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CHAPTER FOUR

DEACON

I go to church here and there. Sometimes, I just sit in my truck and watch her from the parking lot. At first, she gets dropped off by her brother. I’ve seen him around town—Andy pointed both brothers out to me one day. One is taller, dark-haired, and the other is blond with vacant eyes. He’s the one who drives her to work and church.

After a while, Tracy starts going with her. Not every time, but once or twice a month. There’s something special about this girl. Tracy sure as shit isn’t religious, but here she is, taking time out of her Sunday for Freya.

I’m distracted, the closer we get to spring. It’s a hard season at Ryder Ranch, and I’m up working from dawn to dusk. Pretty soon, I don’t have time to go into town as often as I’d like, but I still make sure that when I do, I drive by the café and see her through the window.

It’s a month and a half after I first saw her when something puts the brakes on my slow plan to approach her in a normal manner. I’m up half the night with one of my mares, trying to birth a foal.

Andy takes over around three, and I get a few hours of sleep in, waking to find the mare and foal are alright and the worst is over. Andy goes back to his house, and I get in my truck to pick up supplies in South Platte, the town a few hours east.

It’s cold, but I feel a hint of spring. It takes me a while to get through the store, and I’m feeling restless.

I’ve been restless since the day I saw Freya. It’s making me feel my oats a lot more than usual, like I’ve got a whole lot of something with nowhere for it to go. So, I decide it can’t hurt to drive down to West Lancaster. I need to get out of my head, and I’ve got friends in the area.

The Brass Terrier sits on a street corner, a neon sign signaling it’s open. I park around the back and enter through the side door. It comes out beneath the stairs, the L-shaped bar to my left and an open area of round tables to my right. I sink down at the bar, adjusting the seat so I can fit my legs in.

The door above my head opens. Boots clatter down the stairs. A tall, slender figure appears on the other side of the bar. He wears a dark button-up, black hair brushed back over his head. His moss green eyes are always distracted, like he’s a million miles away.

“Bit early for you, Ryder,” he says.

He’s got a low unnerving voice, but everything about Jack Russell is unnerving, just a little too smooth. He leans his elbows on the counter, exposing the necklace hanging under his shirt collar—a silver terrier.

“Just roaming,” I say. “Got any bourbon?”

“It’s a bar, Ryder,” he says. “I’ve got everything.”

“Hit me with it.”

He obliges, shoving the glass toward me. “You’ve got a girl.”

I frown, leaning back. “Why would you think that?”

He crosses his arms. “It’s my job to know things,” he says. “You’re tripping after that Hatfield girl.”

My stomach sinks. “Who told you that?”

“You’re not hiding it,” he says. “Word of advice—keep your enemies close, preferably in your bed, because the Hatfields are going to fuck you over before the winter is out. ”

I take a beat, making sure my next words are careful. Jack knows everything about everyone. He’s tight-lipped most of the time, reluctant to spill secrets he can use as currency, so it means something that he’s volunteering information.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.

His eyes narrow. “I want your white horse,” he says. “And when the time comes, I’ll repay the favor.”

That gives me pause. A favor from Jack Russell is worth thousands, maybe millions.

“Are you talking about the stallion I bought from Texas last year?” I ask.

“Apocalypse In Exile,” he says. “Yes, I want him.”

“Exile is an expensive horse,” I say. “I only got one season from him.”

“You can still breed him. I won’t charge a stud fee,” Jack says.

“Exile is a barrel racer,” I say. “And I won’t sell him until the fall. I don’t sell until the end of the season. I need to get stock of what I have going into winter first.”

“He’s a distance runner, not just a sprinter,” Jack says, undeterred. “I know sooner rather than later, you will need me. Give me Exile, and you have my help, free of charge.”

I know better than to say no. Out of everyone I know, I’ve known Jack Russell the longest. He’s the best gun for hire in the country, and he’s gotten me out of some of the tightest binds in my life. He shows up at the eleventh hour, fires a bullet, eliminates a problem, and he’s gone before the smoke clears.

In that way, he has everyone in his pocket.

He’s also my friend. I might be one of the few people who can genuinely call him that.

“Come up to Ryder Ranch,” I say. “We’ll see if Exile likes you. I don’t sell horses that don’t want to be sold.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “Exile loves me.”

“We’ll see.” I shake my head. “You’re a hard man to refuse.”

“It’s my best trait.”

“Can you get me a coffee to go? ”

He nods, going to fire up the coffee pot. “You need to go see Jensen Childress about the Hatfields while you’re in the area.”

