“Well, that’s awesome and sweet,” I replied, because it was and I wasn’t surprised my mood had been read by my friend.
I pulled my hand from Deacon’s in order to take the sundae.
“You have to eat it, like right now, or it’ll be all melted,” Margarita advised.
“I’ll just pop it in the freezer. Dea…uh, John hasn’t had dinner. We’ll share it when he has. Now, everyone come in,” I invited, grabbing on to Deacon’s wrist and pulling him back to give the invitation physically as well.
“Dee-uh-John, that’s a weird name,” Margarita declared, taking two skips in—skipping her way of ambulating everywhere. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her take a normal step.
“Rita!” Milagros snapped.
She tipped her head back to her entering mother. “Well it is.”
“Name’s just John,” Deacon stated and I looked to him to see him looking to Manuel. “John Priest.”
He stuck out a hand toward Manuel.
Manuel looked at it then took it. “Manuel Cabrera.” They separated and Manuel put his hand on Milagros’s shoulder. “My wife, Milagros.”
Deacon offered Milagros his hand, stating, “Cassie has a lot of good to say about you.”
Milagros took Deacon’s hand but her eyes were on me as she replied, “Cassie?”
“I…uh, yes. Cassie,” I blathered. “Priest, I mean, John and I are…uh, well—”
Deacon saved me but he unfortunately did it by ordering, “Woman, put the sundae in the freezer.”
I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Boss much?”
“You want a melted sundae?” he returned.
“Maybe,” I shot back.
“Well I don’t,” he retorted.
“They didn’t bring it for you,” I pointed out.
“You gonna eat it in front of me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I snapped.
“Then put it in the freezer.”
I made a face at him.
He grinned.
I stopped making a face at him and my heart leapt as my vagina pulsed.
Manuel cleared his throat. Deacon and I quit bickering and looked to the Cabrera family.
“You guys are funny,” Araceli declared when we did.
“I’ll help you put the sundae in the fridge,” Milagros offered unnecessarily, but didn’t allow me a chance to decline. Her hand shot out, clamped around mine, and she dragged me through the foyer and into the kitchen.
Once there, she went direct to the freezer, opened it, snatched the sundae, shoved it in, slammed the freezer door, and directly invaded my space.
“Who is he?” she demanded to know in a hushed but sharp tone.
“Milagros—”
“Is he why your eyes have died?”
Okay, apparently Milagros hadn’t read my mood, she’d read my mood.
I made a mental note not to become close friends with any more Mexican American mothers of five as I opened my mouth to reply but she didn’t let me speak.
“They’re not dead anymore.”
I guessed they weren’t.
“Honey—” I tried again but got nowhere because Milagros started shooting rapid-fire questions my way.
“Who is he? What does he do? Where has he been? I haven’t seen him in town, does he live in Carnal? He looks like he lives in Carnal. Does he have a motorcycle? Because if he does, Manuel will worry even more. And if he does, and you ride on it with him, I hope you’re wearing a helmet. Are you wearing a helmet?”
It was tough and it kind of hurt, holding back my giggles, but I managed, even if my voice was vibrating when I answered, “He doesn’t have a motorcycle.”
I didn’t know this as a fact, but considering he had no home, I couldn’t imagine him having a motorcycle stored somewhere.
Though, he now had me and I had a big shed. I’d totally let Deacon store a motorcycle there if he wanted to get one.
“Cassidy, who is he?” she hissed.
I grabbed her hand, held it, and got closer.
“His name is John Priest and he and I are seeing each other.”
“Since when?”
“Since a few weeks ago.”
“He’s eleven,” she stated on an accusatory whisper and I pulled in a breath.
Cabin eleven.
She knew exactly who he was.
Kind of.
I let it out, whispering back, “He’s eleven.”
“Where does he come from? Where does he go? What does he do?” she fired back and we both jumped apart when Deacon’s voice came from the door.
“I travel for work,” he said, and it was at that point I made a mental note that Deacon had superhuman hearing.
Manuel was trailing him, giving big shut up eyes to his wife.
As for the kids, they were scattering, Esteban going straight to the fridge, which he knew he had my open invitation to raid (though he didn’t have his parents’ open permission; he was the kind of kid who pushed boundaries, hilariously, to my way of thinking, but I wasn’t his mother). The girls headed to the back door. They liked my porch as much as I did.
Gerardo wandered in, still adjusting his jeans.
“What do you do?” Milagros asked.
“Acquisitions,” Deacon answered, to my way of thinking, interestingly.
“Whas’ that?” Gerardo butted in and Deacon looked down at him.
It was then it was proved you could fall in love in an instant.
This was because badasses melted in the face of pregnant German Shepherds.
But the sweetness that came over Deacon’s features when he trained his gaze to the young boy was a vision so magnificent it was almost, but not quite, painful to behold, such was its beauty.
I knew Milagros saw it too and felt the same way I did. I knew this because she leaned in to me and did it deep, like she couldn’t hold up her own weight.
“I get things for people,” Deacon explained.
“I’m Gerardo,” Gerardo shared.
