Page 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

DEACON

The snow gives us a handful of days that blur into each other. I’m in paradise. Other than keeping the ranch running, all we do is eat, sleep, and fuck.

She made a breakthrough in the attic, maybe more important than any other breakthrough before.

The sex is raw, animalistic, straightforward. I’ve never felt so close to anyone in my life. It’s like our bodies aren’t whole unless they’re connected. When I’m not with her, I ache. When I am, I want more. I want it deeper, harder, more frequently, if that’s even possible.

The next several days become two weeks. I know by now that Aiden will have worked out where Freya is, even if he didn’t immediately notice it was my truck. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, but the snow holds the world at bay and gives me time with my girl.

Then it melts and lets everything back in.

The first mild day, after the roads clear, Jensen comes over. He pulls up on a Tuesday in his truck and lets his hound out. I’m standing in the bedroom by the windows, threading my belt. Freya’s up, staring at the ceiling with a crease between her brows. She’s been weirdly silent since she woke up.

“Looking pretty good, sweetheart,” I say casually .

She glances sideways, lips thinning.

I reach for my jacket. “You okay?”

She nods, rolling on her side facing away. I circle the bed so I can look her in the face. “Feel bad?”

She huffs, throwing aside the covers. “I didn’t realize I had to play twenty questions at seven in the morning,” she snaps, going into the bathroom and shutting the door hard.

I stare, confused. Downstairs, Jensen beeps his horn, impatient. Reluctantly, I leave the bedroom and go out to meet him.

We stand in the driveway and shoot the shit, talking about nothing for a while. It’s cold—not cold enough for winter, but cold enough our collars are turned up, our hats pulled low. I’m feeling a bit off from Freya snapping at me, but I’m trying to let it bounce. I don’t think I did anything to make her mad.

“Freya here?” Jensen asks.

I nod, jerking my head back at the house. “She’s been here since I took her from Aiden.”

“She want to be here?” He blows thin gray smoke into the wind.

I think back to last night. I got in late and kissed her awake. She rolled onto her back, eyes barely open, and let me in.

She’s sweet, submissive. I think she likes the little rituals we do together. Every morning, I find that vibrator on my pillow, wet with evidence she used it. I have my doubts I’ll be getting that this morning, though, not with the mood she’s in.

“Yeah, I think she does,” I say.

“Has to be better than what she’s used to,” he drawls. “Did you talk to Brothers Boyd?”

I nod, stabbing out my cigarette. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Can you tell me what you needed him for?”

I shake my head. “Better not. You want breakfast?”

“Jack says she cooks better than he’s ever had, so that’s a yes,” Jensen says.

We go inside. Freya has the table set already, with a place for Jensen. We sit, and she plates the food, and pours coffee. She’s still not speaking. The meal is excellent, as usual. Jensen is trying to make small talk with Freya when I hear tires rumble up the drive.

I lift my hand. Jensen goes quiet.

“Somebody’s here,” I say.

Chicken starts baying on the porch. I get up and lean back to look out the window. I think I know who’s approaching, but it still lights a fire in me when my gaze falls on Aiden’s truck.

I glance back at Freya. Her eyes are wide, her hands clasped in her lap.

“You stay here, sweetheart,” I say firmly.

I give Jensen a look, jerking my head at the hall. We step out, and I shut the kitchen door. Freya is already at the window, looking out. I can tell by her footsteps and the little gasp that sounds through the wall.

“Hatfields?” Jensen asks.

I nod. “Let me get my shotgun.”

Jensen nods, reaching into the holster at his belt and taking out his pistol. He checks it, keeping it down. Inside, I’m deadly quiet as I go into the living room and take my shotgun down from above the mantel. There’s an ammo case under the couch. I kick it out, pocketing a handful of slugs.

“Don’t shoot,” I say, walking past Jensen in the hall. “Not unless they shoot first.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words from Deacon Ryder,” Jensen mutters.

