Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (27 page)

His smile faded and he said quietly, “Point
taken, Cassie.”

“Good. Now, is there any cereal you want in
the house?”

He shook his head.

“Right,” I continued. “Carry on with your
selections.”

I pushed the cart around him but didn’t get
past him when an arm hooked around my belly and I was stopped.

I could feel Deacon’s heat at my back and his
lips at my ear where he asked, “You my girlfriend?”

“Yes, just not the clingy, psycho variety,
though I am the ornery, stubborn variety,” I replied and just got
it out when his arm gave me a tight squeeze.

He liked that (well, the part about me being
his girlfriend, he liked, though I had a feeling he liked the
ornery and stubborn bits too).

He didn’t say it out loud, but he said
it.

He let me go and turned back to the
shelves.

But I liked what he said but didn’t say.

So I headed to where I needed to be, five
feet away, where the canned diced chiles were located, and I did it
smiling.

* * * * *

I sat with beer in hand resting on the arm of
my Adirondack chair, Deacon beside me, our bare feet up on the
railing and tangled, the only sounds in the gathering dusk those of
the river rushing by.

In other words, life was sweet.

“Seriously, I’ve never had tacos that
delicious,” I remarked to the trees.

“Told you it was good,” he replied.

“You did say that, but you didn’t say it was
great.” I turned my head his way to see he was looking at the trees
too. “How did you get the tortillas to do that?”

He looked my way. “Woman, you saw me fry
’em.”

I did indeed.

“Yes, but I’ve had fried tortillas and none
of them were that awesome.”

His lips curved up.

“What did you do to the meat?” I asked.

He turned his attention back to the trees.
“Used your chiles, added more cumin to the spice packet, the rest,
I’d have to kill you if I told you.”

I aimed my eyes to the trees as well, but did
it grinning. “I think you inject badass goodness into them
somehow.”

He made no reply but I actually felt the
humor drifting from him.

This made me happy.

I took a sip from my beer and found I was at
the dregs, the part of the beer I refused to consume.

I dropped my hand and turned back to Deacon.
“I need another one, honey. You want one?”

“Yeah, but I’ll get ’em,” he said, hands to
the arms of his chair, pushing himself up.

“I’ll get them.”

He looked down at me. “Got ’em, Cassie.”

I smiled up at him, even happier.

Gutters cleaned. Someone to go grocery
shopping with. One meal every now and then I didn’t have to cook
(and it was a good one). Great sex on a more-than-regular basis.
Waking up not alone but tucked close to someone who meant something
to me. And when I needed a beer, I didn’t have to haul my booty in
the house to get it.

Oh yes, life was sweet.

Deacon went into the house and came back with
fresh cold ones. Then he sat at my side, lifted his feet, and
tangled them in mine.

Definitely.

Life was sweet.

* * * * *

“Seriously, no,” I said low.

“Is this gonna happen every fuckin’ time?”
Deacon asked back, openly annoyed.

“No, because we’re gonna get this straight
now.”

The gutters were done on all the cabins,
cleaned, and the areas that needed replacing were replaced. Now,
Deacon wanted to start work on my roof.

And he was intent on buying the shingles.

I was of an opposite mind.

Thus, we were standing in my foyer, facing
off again.

I’d let him buy the groceries, no argument,
not even to bust his chops because I’d had my words about him
wandering off again so I thought that was enough for one day.

But he bought the gutters, including the
replacement materials we needed for the cabins.

I was getting the shingles.

“You budget for shingles?” he asked.

“I have money,” I answered.

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, but you know that since I didn’t even
know I needed shingles. But it doesn’t matter. You’re clearly
worried about the state of my roof and I don’t figure you’d be this
fired up to take care of it if that concern wasn’t valid. And I’d
rather have a problem fixed before it becomes a
real
problem. You take care of problems, even if they require money.
Which, as I said, I have. Dad won’t let me pay him back and that’s
partly because he wants me to have savings for a rainy day. This is
literally that: taking care of something for a rainy day.”

