either disinterested at best to overtly miserable at worst. It was obvious they were just doing it as a favor to her father or brother. They were never openly nasty to her—they feared her family too much for that—but the whole experience was uncomfortable.
The men had either spent the whole dinner talking about themselves or trying to get gossip from her about her family that would help them at work. Most of them would give her unsolicited advice on how to improve her chances of getting a second date. “If you’d get into CrossFit or signed up with a personal trainer, I’m sure we could have a second date in a month or so.” Even worse than the actual dates themselves were the panic attacks that proceeded said dates. She hated that she had anxiety over dates with men she didn’t even like. Just thinking about it made her nauseous.
“Yep, Riley. I am done with all that nonsense,” she said. She really did feel different. For one thing, she was relaxed. Seeing as how this wasn’t a “date,” there were no expectations. There were no signs of the usual anxiety that had plagued her life. No sweating, no chest tightness, no palpitations. Deacon was just coming to help her paint as a favor to Tessa—that was it. He didn’t even like her. Every time she saw him, he appeared irritated with her. She didn’t think she liked him either. Well, she liked ogling him, but that was it. He was definitely hot as hell, but bossy.
Deacon was the exact opposite of the bozos that her family had hand selected for her. He was a small-town policeman, but appeared and acted more like a soldier. He didn’t seem to be out for only himself like all the men in her past. He didn’t appear to be obsessed with money or status. He just worked to keep the people in his town safe. She heard that he was very good at it as well, at least according to Tessa and May.
Iris did feel a little safer knowing Deacon would be nearby, considering those idiots who attacked her had made bail. May had called her at the bakery to let her know this morning during her shift. The policewoman had mentioned that she would stop by a later that evening with a taser for her. Apparently, she had a variety so she planned to bring several over for Iris to choose from. She offered to booby trap her yard, too, but Iris thought that might be overkill and she didn’t want Riley to stumble into some home-made trap and get hurt, so she politely declined.
She was torn from her thoughts by a knock at her front door. Riley bounded up to the front door with his ears perked. He was very alert, but not in a threatening way. “That’s good. It will go much better if you don’t try to bite the yummy policeman.” Iris smirked at the dog as she rubbed his head playfully.
She opened the door to find Deacon standing with two large bags of supplies in one hand and a five-gallon bucket of ivory paint in the other. He was dressed down for the work at hand in faded jeans, work boots, and a pale green T-shirt.
“Hi!” she squeaked a little too loudly. Embarrassed, her cheeks warmed. She couldn’t help it, damn him. She was caught off guard by how good he looked dressed down. “Come in, please.” She held the door open and stepped back so he could come in. “Let me help with something.” Iris tried to grab the giant paint bucket out of his hands.
“No, I’ve got it. It’s nothing.” He walked into the room, lifting the items out of her reach. As he walked past her, she breathed in his scent and nearly gasped. He smelled so good, like the woods mixed with another smell that she couldn’t place. It was a wild smell, a savage smell. Her eyes went wide when she realized Deacon was staring at her while she was sniffing him. The corners of his lips were slightly lifted as if he was trying not to smile at her. Agh, perfect, he’ll think I’m interested in him now! Just wonderful.
Riley immediately came up to Deacon, sniffing his legs like crazy for 30 seconds and then sat down on his haunches and tilted his head to one side. When he turned and peered at Iris, she swore he smiled at her—as if a dog could smile.
Deacon walked around, surveying her work. “It seems like you’ve got everything prepped nicely. Have you done a lot of painting?”
“Some, but I watched a few videos online about how to do it right last night. I really want to do a proper job for Tessa. She’s been so good to me. Working at the bakery, letting me stay in this cottage…everything has been great. Except for getting attacked and being brought into the police station.” Iris grimaced.
Deacon’s jaw tightened before he answered, “From what Tessa says, she’s the lucky one. She says you’ve brought some terrific recipes and techniques with you from the city. She told May that both the residents and tourists have been going crazy for your donuts and cupcakes.”
“She said that?” Iris asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her small smile as he unpacked the painting supplies that he brought.
“Well, your sister must like the donuts. She picks up at least a dozen about four or five times a week.” Iris giggled. “I don’t know where she puts them. She’s so tiny.”
“She has a fast metabolism,” Deacon replied. “She loves your baking. In fact, she loves it so much, there’s never been any donuts left by the time I get to the station to start my shift. I think I’m the last person in Grey Lake who has yet to try an Iris creation.”