I elbow open the door and step onto the porch. Chicken is going crazy, his feet braced on the floorboards and his head thrown back. I put two bullets in my shotgun but let it hang open over the crook of my elbow.

Aiden gets out. He’s got a pistol on his belt, but nothing bigger that I can see. Ryland jumps out the other side and circles the truck to stand by his father. I don’t see Bittern, to my relief. If this escalates, I don’t want to shoot the only brother Freya cares about.

I swing my gaze over to Aiden. I get what Freya was saying about us being similar. Aiden is me on the outside, just a meaner version. Maybe he’d be me if I hadn’t had people like Andy, Jensen, and Jack to keep me in check.

“You got some kind of nerve standing on my ranch, Hatfield,” I say.

He shifts his weight to one leg.

“You got some kind of nerve kidnapping my daughter,” he says.

That gets me going, but I keep my composure. Freya isn’t his daughter. To be that, he would be required to treat her like a human.

“Didn’t seem like you wanted her around,” I say.

“How’d you figure that?”

I snap the shotgun shut with a quick thrust. “How’d you figure getting a bullet between your eyes, motherfucker?”

“Alright now,” Jensen says, holding up an arm. He sends me a look, warning me to calm down. I know he’s right—we’ve been out here less than a minute, and I’ve already made a death threat. Honestly, I thought I’d snap in seconds having to look at Aiden’s assbackwards face.

“The fuck you here for?” I ask. “Chicken, you quit.”

For the first time in his life, Chicken listens and sits down. He’s on high alert, the hair on his spine spiked. I swing my gaze back to Aiden.

“Better start talking,” Jensen says.

“I came to give you these,” Aiden says, taking an envelope from his pocket and tossing it onto the bottom step. Jensen leans down and picks it up, handing it to me.

I open it. Court summons.

I keep quiet—not for long, but long enough for everything Jay Reed told me to run through my head. Maybe those were more suggestions. I don’t want to keep quiet. I want to put my shotgun down and give this man what he deserves.

I think that’s probably his problem. Nobody’s ever beaten him so bad that he thinks twice before bullying women a third his size.

My mind goes to the fence stakes in the blacksmith shop. I can’t stop fantasizing about pinning this asshole to a wall like one of those bugs in Freya’s collection .

He’d deserve it.

“If you don’t appear in court for this, we will sue,” Aiden says. “If you want to clear this up, you’ll sign off on the easement.”

I keep quiet. Jensen’s watching me like he’s waiting for a gunshot. Even Chicken is staring up at me, one jowl tucked in his teeth. Slowly, I fold the paper in half. My boots are the only sound in the damp, cold air as I descend the steps.

I stop a foot from Aiden. Behind him, Ryland is raring to go, shifting his weight back and forth.

He smells like some kind of soap with a hint of liquor. Up close, I can see his tattoos are just as fucked up as mine. We’re both shaped by years of hard living on the outside, but that’s where the similarities end.

“Does it bother you?” I ask quietly.

We’re about the same height. He’s looking me dead in the eye.

“That you won’t give up that easement bullshit? Yeah, fucking bothers me,” Aiden says.

I shake my head. “No, does it bother you that I fuck your stepdaughter?”

His face turns to stone. The only thing that moves are his pupils, blowing to fill his eyes. The thought that has poked at my subconscious for weeks resurfaces: Aiden cares a little too much about who’s fucking Freya.

“Does it bother you that her mother left? That that one’s mother left too?” I jerk my head at Ryland. “But my girl, she stays…enthusiastically.”

Ryland surges forward. I whip up the shotgun and point it at him.

“Stay right there, you son of a bitch,” I say, keeping my voice low.

Everybody freezes. A few stray bits of snow fall, and I swear, I can hear them drift down. Slowly, I take the envelope and tuck it into the front pocket of Aiden’s coat.

