Page 8 of Deacon (Men of Clifton, Montana #52)
“Yes, of course,” Ava conceded, pulling the door wider to let him enter. She watched as he removed his hat and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before stepping inside. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” he declined politely, choosing to remain standing. He gestured for her to sit first, an unspoken courtesy, before he settled into the chair opposite her, his eyes scanning the room. “Where’s Ellie?”
“Asleep. She’s out by seven-thirty,” Ava replied, her voice gentle.
“I see,” Deacon murmured, his voice low and thoughtful as he studied the quiet house around them. He paused, then added, “Could I look in on her? I won’t wake her.”
Ava nodded and rose from the armchair. Deacon followed, his boots whispering against the hardwood floor in the hallway.
She led him down a narrow corridor lined with framed photographs, until they reached a slightly ajar door.
Ava pressed a finger to her lips, the warm glow of a nightlamp spilling through the crack.
Gently, she pushed the door open. Inside, the lamp cast golden light across the ceiling, where delicate butterflies ‘flew’ in an endless spiral. Ava’s eyes softened. “She loves butterflies,” she whispered, stepping forward and motioning Deacon to join her.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if afraid to break the enchantment.
At her gesture, he crossed into the bedroom.
The scent of lavender and baby powder filled the air.
Together, they stood beside the white wooden crib.
Deacon’s gaze settled on their daughter’s soft curls, and she saw him blink his eyes quickly.
“She’s so beautiful,” he breathed.
Ava’s throat tightened. “Yes, she is.”
“And healthy?”
“Yes.”
Deacon reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against a ringlet.
“I don’t know where she got those curls.”
“My mother,” Deacon replied.
“I was sure they didn’t come from my side of the family.”
“Mine and my brothers’ hair curls on the ends.” He pointed to the curled ends of his hair.
Ava smiled, then tugged his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s sit and talk.”
Deacon followed her down the hall to the living room. “Please sit,” Ava invited, gesturing to the sofa.
“Do you have any whiskey?”
Ava smiled and nodded. She returned moments later with a shot glass half-filled with amber liquid. Deacon took it without a word, downed it in one motion, and handed it back. “Another?”
“No, thank you.”
Ava rinsed the glass and placed it in the sink, then returned to find him still standing by the armchair. “Deacon, please sit.”
He glanced at her. “After you.”
She sighed and settled onto the sofa. He sat beside her, the tension between them as intense as the hush in the room. At last Ava turned to him, voice trembling. “I know you’re in shock. Seeing you with her… I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have.”
His jaw clenched. He met her gaze, pain flickering in his eyes. “Yes. You should have.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I heard you.” Deacon stood and began to pace, running his fingers through his hair as his phone rang.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take this,” he murmured, a hint of urgency in his voice.
Ava nodded, “Sure,” and moved to the sink, the rush of water filling the glass echoing against the silence as Deacon answered the call.
“Rawley? Where are you?” His voice was tense, his brows furrowed in concentration.
She could hear the muffled voice on the other end as she lifted the glass to her lips, the cool water a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.
“Okay, I’ll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes.” He ended the call with a swift movement, the phone disappearing back into his pocket. His eyes met hers, a mix of apology and determination swirling in their depths. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. We’ll finish this conversation later.”
Ava set the glass down, the clink of ice against glass echoing in the quiet room. “Of course. Did you solve the case already?”
Deacon shook his head, his jaw set in a firm line.
“No, but I’m on the right track. I needed some backup, so two other agents are on their way here.
” He reached for his hat and made his way to the door.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back at her.
“I just wanted to talk, but it will have to wait a little longer.”
Ava understood the weight of his words, the unspoken promise hanging in the air.
“I understand. Let me give you my number.” She rattled off the digits, watching as he entered them into his phone, his thumbs moving swiftly across the screen.
He called her, the sound of her phone ringing filling the room.
“Add my number to your phone.” He walked back to her, his boots heavy on the floor, stopping mere feet away from her. His voice was low, a soft growl that sent a shiver down her spine. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of talking about this, Ava.”
She met his gaze, her voice steady. “I don’t. We’ll talk. Just give me a call when you’re ready.”
Deacon huffed out a laugh, a sound that was half amusement, half exasperation. “Like I’ll ever be ready for this,” he muttered, turning away from her, then looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we are going to get this straightened out.”
“I thought you said we’d talk after you solved the case?” Ava wrung a dishtowel in her hands.
“I changed my mind. The sooner, the better.” He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. The sound of the ranch outside rushing in, before it clicked shut behind him, leaving Ava alone in the silence of the room.