“I’m John,” Deacon lied.
“Hola, John.”
Deacon smiled.
“Dios mío,” Milagros breathed.
Good to know I wasn’t the only one.
“Mi amor, it’s late. We should let John have his dinner,” Manuel called to his wife.
“No!” Esteban yelled and I looked his way to see he’d had his face wedged in the sliver of an opening of the fridge door, the only thing he could get with Milagros and me standing in his way. “Tía Cassidy has lemon pie with that fluffy stuff on top.”
I felt the awe leave Milagros as she set up to let loose on her son but she didn’t get there in time.
Her husband did.
Thus ensued a wave of Spanish where I caught only a few words—all of them fatherly in a scary way—then I heard the fridge door close and watched an ten-year-old boy shuffle toward his father with head bowed.
“Lo siento, Cassidy,” Manuel murmured.
“It’s okay,” I replied on a smile. Then I said to Esteban’s back, “I’ll save some for you.”
“Thanks, Tía Cassidy,” he muttered.
“Mis hijas!” Milagros shouted. “Nos vamos! Ándele!”
Pandemonium ensued as the girls rushed in from the porch. They didn’t bother attempting to take turns with giving me a hug, they pretty much collided with me, squeezed me, and dashed out, waving perfunctorily at Deacon (with Silvia, I noticed, avoiding his hot guy eyes in a sweet, shy girl way). Esteban and Gerardo didn’t bother with hugs, they just shouted their farewells, Gerardo giving cute waves, and raced after their sisters.
“We should have called,” Manuel said as I heard the front door being opened.
“You’re welcome here anytime,” I replied, moving his way. “You know that.”
His eyes slid to Deacon. They were not questioning, they were assessing.
I felt Milagros come up to my side. “We must have you to dinner. Are you here long?”
It took effort not
to whoop with glee when Deacon answered, “Got a break. I’ll be here three, four weeks.”
“Then we’ll have time,” Milagros stated, holding out a hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Same,” Deacon replied, taking her hand and clasping it before letting it go.
“We’ll see each other again,” Manuel said, offering his own hand.
Deacon took it and replied, “Look forward to it.”
I gave Manuel a kiss on the cheek, same to Milagros with a hug, and we walked them to the door.
We stood in its frame as Milagros and Manuel corralled their kids, who were cavorting on the front porch, and got them in their SUV.
We continued to stand there, me waving, as they drove toward the cabins in order to turn around.
We did not wait for them to drive back down the lane. Deacon moved me in, shut the door, locked it, and looked down at me.
“You got lemon meringue pie?” he asked.
I grinned. “Yep.”
“You can have the sundae. I’ll have pie.”
He’d have pie.
He’d have pie.
I didn’t know how to express how happy that made me, and I didn’t want to because if I did, he’d probably think I was crazy.
Instead, taking a page out of his book, I shared what I needed to say by leaning so far in to him, I was giving him most of my weight, doing it tipping my head back and smiling at him.
He took my weight and supported it by rounding me with his arms.
He also dipped his face closer to mine, doing this while taking in my smile, before saying, “Plans changed. Fuck then you feed me.”
That caused a tingle.
“I’m down with that,” I whispered.
Deacon grinned.
Then he dipped his head further and kissed me.
After that, he lifted me in his arms and carried me to bed.
* * * * *
Much later, draped part on, partly down Deacon’s side, my cheek to his chest, as I heard his breath start to even out telling me he was close to sleep, I whispered into the dark, “Did you like the pie?”
I got no words, but the arm he had curved around me squeezed me tight.
He liked the pie.
I smiled against his chest, tightened my arm draped over his stomach, and kept whispering.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
His body tensed for a moment before it relaxed and he murmured, “Sleep, baby.”
I sighed.
Then I said, “’Kay. ’Night, Deacon.”
“’Night, Cassie.”
I smiled again against his chest.
Then I closed my eyes.
Chapter Nine
Eleven
The next day, I was walking through Home Depot, trying not to let my head explode.
This was because I had been shopping in the garden center. I’d been grabbing plastic trays of flowers that I was going to plant in my window boxes and planters and I was doing this babbling my grand plans of bringing floral beauty to Glacier Lily. At the same time I was hoping out loud that we didn’t get a late spring snow which would mean I’d waste hundreds of dollars since all the plants would die and I’d have to do it again (something that had happened once before and it didn’t make me happy).
Eventually, I turned from selecting plants and jabbering and found Deacon, who’d come with me, had disappeared.
I was talking to no one.
The mini-welcome home party the night before had gone great. It was simple: sex, then Deacon eating reheated meatloaf and mashed potatoes, then more sex, and finally Deacon crashing because he not only drove to get to me without eating, he’d done it without sleeping, and this had taken two days. This last had alarmed me, but then again, he was a thirty-eight-year-old man. He might need a woman, but he didn’t need a mother. Therefore, I kept my mouth shut.
The party continued in the morning with more sex then bacon, eggs, and toast upon which I told Deacon that day’s agenda included me hitting Home Depot in preparation for bringing floral beauty to Glacier Lily.