“The problem with you is, you’ve never met your match,” I say. “So nice to meet you. I’m not a little girl you can scare by breaking shit. Hit me, and I’ll curb stomp your sons into the ground and bury them in my compost pile. Now, get off my land. ”

His jaw works. His hatred is so intense, it turns his eyes black.

“Alright,” he says. “We’re doing this the hard way.”

He steps back, jerking his head at Ryland to get in the truck, and starts backing up. Behind me, the door slams open, and by the sound of stockinged feet, I know it’s Freya. Chicken lets out a low growl.

Aiden’s eyes fix behind me. I see it then: intense disgust. Quick as a flash, I lift the shotgun.

“Say a word to her, and I’ll shoot you,” I say.

It’s eating him up not to get the last word in, but he gets into his vehicle. But not without hitting the side of my truck hard as he walks by—that makes my blood boil. They peel out, spraying mud and gravel behind them. I’m so fucking angry, I have to take a beat to compose myself before Freya sees my face.

She’s standing by the door, arms wrapped around her body. The wind whips her hair around her pale face. Her eyes are wide and wet, a single tear etching down her cheek.

Chicken lets out one last bark and sits. Freya’s eyes fall on him as another tear slips out.

“Chicken is a fucking stupid name for a dog,” she snaps, yanking open the door. “You should name him something better.”

She disappears into the house like a storm cloud. The door slams so hard, it echoes through the yard. Jensen’s jaw hangs loose. He turns on his heel and throws his hands up.

“What the fuck did I do?” he says.

I hand him the shotgun, shaking my head, and follow her into the house. It’s not Jensen she’s mad at. I’m not positive it’s me either, not unless she heard the comment about her staying with me. Still, that was barely risqué.

There’s something else going on.

Her feet patter overhead. I follow her upstairs, turning the corner just in time to see her disappear behind the attic door. I cock my head, listening to her flip the deadbolt and patter up the steps.

She’s feeling feisty this morning. I try the handle, and it’s locked. Sighing, I go into our bedroom and take the jackknife from my bedside table. Back in the hall, I kneel and push the blade in the crack to pop it open.

Good. I’d rather not scare her by kicking the door in. As I climb the stairs, I hear Jensen’s truck head down the drive. Apparently, he’s not sticking around, and I don’t blame him.

She’s sitting in the reading chair, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around her legs. There’s a pout on her lips and a crease between her brows. Tears glitter on her lashes. She glances up as I step into the room and looks away, fixing her eyes on the floor.

“No, thank you,” she says.

“No, thank you…what?” I cross the room and crouch down to look up at her.

She tilts her chin, looking me dead in the eyes.

“No, thank you, daddy,” she says coolly.

I’m speechless for a second. She appears to be pushing, trying to get some kind of reaction from me. Gently, I lean in and brush her hair back, lifting her chin so she can’t turn away.

“Did Aiden scare you?” I ask.

“No,” she whispers.

“What’s wrong?”

Tears spill out in earnest. Quick as a flash, she wipes them away. I hold my hands out, palms up.

“Nothing,” she says, bunching her fists.

I bite back a sigh. “Do you know what you want?”

Her throat bobs. It’s several difficult minutes before she shakes her head. Another tear slips out. It’s gone in a second, wiped on her skirt.

“Are you willing to talk about it?” I press gently.

She shrugs. I can see how she’s at war with herself. Finally, she swallows hard, like she’s pushing back a sob.

“I’m just stressed out,” she sniffs.

“Why? Because of Aiden? He won’t come up here again, I promise.”

She shakes her head again. “Not really. I think that was just the last straw. ”

I try to take her fingers in mine again, but she closes them. Her whole body shudders.

“I need a test,” she sobs. “I got up this morning, and I realized I’m late.”

The entire world goes quieter than a fresh snowfall. My brain absorbs what she’s saying, but slowly, the pieces click into place.

She might be pregnant.

