Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(43)

Now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was all a big bag of hooey, so I was considering burning all of my romance novels in the fireplace.

And I was going to add my DVDs.

“Enjoy,” I said quietly.

“I will, Cassie. Talk with you soon, honey. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I heard her disconnect and I did the same, closing my laptop and setting it and my phone on the arm of the chair next to me, taking that opportunity to nab the glass of wine I had sitting there.

I again trained my eyes to the trees, taking a sip, seeing and hearing the soft fall of rain, trying to focus on that, clear my head, and not let the thoughts of the last three weeks that had been crowding my mind take over.

A fruitless endeavor.

They took over, like they always did.

And this was because Deacon and I were done. We hadn’t even started and we were finished.

He did not tell me this. I just knew we were. I didn’t know how it happened. I just knew it did.

And I was sitting, listening to the rain, sipping wine, trying not to let this knowledge destroy me.

The time we had when we got together was great. It was short, but it was wonderful.

The sex was a highlight, for certain. Even with seven years abstinence, apparently it was like riding a bike because Deacon was far from rusty.

But the rest of the time was what made that hope I always stupidly let myself feel bubble over.

This was because Deacon was mellow. Always. Not that anything happened to make him angry, but his manner was such that I wasn’t sure he could get angry.

Case in point, he didn’t drive his Suburban cursing at people who cut him off or went too slow, something that happened more than once (something that I did do, and pretty much everyone on earth who was breathing). No reaction from Deacon. He just drove. Further, he didn’t get annoyed when I pushed it about paying for the dog.

He didn’t get anything.

But Deacon.

He was steady. Relaxed. All this in a way that communicated itself to me and made me feel the same way.

Although mellow, he was alert, communicative (in his way), and most of all, present. So very present. I didn’t know how he did it but he was with me in a way I’d never felt before. A way that I knew he was with me. Even if he wasn’t touching me, speaking to me, being overt about anything, he was still with me. And he made it clear in his Deacon way that he liked being right there.

With me.

Needless to say, it was easy to settle into that. So easy, it took only two days for it to feel real. For it to feel like what we had was forming roots in preparation for growing strong.

He left and did his job and was back at Glacier Lily in a week, which was awesome. And we went right back to what we had the short time before he went off to do his job.

When he got back, he told me he’d have a week or two to be with me. But he got a call two days in that he’d said—appearing frustrated (mildly) and disappointed (definitely, although I didn’t know him that well, so over the past weeks I convinced myself I read that wrong)—he had to take a bud’s back.

Again, he couldn’t predict when he’d return to Glacier Lily, just that he would.

The first time he went, he gave me a phone number. I called it and sometimes he answered, sometimes he didn’t and he’d call me back later. If he didn’t answer, it said its voicemail was not activated, but clearly its call history was because he’d later phone me.

We didn’t talk for hours, but we connected.

It wasn’t as good as having him but it was good. Specifically the time when we did talk for hours (or, just over one). This time being the time I shared with him my concerns about hitting non-peak season: the sliver of time after winter and spring break ended and the summer high season began.

With the aspens turning gold and the dry climate warm during the day, cool during the evening, autumn was popular in the Colorado Mountains.

Late spring, early summer, not so much.

This made it tough. Tough to find things for Milagros to do when she needed things to do because she needed the money. Tough to cover the money to keep her doing things and keep myself covered as well.

I rented the cabins steadily and made enough money to live comfortably, but far from luxuriously.

I didn’t want luxury, had never wanted it. I might one day get it (or some semblance of it), though not soon as I’d taken a second mortgage to do some of the work on the house and cabins and I still hadn’t paid off my dad.

So spring always was a bitch.

And this was what I told Deacon (though I didn’t get into the second mortgage stuff, just the complaining about non-peak season stuff). I did this feeling the contradictory feelings of weird and maybe a little frightened we hadn’t yet gotten to the place where I could unload my life on him and elated I finally had someone to unload my life on.

“Up the rates.”

That was what he said when I finally quit babbling.

“What?” I asked.

“You rent those cabins too cheap, Cassidy. They’re the shit. Up the rates.”

I was experiencing a heady warmth from his they’re the shit that was somewhat overwhelming but I still managed to ask, “You think I could get away with that?”

“A year ago, two, no. Economy was in the tank. No matter how great your cabins are, you’d have to take that hit to get them rented. Now, you got the business you got because people are gettin’ a deal. They know it. You up nightly rates by ten, twenty dollars, weekly rates by fifty, they’d still rent them, because they might not be getting a deal, but they’re still the shit. You do that, helps you during the lean times.”