It’s been a few months since I’ve spoken with Jensen, but he’s a good friend. He’s from Kentucky but now lives and runs a construction company here in South Platte.

“Why?” I ask.

Jack sets a paper cup of coffee down. “Because he built the Hatfield’s house that sits right by your property.”

I flick my wrist to check my watch. “I wonder if he’s home.”

“Make sure to knock before you walk in,” says Jack, yawning. “Last time, I didn’t knock, and there were naked women in his kitchen.”

“Plural?”

“Plural.”

“Interesting.” I pick up my coffee and stand. “You take a look at Exile when the weather breaks.”

“I’ll come up this summer,” he says. “Or fall. I’m busy.”

I nod and step out onto the street to head back to my truck. Snow drifts, wet enough to signal spring isn’t far off.

I’m heading down the main road when I see a familiar sight—the tailgate of Jensen’s construction truck disappearing around the bend. He’s heading up toward the main state route. Making a U-turn, I follow him out of West Lancaster and out onto the flat stretch of road heading east.

It takes him ten minutes to pull up beside a construction site near the road. I bring my truck behind him and get out, but he takes his sweet time.

“Why’re you stalking me, Ryder?” he calls over his shoulder.

The snow is falling harder but not hard enough to worry about. I follow him as he heads up to the foundation of a house with walls, doors, but no siding.

“Jack said you knew about the Hatfields.”

He pushes in the door, turning around. “Yeah, I built their house. What about it? ”

He dips inside and I follow. The half-finished house is dusty and smells of pine. It’s fucking cold in here. I push my hands into my pockets and go after him as he takes out a measuring tape and gets to work in the kitchen.

“What can you tell me about the Hatfields?” I say.

Jensen straightens, flicking the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “They’ve got two sons, but the patriarch, Aiden, said there were three. They’re all from one of the south-east counties in Kentucky.”

“He’s got a daughter, right?”

The words fall from my mouth before I can bite them back. Jensen’s brow rises, and he leans back, crossing his arms.

“Looking for a girlfriend?” he drawls.

“I need to know about the Hatfields,” I say. “Jack said so.”

Jensen doesn’t stop smiling. “Sure it don’t have anything to do with that pretty little brunette who lives right next door to you now?”

“I’ll beat your ass,” I threaten. “Have you met her?”

“No, but I know she exists. I helped build their house,” he says, shrugging.

I sigh, crossing my arms too. “Jack’s being all fucking mysterious about them. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing,” Jensen says. “But I’d be careful trying to fuck around with Freya. She’s got an insulated wall of asshole men around her, and I’d put my money on Aiden trying to hook her up with one of the McClaines.”

The McClaine farm sits above mine. They’re part of the reason I’ve had too much trouble keeping the roads and developments off Ryder Ranch. Elijah McClaine wants to put a development on his land. It would make him a multimillionaire, but to do that, he’d have to… No, this is what I was hoping wouldn’t happen.

My mind goes back to the conversation I had with Andy about the Hatfields. Aiden would have to own or have legal access to the Hatfield land, which he could get through the McClaines.

I take my hat off. “Is Aiden Hatfield friendly with the McClaines?”

“Very,” says Jensen .

“Fuck,” I say.

Jensen’s jaw works, and he runs his hand over it. “You think they’re planning on going in on a development?” he says. “But you would still have Deacon’s Hill as a buffer between whatever road Hatfield tries to run across his land up to the McClaine property.”

He’s right—there’s still a solid strip of land separating the Hatfield’s and McClaine’s land. It belongs to me, and there’s no way in hell I’ll sell it. But this may mean I get to spend this coming summer worrying about that on top of the city council member and real estate developer pushing at my property from the other end.

Somebody is about to get a bullet to the temple.

I’m tired of courtrooms.

I stare, thinking hard, and Jensen goes back to measuring the spots for the kitchen appliances. We fall into a hollow silence until he’s done. Then, he straightens, dusts off his hands, and puts his hat back on.

“Want to get some food? I need to head into Knifely, so I can meet you there,” he says.

“Does your business have something to do with the naked women Jack said you had in your house?” I say, following him back outside.

“Aw, shut up. You’re jealous,” he says, locking up and shoving the keys in his pocket.

We pause beside the trucks. “Not jealous,” I say. “I think those days might be over for me.”

Jensen’s brows rise. “Why’s that?”

I clear my throat, unsure how to answer. “I just…think I’m ready to settle down.”