“Well, when we’re done painting, I’m sure I can find something for you in my kitchen.” Iris bit her lip to keep from saying anything else. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. No flirting, she told herself sternly.
It only took a few hours to finish two coats of paint in the cozy living room and the short hallway. They just had to paint the single bedroom and the one wall in the kitchen that wasn’t covered with bright white subway-style tiles. Painting went pretty fast since they made a great team. Iris noticed that she, having more patience, was better at the detail work, like th
e corners and trim, so she focused her energies on those. Deacon with his enormous arm span was good at quickly covering the wall with the pale ivory paint. He was a machine with the paint roller. Iris had to force herself not to get distracted watching his arms as he painted. His muscles tightened, stretching his shirt as he worked, and she caught herself staring like a loon at those limbs more than once.
While they worked, Deacon talked a bit about his childhood in Grey Lake. He told her how he was the only child of a policeman. His dad had worked alongside Heath and May’s father years ago on the force. His mother had died when he was pretty young so he was mostly raised by his dad and the Jensens. His family lived next door to former Chief Jensen’s family, and he had spent more time with them than with his own father because of the shifts his dad worked. He spent countless nights sleeping over in Heath’s room while a kid. It made sense that when his dad was killed, the Jensens simply took him in at the age of twelve. They never formally adopted him, but they did become his legal guardians and foster parents. He was treated as if he were part of their family. Annie was as much of a mother to him as she was to Heath and May. Ted treated him as if he were his second born son.
“That’s so awful, to lose both your parents so young,” Iris said.
“Yeah, it was. I’m glad the Jensens took me in. It could have been a lot worse. Even though Heath was a few years older, he was always nice to me.” Deacon ran a hand through his hair, leaving a bit of paint in the thick honey-brown locks. “May was closer to my age so we got a long a little better than she and Heath did. She always complained that Heath was always a little too protective for her liking.”
“I’m sure he was just being a good big brother.” Iris noticed that Deacon hadn’t said what had happened to his parents. It didn’t seem like he was comfortable talking about it so she didn’t ask.
“What about you?” Deacon continued to roll ivory paint across the wall using smooth, gliding motions.
When his thick, toned arms stretched above his head, Iris’s mouth started to water. He is so gorgeous.
“You’ve let me babble on for an hour straight, but you haven’t told me anything about your family. Why’s that?” he asked.
“There’s not a lot that is nice to talk about,” Iris said. “I never fit in with them. My parents come from ‘old New England stock,’” she said, using air quotes. “They are all about business, making money, attaining status. Appearances mean everything to them. They tried to make my brother and I into mini-clones of themselves. I never fit in, though. I don’t even look like them. They are stunning—refined features, blue eyes, and blond hair, where I’m big with a mess of mousy dark hair,” Iris stated matter of fact.
Deacon turned at that moment and frowned. “You’re not big and your hair is beautiful. If they want to see big people, they should see some of the Lakers. I’m pretty big, and there are a few in town even taller than me. What other nonsense did they try to tell you?”
That was funny. He thought big meant tall. “I didn’t mean big as in tall, but big as in fat.” A tremble ran through her and she turned to stare at him. His face had reddened and his jaw tightened. This is so weird. Why does he look so pissed? He looks like I insulted him.
“Anyhoo, they were just disappointed that I never wanted to go into the family business. They’re developers, that is. My dad is in charge of this big company, and my brother is one of his minions. I never was interested in that. It just seems so heartless. It’s like they’re collecting land and homes as if they were Monopoly pieces. There’s never any mention of the people that they displace every time they make a big deal. It’s just not how I want to live my life.
“You would rather bake?” Deacon asked without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
She smiled. “Yes! Ever since I was little, I have loved to—not really cook—but bake.”
“What about your mother? Did she teach you how to bake?” Deacon asked.
“No. She was never around, not functional at least. She has trouble with alcohol and prescription drugs. It seemed as if she never really wanted kids. She was always off on some exotic trip when we were growing up. We were raised by nannies and tutors that answered to my father. My nanny, Sara, was great, though. She’s the person who first taught me how to bake when I was six.” She released a sigh.
“She sounds nice. Do you keep in touch with her?” Deacon asked.
“No, unfortunately she passed away when I was fourteen. She had breast cancer. It was horrible. She kept it to herself for as long as possible. She told me right before she left for hospice. She didn’t even last a week after that.” She rose from where she had finished the trim near the floor.