I did this on purpose, but I think, deep down, I thought it wouldn’t work. Now, here I am, realizing for the first time that maybe it did. She could be carrying my baby. I could have a family with the woman I love more than anything.

Dazed, I pick up her stiff body and sink onto the chair, turning her to face me in my lap.

“Hey, you look at me, sweetheart,” I say.

I pry her face up. It’s swollen, and her blue eyes are so scared, it hurts my chest.

“I’ll go get a test from the gas station,” I say.

She stares at me for a second. Then, she sniffs. “You’re not…angry?”

My chest aches.

“No. Why would I be angry?” I say. “I’m the one who did it. Are you angry?”

She shakes her head. “No, just afraid. Aiden used to say if I got pregnant by somebody, he’d throw me out.”

My mind flips through a dozen images of all the violent things I’d like to do to Aiden. I want to go after him right now, drag him out of that truck and enact some vigilante justice. Instead, I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss the backs of her fingers.

“Aiden is not your problem anymore.”

“I know,” she whispers.

I brush her hair back, wiping her puffy face. “Is this what you want?”

Her lips part before the tip of her tongue wets them. Her eyes are bright for the first time in a long while .

“All my life, I thought this wasn’t what I wanted,” she whispers. “But now… I think that I wanted a family…just not the kind I had growing up. And you…you’re not like that. And I…want you. I want to have a baby with you.”

My heart stops. The world slips away.

Her lower lip trembles. “I’m trusting you,” she whispers. “Please, please don’t break my heart.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” I say, the words tumbling out. “You can trust me. I swear, I won’t hurt you or let you down.”

A hesitant smile tries to shine through her tears. “Like…what kind of love me?”

“Like can’t live without you kind of I love you.”

She doesn’t say it back. She falls apart instead. Her body shakes with sobs, so hard that I pull her against my chest and they soak my shirt. She doesn’t need to say the words until she's ready.

She’s scared of being hopeful, tired of being scared.

I let her cry it out. When she lifts her head, I wipe her tears. It means a lot that she lets me see her vulnerable.

“I’m going to put you to bed,” I say. “You’ll stay there and rest while I get a test.”

She nods, wiping her nose. I pick her up, holding her close, and carry her down to our room. She lets me undress her and work her slip over her head. Then, she snuggles onto her side. I smooth back her hair.

“Thank you for not being mad,” she whispers.

I crouch down. “If you’re pregnant, I’ll be the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Her eyes are sleepy. “Really?”

I nod, stroking her cheek. “This is what I’ve been waiting on, sweetheart. You, me, and a little guy.”

“Or girl.” Her lips curve.

“I’ll take whatever comes.”

Her eyelids flicker. I press a kiss to her temple and lock up all the doors and windows before leaving the truck. Before I go, I send Andy a text to let him know to keep an eye on the house .

Then, knuckles white on the steering wheel, I drive to the gas station. If she’s not pregnant, I want to keep trying. I’ve wanted a family for a while now. But that’s changed. I don’t want just any family—I need Freya to be my wife. I want to have babies with her, to raise our kids on Ryder Ranch together.

I want to hold her hand when I’m gray and there’s no more tread on my tires.

My heart has never gone so hard just buying something from the gas station. I put it on the counter. The clerk, who’s worked there for ten years, gives me a look, but she doesn’t say anything as she rings up the test.

I put it in my pocket, walk across the muddy parking lot, and swing into the truck. The road is crowded, which is strange for this time of day. I’m halfway down the bypass when I realize there’s a truck stalled out in one of the intersections and police cars parked around it. I stare at it for a minute, thinking I recognize the person standing by the truck, but it’s hard to see what’s going on.

I grit my teeth, the impatience killing me.

Of course, today of all days, there has to be a traffic jam. I do a U-turn and go back the way I came, my foot sinking down on the gas pedal. There’s a state route that takes a little longer, but it’s usually pretty clear.