His eyes narrow in thought as he pulls open the truck door. “You’ve been ready for a while now,” he says, getting in.

It gives me a lot to think about as we both head to Knifely. Not just that I’m ready to settle down and I have an idea the girl I want is one I’ve never even spoken to, but her family buying that farm might have opened up hell on Earth for my ranch.

I have to be careful. I can’t go in there like a bull busting through the gate for many reasons .

I blink hard, running a hand over my face. The truck is hot, and I’m sweating. I crack the window as we get into Knifely and pull up beside the curb. Jensen gets out, and we meet on the sidewalk outside the general store.

“What are you looking at?” Jensen asks.

I tear my eyes from the café window. Through it, I can see the back of Freya’s head—long dark hair, braided, leaning on the counter as she talks to a customer. There’s the prettiest little arch to her lower back, right before her perfect ass I’ve spent too much time thinking about.

I swallow. I can do this. I can handle this without fucking up.

“I said, what’re you gawking at?” Jensen says, louder than he needs to because I’m standing three feet from him.

I jerk my head toward the café. “That’s where Freya works.”

“Well, let’s go in then.”

Jensen starts walking, and I grab him by the elbow and haul him into the general store. He stumbles in, hat askew.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” he spits.

“Don’t talk to her.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I haven’t talked to her yet,” I say. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind—and maybe I have, but I want this so bad that nothing can fuck it up for me. I need time to figure out what’s going on with her family and then do this right, with the flowers and gifts and shit.

I’m pretty sure that’s the way it’s supposed to go.

Jensen’s jaw works. “Alright,” he says. “But I’m a great wingman.”

“And I’ll let you know when I need assistance,” I say.

He’s satisfied by that, and we head to the diner a few blocks away. We talk for a while, not about Freya, thankfully. The waitress serves us watery coffee, but it’s hot, so we both have two cups. It’s helping me get my head on straight to get off my ranch and out of my truck.

Jensen and I have been up to Sovereign Mountain more than usual in our spare time. I don’t know if I would call myself friends with Gerard Sovereign. He’s a hard man to befriend, but I like his land manager and close friend, Westin Quinn, a lot. I would pay good money to get him out to Ryder Ranch to work for me, but he’s loyal to a fault.

Maybe I just need to spend more time in South Platte and at Sovereign Mountain. I think being holed up at Ryder Ranch is making me lonely.

We part ways. Jensen has some work to do, and I should be getting back. I’m almost to my truck when I see something through the general store window—a bolt of soft green fabric, the same color she always wears. It wouldn’t be strange for me to buy it because, if I’m being upfront, I have a whole trunk in the attic of little things that remind me of her. I can’t help it. Everything I see that reminds me of her makes me feel like this could be more than delusion.

Like it’s all part of a path I can follow straight to her.

So, I buy it, because I’m pussy whipped for a girl I’ve never even spoken to.

And I get some fern-green lace to go with it.

Back at Ryder Ranch, we finish up chores and lock the barns. Andy goes to his house with Ginny, and I’m alone again, rattling around in this big house with nobody.

I have a drink and then I have a smoke on the back porch. Then, it’s time for bed, but instead, I go up to the third floor to stand in the attic room for a while. There are a set of four skylights covered by panels. I hit the button that slides them back and stand there, staring up at the sky.

This whole acquiring a woman thing takes longer than I expected.

My eyes run over the fern-green walls I painted and think about Freya and every time I’ve seen her in the last few weeks. She does the same things every day, the way any person does, but there’s something about her every move that has me infatuated.

When I designed the house, I’d hoped this could be a playroom—of the adult variety—in addition to whatever my future wife wanted it to be. Probably for reading or something by day. Up until now, I never had the motivation to finish it .

But now, I do.

I stand in the center of the room, looking up at the sturdy central beam. I enjoy power plays, aspects of BDSM, and I prefer being in a Dominant role during sex. I wanted a private place to play with my future wife. This beam was supposed to be an anchor point for a ring or two. The idea was, the submissive could be suspended with her head hanging upside down so only the sky and stars were visible— a kind of sensory deprivation.

I tilt my head back. The Milky Way spills overhead.

Maybe that’s the root of why I haven’t talked to her yet.

She’s sweet, she goes to church, she works at a café where she makes pastries all day. I’m not her kind of man. Yet, here I am, thinking about what she’d look like suspended naked from my ceiling.

Thinking hard, I go downstairs and make a coffee while I find the blueprints for the attic room.

I think it’s time to get back to work.