Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(78)

“Told you before, they’re solid. You need this done, you call them. Got nothin’ more for you. I got somethin’ on that’s priority.”

Priority.

That made me feel warm and squishy.

“You got his number,” Deacon finished, disconnecting, and tossing his phone on the counter. “Gotta bury that in a drawer,” he muttered like he was talking to himself.

“I have you for three weeks?” I asked, putting the milk back.

“At least,” he answered.

I turned from the fridge and smiled big at him.

The grooves hit the sides of his mouth and he looked down at the skillet.

Bossy started growling. I looked to her and saw she’d found purchase on Deacon’s jeans and was tugging back with puppy viciousness.

Deacon ignored her.

More warm and squishy.

I grabbed a spoon, picked up my bowl, put a hip to the counter, and started eating.

After bite three, when Deacon was transferring bacon to a plate covered in paper towels, I asked, “Who’s Raid?”

I got warmer and squishier when Deacon’s response was immediate.

“Colleague. Friend.” His eyes came to mine. “One of the three decent people I’ve spent time with in the last decade. One of the handful I’d trust knowin’ you.”

That surprised me.

“Knowing me?”

“When I leave that life, Raid is one of three I won’t leave behind.”

Oh my God. I might meet his friends!

I tamped down my excitement at this and remarked casually, “A close bud.”

“A good man, and yeah, a close bud.”

I drew in a breath to give myself courage to take a risk. Then I took it.

“Who are the other two?”

Again, Deacon answered immediately. “Knight Sebring. Marcus Sloan.” He moved his attention to the skillet where his eggs were waiting and muttered, “And maybe Tucker and Sylvie Creed.”

“Tucker and Sylvie?” I prompted.

He slid his eggs on a waiting plate and looked to me. “Don’t know them well, know Sylvie better, seein’ as she worked with Knight before she got herself hitched to Creed, but did a job with them a while back, and what I know, they seem solid.”

I nodded and cautiously offered, “They’re all welcome at Glacier Lily.”

He tossed his bacon on the plate, nabbed the waiting fork, and turned to me, hip to the counter, grinning at me.

“Anyone who isn’t?”

“Rapists. Murderers. Racists. Bigots. Hitler. Pol Pot—”

I stopped when Deacon burst out laughing.

Bossy started yapping.

I grinned at my cereal, listening to Deacon laugh, doing this perhaps for the first time since I was a little kid feeling completely and utterly happy, but more, content, safe, and totally at peace.

Deacon quit laughing and noted, “You’re lucky those last two are dead, Cassie. Means you won’t have to butt up against them when they try to rent a cabin.”

“My man is a badass, they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He gave me the mouth grooves and eye crinkles and more warm and squishy when he replied, “Bullshit, you and me both know I’d just have to stand there while you took care of business.”

I was preparing to jump him in order to share my feelings when a knock came at the door.

Before I could make a move, Deacon did, putting his plate down and murmuring, “Got it.”

And I jotted down another on my mile long list of good things that came with having Deacon. They were great and small. A small one being I could eat my cereal while he opened the door.

Bossy, of course, followed her daddy. She liked her momma but she was definitely a daddy’s girl.

I understood since I was too, now in more ways than just one.

“John, hello. Cassidy said you’d be back. So good to see you.” I heard Milagros say from the foyer and I felt my brows draw together.

We had two cabins—one with an over-nighter, one a short stay—both checking out and needing cleaning. Milagros knew that but when she came, she had a master key and usually got down to it, coming to me to say hey or share a coffee when she needed a break. She didn’t come to my house first.

I put my cereal aside and started toward the kitchen door. I was halfway there when it was filled with Milagros and Araceli, Deacon trailing with Bossy tucked in the crook of his arm.

But I stopped with one look at Araceli.

“Baby, are you okay?” I asked.

“Don’t feel good, Tía Cassidy,” she murmured.

She could say that again. She looked pale but her cheeks were flushed and the deep pink was concerning.

“She has a bit of a fever,” Milagros explained. “A bad belly. I know John’s just back, Cassidy, and I’m sorry to ask, but—”

Before she could finish, or I could say a word, Deacon stated, “We got her.”

My eyes flew to him.

“I have a new client and I clean their house after the cabins. It’ll be hours,” Milagros said.

“We got her,” Deacon repeated.

God, I loved living on my warm, sweet, fluffy cloud.

Deacon crouched in front of Araceli. “You wanna watch movies?”

Bossy yapped her approval of this suggestion.