I’m distracted. My thumb hits the wheel.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The gray trees fly by. My truck bounces over the rough concrete. If she’s pregnant, she’ll be starting to show by springtime. I could be a father by the summer.

I can’t keep from smiling. If she says yes to me, I’ll make sure she never regrets it. By rights, she shouldn’t even be a possibility for me. She’s smart, beautiful, and she’s got the sweetest soul that shines through her bright, clear eyes.

My truck lurches, and right away, I can tell there’s something wrong. The wheel, which I was barely holding, spins. The world blurs, but I keep my composure enough to keep my hand loose so the truck can do a full circle and come to a halt halfway in the shallow ditch.

What the fuck?

Heart thumping, I take the rifle from the backseat and kick open the door. I’m in a wooded area, less than a mile from the entrance of Ryder Ranch. Up ahead, the trees thin, and the road cuts through a field. Just over that hill is the gate.

I jump out, water and mud coming up over my boots. The woods are empty, but the birds are still singing. That’s a good sign. It means nobody is around.

Slowly, I check overhead, then in the tree line, which is mercifully sparse. There’s no disturbance. Treading carefully on the sides of my boots, I circle the truck and walk back to the place where I spun out.

There’s a spike strip a dozen yards up the road and a ditch dug out at my feet.

I must have hit the spikes, not realizing it until my wheel went into the ditch. With nothing to buffer the hit, I spun out.

I lift my head.

I’ve been gone less than forty minutes. There’s no way anybody knew I was gone.

Then, it hits me—the man standing by the stalled truck was Elijah McClaine.

This is a trap.

Fear clamps down on my chest like a vise. This means, somehow, they tracked me. They knew I left the ranch. Heart pounding, I spin on my heel and go to the side of my truck where Aiden hit it just over an hour ago. I dip my hand into the bed, and there it is—a little metal tracker stuck to the side.

I look down at it, gray in my palm.

They know Freya is alone.

My feet start going before I know what’s happening. I’m running up the road, going as hard as I can toward where the trees open. My heart is in my throat.

The world spins out .

I haven’t been this scared before in my life, not even when Henderson stuck me to a tree and left me to bleed out.

I don’t remember running down the road and up the driveway. All I know is suddenly, I’m tearing up to the porch with my rifle in my hand and my lungs on fire. The door to the house is ajar, swinging in the breeze. The gravel of the drive has two deep marks where someone spun out.

Inside, Stu yaps and whines pitifully.

I lift my rifle, moving up the porch, and kick the door wide open. It swings in, revealing an empty hall. Swiftly, I move along, checking behind every door, even though I know the truth.

There’s nobody here, but I already know who’s responsible for breaking in. I know who did this, and he’s got a vested interest in taking what’s most precious to me and disappearing fast.

My boots echo as I go upstairs and burst through the open door of our bedroom. The covers are pulled back. The bed is empty.

The pillow on her side is bloody. Not a lot, like she scraped herself. Maybe bumped her face and split her lip.

If Aiden hit her… Fuck.

My vision flashes. If they hurt her, God help them. I’m going to gun down every man who had a hand in this and burn their bodies at the top of Deacon’s Hill so everyone sees the smoke.

I’m not an angry man, not the way she was afraid I’d be. But I lose it and lash out, kicking the center of the bed frame so hard, the solid wood splinters.

It bows in the middle, the bed where I fell in love with her, where I coaxed her to trust me.

Maybe the place we made our baby.

Deep down, I want to believe she’s pregnant.

The test burns a hole in my pocket. I take it out with unsteady fingers, chest heaving as I stare down at it. In the distance, I feel something snap deep inside. It’s the same thing that happened the night Henderson stabbed me. The man drained out of me, and all that was left was the animal .

I want my family back, and I’m going to make it everyone’s problem until she’s safe in my arms.

Dust settles slowly around the broken bed. I take out my phone.

It’s time to call in that favor.