Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(13)

“Okay.”

“And you have plans tonight?” she asked.

I had plans.

They included eating myself into a pre-Christmas stupor, while drinking myself into an alcoholic one, and watching Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock miss each other repeatedly and heartbreakingly until the universe guided them together. After that, I was going to continue on my Bullock-a-thon watching Hope Floats and reminding myself it’s never too late to find happiness while hoping the likes of Harry Connick, Jr. showed up at my cabins sometime in the near future. It could be the likes of the real him who was cool and handsome and could croon and play piano or it could be the likes of his character in that movie who could be hot and honest and take on me and all my crap. If either opportunity was afforded to me, I wasn’t going to quibble.

Tomorrow, I’d break out the new DVDs for more romantic torture.

“I have plans tonight,” I confirmed with my mom, forcing a chipper tone into my voice and not doing half bad.

“Okay, honey. We’ll call tomorrow.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Have a good night.”

“Don’t let Dad heckle the choir this year.”

She burst out laughing and shared, “I haven’t allowed him into the eggnog yet.”

“Good call,” I muttered.

There was still humor in her voice when she said softly, “Love you, angelface.”

“Love you too, Momma.”

She rang off and I stared at my phone.

Then I jumped when it rang.

The screen said Blocked but since it was not only my cell but also the cabins’ business number, I took the call.

“Merry Christmas!” I greeted, force-cheerfully.

“Woman.”

At that word and who I knew was saying it, I blinked at my lap.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You open?”

“Yes.”

“See you in thirty.”

Then I heard the disconnect.

It was a whole minute later when I finally pulled the phone from my ear that I realized I’d just had my first phone conversation with John Priest, he was coming to Glacier Lily, and for the first time since he started coming, cabin eleven was not open.

No cabin was open.

“Oh man,” I whispered to my phone.

And it was then I realized I was already in my pajamas.

So I flew off the couch and dashed to my room to put some clothes on.

* * * * *

An hour later, I opened the door, looked at John Priest standing there, noted the flakes of snow on his broad shoulders and in his dark hair, then I caught sight of what was happening behind him.

It was snowing.

Hugely.

“Holy cow!” I cried. “It’s snowing!”

“Bad. Roads are shit,” Priest replied, moving in, and I moved back.

“How shit?” I asked as I closed the door behind him.

“Barely got here and I got a snow kinda truck shit.”

Oh man.

“I, uh…well, Jo…I mean, Mr. Priest, eleven isn’t open,” I told him.

“Take what you got,” he told me, already at the registration book.

“I don’t have anything,” I said quietly. “I’m full up.”

He straightened and turned to me. “No shit?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I would have told you before but you disconnected the call before I could share that information.”

He looked beyond me, his expression vague, his thoughts elsewhere, likely where he could find a place to crash on Christmas Eve in the middle of a blinding snowstorm, but still he managed to mutter, “Fuck.”

At the look on his face, the lights twinkling on the tree in my living room that could be seen from the foyer, the snow falling heavy and soft outside the window, and having the knowledge that Priest, just like me, was alone on an important holiday, I blurted, “You can stay here. I have a guestroom. Actually, I have two.”

He focused on me, and when he did, I sucked my lips between my teeth.

“You crazy?” he asked.

I shook my head, let my lips go, and stated, “It’s snowing.”

“It is, woman, but you don’t know me.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” I asked.

“Fuck no,” he answered inflexibly.

Well, that was good.

“It’s also Christmas Eve,” I noted.

He made no reply to that.

“And, I, well…have enough food for two. Though, I have mostly romantic movies to watch but all the other DVDs haven’t been checked out and there might be something you’ll wanna watch.”

He said nothing.

“Or you can be by yourself,” I offered. “Stay in your room and brood or sleep off the road. You just can’t build bombs in it or plan government takeovers.”

His brows moved up slightly. “Government takeovers?”

“I’m being funny,” I explained.

He didn’t confirm or deny he agreed that I was funny. He just kept staring at me.

I straightened my shoulders, held his gaze, and stated, “You’re welcome. It’s Christmas and I’m alone. It’ll be nice to have someone around, even someone I don’t know. And it’ll be nice to do something nice for someone on Christmas, like give a weary traveler somewhere to lay his head and food to fill his belly.”