Deacon(7)

“You have two days,” I declared. “Two days to pack your stuff and get out.”

His head jerked, his face paled, and his lips moved to clip, “You cannot be f*ckin’ serious.”

“Deadly,” I whispered, my heart pumping, my head hurting, part of my soul dying, but my mouth kept speaking. “I loved you. I trusted you. I believed in you. I believed you believed in me. You let me down. Then you did it again. And again. And again. I’m done. I’m cutting my losses and moving on.”

“I got two years in with you,” he stated like it was doing time in prison, not spending it with the woman he loved.

“And I’ve got nine not-very-good months with you,” I returned.

“You’d pick a bunch of cabins over me?” he ground out.

And with that, I knew. I knew the worst thing a woman could know about her man.

He didn’t get it.

And that was when that part of my soul died.

And that hurt so bad, I had no choice but to inform him of that fact.

“You don’t get it, Grant,” I said, suddenly quiet, my voice sad, beaten, and he heard it. He felt it. I knew it when I saw his body get tight. “It isn’t about the cabins. It’s about sharing with you what I wanted out of life, you agreeing, us taking life on together, and you deserting me. You were around but you deserted me practically the minute we got here.”

He came toward me but I took a step back.

He stopped approaching and his voice was quiet too, and cajoling. “Babe, life isn’t about work. I thought we’d come up here and take on these cabins but do it havin’ a good time.”

“We could have but we couldn’t do it the way you wanted to do it, Grant. We didn’t have the money. And I’ll repeat what I’ve been trying to get through to you for months, I thought us working side by side would be a good time. Not having drinks and laughing and getting frisky, that kind of good time. But the building a life together kind of good time that led to the other stuff that wouldn’t be good. It would be better than good because we earned it.”

“You talk like your father,” he said and it wasn’t entirely accusatory. It also wasn’t entirely not.

Then again, Grant had grown up in the town where Obadiah Swallow was well-known and well-respected, because he worked the ranch he inherited, which was a ranch his father had inherited, and his before him, and he loved his family.

The first was hard work. The second was easy but there weren’t many men like Dad who found it easy to let it show like he did.

There were men who respected men like that and showed it.

There were men, like Grant had hidden in the beginning, but it came out more and more, who dated Obadiah Swallow’s daughters and found the specter of a supremely loving father and esteemed man a shadow it wasn’t easy to escape.

And I was learning the hard way that Grant’s problem was that he didn’t get he didn’t have to escape it. He just had to do whatever it was he needed to do in his own way to create his umbrella of protection over Obadiah’s girl, making her his girl.

Thus he didn’t mean what he said as a compliment. But I took it as one.

“That’s because I’m his daughter.”

And I was Obadiah’s daughter. I could have been Grant’s woman. I wanted to be. I claimed him as my man and he was apparently down with that.

He just didn’t claim me back.

Grant took in a breath before he stated, “I’m not ready to throw in the towel, Cassidy.”

“And I’m not prepared to live the way we’ve been living. If you kick in, we can work on us. If you keep on like you’ve been keeping, Grant, I’ll show you the door.”

“An ultimatum,” he muttered, staring at me.

“Yes, but a necessary one,” I replied softly.

We stood there, neither of us moving, both of us holding the other’s gaze.

Grant broke the silence, and when he did, I experienced a resurrection.

“I’ll install those lights tomorrow.”

I felt my shoulders slump, such was the relief, and Grant caught that too. I knew it when his face got soft and he moved to me.

This time, I didn’t move away so I was right there when he got there.

And when he got there, he wrapped his arms around me. “Not sure what I’d do, wakin’ up and not seein’ those eyes first thing.”

I loved that. I loved it.

That was my old Grant.

I leaned in to him and slid my arms around him. “Not sure what I’d do, waking up and not having your arms around me.”

He touched his nose to mine and murmured, “Not been good of late, cuddlin’ my girl.”

He hadn’t. And that, maybe more than all the rest, hurt.

“Missed that, darlin’,” I whispered.

I watched the look in his eyes change and he whispered back, “I’ve missed a lot of things about you, Cassidy.”

I leaned deeper in to him, tipping my head back.

Grant pressed me in to the door and accepted my invitation.

When he did, hope again filled my heart.

But I would find out in a variety of ways, all of them hard, that was me. Time and again, not one of them smart, I let hope fill my heart. And my head. And my gut. So much hope, it leaked out my pores.