Deacon had grinned (score two of the morning, score one being a nearly-upon-waking orgasm). Then he’d said he’d come with me (score three).
I had happy, hopeful visions of shopping with Deacon (something I looked forward to in a way that might seem weird to some, but being alone for years, it was not weird to me), coming home, and Deacon helping me with the flowers.
This had a dual purpose. That being me getting the flowers planted faster, thus having some downtime to be with Deacon, and also working alongside Deacon. I had hope, what with his comments about Grant being lazy, that he was not. That his assertion that if things worked out between us and he would be eighty and sitting next to me in an Adirondack chair meant he didn’t intend to spend the next forty-two years having me cook, clean, take care of the cabins, and him doing…whatever it was he did until he quit doing it and ended up doing nothing.
Essentially, I knew it was his day off. Or at least it was his downtime after being at it twenty-four fuckin’ seven for over a month.
But I still believed that working together could be fun. And if not fun, at least it was together and that in itself was good.
I continued to score through the morning with another orgasm Deacon gave me during the shower we took together and earning another grin when I was ready about five minutes after he was whereupon I announced as much.
“You’re ready?” he asked, not hiding the surprise in his voice, leaning a shoulder against the doorway to my bedroom where he was standing.
“Yep,” I replied.
“No makeup?”
Suddenly, I was uncertain if I was ready.
“Do I need makeup?” I asked.
“No.”
That came quick and firm, so I relaxed. “Then I’m ready.”
“Your hair isn’t dry,” Deacon pointed out.
“We aren’t in one hundred percent humidity, Deacon Deacon.” His lips started curving up at my response and I kept at it. “The mountains are arid. It’ll dry in no time.”
“So it dries as beautiful as it is with you doin’ shit to it?”
The warmth only Deacon could give me by being his brand of sweet came back. It felt good. So I just nodded.
That was when I got the grin before he said, “Then let’s go, Cassie.”
All went well from there. Me being back in his Suburban. Deacon swinging into the Mexican Jumping Bean without my even asking. Deacon being relaxed and calm while driving, even when some guy cut him off to take a right turn, this making Deacon brake when he wouldn’t have had to if the guy wasn’t being a jerk.
Now all wasn’t well.
Now I’d had to leave my trolley with my carefully selected trays of flowers and spiky and tailing plants that would so work with my vision of floral beauty at Glacier Lily in the garden center because I had no idea where my man was and the big flat trolley I had was too unwieldy to shove through the store.
Someone was going to snatch my plants, I knew it.
And where could Deacon be? I’d looked through all the aisles in the garden center (three times).
He was just gone.
I’d called his number, but he didn’t answer (as usual).
Hurrying through the humongous store, then going through the back aisles and doing it again, I saw him standing at the far back looking at ladders.
Ladders.
What the heck?
“Dea…Priest,” I called.
He looked to me but said nothing.
I stopped two feet away. “You left me in the garden center,” I informed him of information he well knew.
“Need a ladder,” he replied.
I stared at him, looked to the ladders, then looked to him again. “I have a ladder.”
“Not tall enough,” he stated.
I felt my brows draw together. “For what?”
“Gotta clean your gutters,” he declared. “May have to replace some of ’em. Ladder in your s
hed won’t reach.”
“I don’t need to clean my gutters. I have evergreens all around my house.”
He turned fully to me. “They drop needles, woman. And you got aspens, some of ’em tall, not to mention those three big birches at the front of your house and the elms close to the river.” I was having difficulty processing Deacon’s knowledge of my trees as he kept talking. “Rain last night was fallin’ over the sides, not goin’ where it’s supposed to go. This means the gutters are probably caked.”
I’d noticed that but it hadn’t occurred to me my gutters needed cleaned, mostly because I liked that fall of rain. Of course, not when it was pouring down, then that heavy fall kind of freaked me out.
I still didn’t think about cleaning my gutters.
Deacon did and this explained him looking at what I thought were the trees last night. But it wasn’t the trees. It was the rain coming over my gutters.
I wasn’t sure how to take this conversation so I decided it was best to feel my way.
“Are you gonna clean my gutters?” I asked.
“Not buyin’ a ladder for my woman to do it.”
Okay, I knew how to take that, as in like it a whole lot.
Now to the tough stuff.
“Did you think of maybe telling me you were going to clean my gutters and needed a ladder to do it before taking off to look at ladders, leaving me talking to myself?” I asked.
“When I took off, you weren’t talkin’.”
I found this hard to believe, though I did have to take a breath so perhaps he’d escaped when I did that.
“Still,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t drive to Wyoming, Cassidy,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t know where you went.” My voice dipped lower. “And I’ll point out, I phoned and you didn’t answer again.”
His reply to that was “Phone’s on the nightstand.”
I blinked.
Who left their phone on the nightstand?
He went on, “Don’t need one when I’m with you.”
There was a lot there, including the clashing feelings of being happy he was again demonstrating he was with me as in with me and wanted that without any distractions and the disturbed feeling that this might mean he didn’t have anyone to talk to, not that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.