“Well, it sounds like she was at least a good role model for you,” Deacon said.
“She was. After she passed, I mostly stayed late after school, using their home-ec kitchens to bake. I learned a lot of techniques online. I would enter my creations in local bake fairs under a fake name so my dad wouldn’t find out. On the weekends, I would try to keep out of my dad and brother’s way. I just never liked the people they were friends with. I didn’t trust them. They made me, and still make me, nervous.” She rested her brush on the lid of the paint bucket.
“Well, it sounds like they weren’t the best people to be around. Not real great role models.” He started to pick up the painting gear that was spread all around the room.
“No, and that’s probably being kind.” She peeked at her watch. “Shoot, it’s six-thirty already. Well, at least we’re almost done. We just have to do the one wall in the kitchen.” Iris leaned over at her waist to stretch her sore back and yelped, “Oh my God! We forgot to eat. I’m such a bad host.”
Deacon laughed. “It’s fine. If I was hungry, I would’ve said something. We were too busy talking,” he said, “But now that you mention it, I could eat.”
“What would you like? I can make something. What do you feel like on a Saturday at six-thirty?” she asked.
“Well, there is something, but it might be weird.” He grimaced.
“I make ‘pop rocks’ donuts so I’m used to weird. Try me.”
He laughed. “I forgot about your donuts. I guess my request isn’t that weird then. I always like having breakfast for dinner. So I was going to say pancakes might be nice.”
“Pancakes!” She smiled brightly at him. “That’s definitely not weird. I can do pancakes.”
Chapter 11
Later that evening, Iris stood in her living room, surveying the paint job. It was really good. Tessa would be pleased. After cooking Deacon a “breakfast for dinner” that he devoured, he got called to the station for an emergency so he ended up leaving in a rush. She finished on her own. All in all, she’d had a pleasant time with Deacon. He was definitely more relaxed than she had seen him while on duty. He wasn’t nearly as bossy as he had been. He was a hard worker and very respectful, too. He behaved like a gentleman.
She grabbed her overnight bag and headed to Tessa’s with Riley. Tessa had invited them to spend the night in her guest room to get away from the paint fumes.
Iris was exhausted and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the comfy pillow. She was just in the middle of a very nice dream involving a man with long, thick tattooed arms when Tessa knocked at her door. “Can I come in?” Her voice sounded strange.
“Sure, what’s wrong?” Iris asked as Riley stood up from where he had been lying on a large dog bed near the door.
“May is on her way over. It appears there’s been a break-in at the bakery,” she said solemnly, sitting at the end of the bed.
“What happened? How’d they get in?” Iris cried.
“They broke the front window and climbed in. They vandalized the front of the store. Ripped the chair cushions apart, broke tables, destroyed the glass display case. Luckily, I have a silent alarm that was triggered so the police arrived before they could get to the kitchen. They didn’t take any money from the register. They just made a mess.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, no!” Iris put her hand on Tessa’s shoulder. “What can I do to help?”
“Get something on. May’s supposed to bring us down there to take an accounting of the damage. Bring Riley, too. It’ll be alright. Things can be replaced. At least no one was hurt. That’s the important thing.”
“I bet that was the emergency that Deacon was called about,” Iris said glumly.
Just then, there was a loud knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” Tessa said. “Just get dressed and meet me downstairs as soon as you can.”
Iris threw on jean shorts and pulled a hooded sweatshirt on over the tank top she slept in. She groaned as she quickly surveyed the bird’s nest that was her hair in the mirror. She threw it up in a messy bun. “That’ll have to do,” she said to her face in the mirror. There was no time for anything fancy. She slipped on some sneakers, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs.
Iris gasped as soon as she saw that May had not come alone. Deacon was standing at Tessa’s front door while May sat on the couch with Tessa. He was still in the clothes he had worn while painting. He had his police badge clipped onto the pocket of his jeans and had his shoulder holster on with his service weapon in it. He had switched back to his on-duty persona. The relaxed Deacon that had been at her cottage hours earlier was gone. His posture was straighter. His mouth was set in a grim line. This was serious cop Deacon. To her surprise, he walked right over to her.
“Are you OK?” he asked quietly.
“Me?” Iris squeaked. “I’m fine. I was here. Are we going to inspect the damage?” she asked.
“Yes. We were just going to head out now. You’re OK to come?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” She stared him right in the eye. “I want to see what the assholes did. At least they didn’t get into my kitchen.”