His eyes slightly narrowed before he asked a
bizarre question. “You buy your ex out?”

“Sorry?”

“That guy you scraped off, you buy him out of
his part of this business?”

“He didn’t buy in. It’s always been all
mine.”

He nodded once. “Right, this works out with
us, is it gonna stay that way?”

I snapped my mouth shut because I hadn’t
thought of that.

“Cassidy, I got work to do to leave the life
I lead behind. I haven’t even started that ’cause I needed to get
where you were at with this. With us. We’re new. We’re good. We
stay good, that work starts happening. And when that life is done
for me, what do you want me to do?”

I didn’t understand the question. “What do I
want you to do?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to work at your side or
find somethin’ else that takes my time, ’cause, so you know, I
don’t need money in a way I won’t until I die.”

That made my mouth drop open.

I closed it only to open it again to say,
“Seriously?”

“The work I do gets paid a whack. The life I
lead doesn’t have a lot of overhead. Been doin’ this shit a while.
Got enough money to live good, not large, but comfortable. That
said, not a man to put my feet up and I suspect that’s in a way
that I’ll never be that man. You want me at your side and workin’
this business with you, I’m down with that, and I buy the shingles
as part of that buy-in that we’ll discuss fully when we’re there.
You’re not down with that, you want this to be yours and me to have
no part in it outside comin’ back to you after my day is done doin’
whatever it is I’ll be doin, you buy the shingles.”

“This is a big decision to make at this
juncture, Deacon,” I noted carefully.

“I get you,” he replied. “But you’re right.
The state of your roof, I don’t like it. Shit could happen and that
shit might happen when I’m not with you to help you deal. So I want
it fixed. So this decision needs to be made now.”

“These cabins…” I paused, took a breath and
explained, “These cabins mean a lot to me, honey. I’ve put
everything into these cabins. I love these cabins.”

“Right,” he muttered, his eyes
shuttering.

“But,” I went on swiftly, “I don’t know what
the future will bring. To me we’re not good, we’re great. I love
having you here. It’s making me happy. It’s making you happy. So
when that time comes where we know we’re solid and you’ve left that
life, then we can talk about your buy-in. But now it’s too soon and
I need shingles.”

“Then you pay for the shingles, Cassidy, but
I pay for groceries while I’m here. What you eat, what I eat, all
of it. My way of kickin’ in, it’s important to me to do that so you
let me have that and don’t bitch or fight me.”

And there was more proof.

Badasses could compromise.

My heart swelled as I told him, “I can do
that.”

He held my eyes. “You sure?”

It was then I saw his weren’t shuttered
anymore. They were lit.

He was teasing.

God, I loved it when Deacon teased. No way I
would ever have guessed he would tease when I knew him only as John
Priest.

But I loved it that he did.

“It might cause debilitating pain, but I’ll
deal with it,” I teased back.

“And she gives me the smartass.”

“As I said, it’s who I am.”

His voice was sweet when he said, “Yeah.”

He liked who I was.

I returned that sentiment.

I told him that in his language by moving to
him, putting a hand on his abs, rolling up on my toes to get close,
and saying, “Let’s get shingles.”

* * * * *

Two days later, I was in the kitchen getting
Deacon, who was hammering on my roof in the hot sun, a cool drink
when I heard a knock at my door.

I set the glass of ice water aside and moved
to the front door, opening it to find my new renter there looking
unhappy.

This was not a surprise.

I’d left Deacon on the roof so I could hang
out in the house and wait for him and his family because I knew
they were checking in that day. They checked in and he was surly
when they did. No one was surly when they were checking in to
fabulous cabins by a river in the Colorado Mountains. No one except
someone who was always surly.

“Hello, Mr. Snyder, how can I help you?”

“This is unacceptable.”

Wonderful.

“What’s unacceptable?” I asked,

“There are no towels,” he answered.

I nodded my head in confirmation, explaining,
“It states clearly in my terms and conditions, which you’re asked
to click on prior to booking, that I don’t provide towels.”

“No one reads terms and conditions,” he
retorted.

What an idiot.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t, Mr. Snyder, but
it’s spelled out there. I also note the same in the cabin
descriptions on my website, which you booked through.”

“I just looked at the pictures,” he told me.
“And now I have a wife, two kids, myself, a week in that cabin, and
no towels. What are we supposed to do when we take showers?”

“This has happened before, of course, so I
have towels you can rent for the week.”

His brows shot up. “Rent? For extra?”

“Yes, five dollars a towel.”

“We’ll each need more than one, being here a
week.”

“I have several, but it’s still five dollars
a towel.”

“That’s outrageous,” he snapped.

It absolutely wasn’t.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. But there’s a
store in town that carries linens. They have towels.”

“So I spend ridiculous money on towels I
don’t need at home?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what to tell you. You accepted
the terms when you booked. You can rent towels or you can go to
town and buy them. Either way, it’s worth a trip into town. There
are a couple of lovely stores, a fantastic coffee shop, and a few
good restaurants.”

“I didn’t come up here for you to play tour
guide,” he bit out nastily.

That was when I felt it. I felt it before I
saw it.

So my eyes moved beyond Mr. Snyder at my door
to the porch steps to see Deacon standing one down from the top,
his arms crossed on his wide chest, the ends of his hair wet with
sweat from the work he was doing, looking gorgeous and scary.

“We got a problem here?” he asked and Snyder
turned to him.

“Who are you?” he demanded to know.

“I’m Ms. Swallow’s man,” Deacon answered.
“Now, do we have a problem here?”

“There are no towels at the cabin, which is
unacceptable.”

Deacon looked to me.

“I explained the terms and conditions, which
Mr. Snyder accepted,” I told him.

Deacon looked back to Mr. Snyder but said not
a word.

“If I don’t get towels for my family,” Snyder
looked to me, “
for free
,” he looked back to Deacon, “we’ll
check out and check into a hotel that provides towels.”

Deacon watched him speak then his eyes
returned to me.

“You’re welcome to do that but a cancellation
at this late date will mean I’ll still charge you for the entire
stay.” Snyder’s eyes sliced to me and they were pissed. “Which is
also explained in my terms and conditions,” I finished.

“That’s unbelievable!” Snyder exclaimed, his
voice getting loud.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Snyder, but
that isn’t exactly an unusual condition in this business. You’ve
booked a cabin I could not rent to others due to my commitment to
it being available to you. You cancel with no notice, you pay the
whole week.”

“Are you full?”

“Her capacity is not your business,” Deacon
stated as he took the last step and joined Snyder on the porch.
“Ms. Swallow has explained your situation. You can rent towels from
her, buy them in town, or go to a hotel but you’ll pay for your
week. Decide.”

“I don’t need to be strong-armed by you,”
Snyder spat.

“Man, I’m five feet away from you reiterating
the policies of Glacier Lily. That’s hardly strong-arming
anything,” Deacon returned.

“Okay,” I forged in, taking a step through
the door to join the men on my porch. I looked to Snyder. “I’m
sorry you’re unhappy with the situation but even so, I can’t make
an exception for you. If I did, I’d have to make an exception for
everybody and I’m sure you can understand that wear and tear on
linens, not to mention laundering, is at a cost to me. Therefore I
cannot provide it for free. If you wish to leave Glacier Lily,
that’ll be disappointing for your family because it’s lovely,
peaceful, and quiet here. But I’ll understand. I’m also happy to
run and get you some towels. But we really can’t spend more time
discussing this. Your choices have been communicated to you and I’m
afraid to say, no matter your argument, they won’t change.”

“I’ll buy towels in town,” he clipped. “I’m
not giving another cent to you. And you can expect a poor review
on-line.”

That had happened before from people like
him. The first one I saw cut deep. The second one didn’t feel much
better. The third one just stung. Now I was over it, mostly because
the way they were written, even an imbecile could read it was about
them being assholes, not about Glacier Lily.

“That’s your prerogative,” I murmured.