by Gem Sivad
“I can see that detective work is something you have a knack for. I’m thinking that there are plenty of government agencies that can use both of us.”
Her belligerent stance relaxed into interest as she listened, looking pleased at what he suggested. Deacon had no idea if he could sell their services to the Pinkertons or join the army of undercover operatives the Texas Rangers had working in the state. He did know that he wasn’t hitting the trail, sleeping on the ground, riding herd on petty thieves or chasing dangerous murderers any longer—and neither was she.
Chapter Nine
Miri hid her smile as Deacon planned her future. Aside from his high-handed assumption that his say-so was the last word on the subject, he had good ideas.
She’d thought more than once that it would be exciting to work for the Pinkertons. Landing a job with the Texas Rangers though seemed way out of her reach. But then again, Hiram’s lawman friend Logan Doyle might be able to put in a good word for them. And Deacon seemed to think her dress-up skills would be something both agencies would want to employ. She was impatient to get on with their future endeavors and pointed out the obvious as she saw it.
“I think Ned has trouble telling the truth so there’s no reason to think he did this time. We haven’t found the plates yet, and he’s hunkered down and comfortable on the Hawks ranch. We’re no closer to closing this case than we were before we questioned him.”
She was startled when Deacon disagreed. “I think he’s telling the truth. You followed him all summer. He kept going back to the Pleasure Dome. Who knows how he got hold of the printing plates, but he’s creative. I’m betting they’re exactly where he said, in the attic.”
She had a nagging feeling she’d missed something important. She tried to think back to the customers coming and going at the Pleasure Dome.
“The one I remember real well was Crispin. He visited on a regular basis but I don’t know why. His carnal tastes ran in a different direction from most of the folks at the Pleasure Dome.”
Deacon slid his arm around her shoulders and she planted a kiss on his lips just to make sure he understood that she could. He returned the kiss, caressing her bare rump with his hand as he penetrated her lips with his tongue.
Then he released her and stepped back with a laugh, grabbing up his pants and stepping into them before she could take him back to the blanket.
“Hungry, remember,” he reminded her.
Miri gathered up her wig, her hat and the sheet of material she used to bind her breasts—all remnants of her Beau disguise.
“Took me awhile to get Beau’s character straight. Not to mention the fact that I’ve got lawmen who trust him to bring in the wanteds.” She wasn’t quite certain what he thought she was going to do with her life until they negotiated some new clients. But she knew. She had money to earn and outlaws to catch.
“I have responsibilities, Deacon,” she told him. “I can’t neglect my duties though it would be nice to have a breather now and then.”
“What duties? Who are you responsible to?” He frowned at her.
She grimaced and shrugged. Best to get it out now so he didn’t say she didn’t warn him. ’Course, it wasn’t warning but pride in her voice when she said, “I have children.”
He blinked, his brow wrinkled. He buttoned his shirt slowly, watching her so intently she fidgeted. Then he asked, “How many?”
“Seven.” She cleared her throat, surprised at how nervous she felt.
He didn’t say anything. Miri finished lacing up her moccasins and stood. Deacon held out his hand.
“Ready?”
“Don’t you want to know how I came to have seven young’uns?” His apparent disinterest peeved her.
“Well,” he drawled, scooping her up in his arms before she knew what to expect. He was midway across the stream with her holding tight around his neck when he continued. “I figure there’s a good story in it. I know you didn’t birth one let alone seven. If you say they’re yours, you must mean you’re paying for ’em since I know you’re not tending them.”
She gaped at him as they reached the other side and he brushed his lips across hers before setting her on the ground.
“Did you think you were the only one who can figure?”
Miri blushed. Sometimes she was like Ned—a mite high in the instep thinking she was smarter than folks. She couldn’t help it, because for the most part, she was. Guess Deacon was an exception to the rule in more than one way.
“Well, now that you know, you see how it is,” she told him, shaking the wig and hat at him. “I can’t just up and quit being Beauregard. I’ve got kids to feed.”
“How long since you’ve sent money?” Deacon was nosey and seemed determined to ask the wrong questions.
“Why?” Her business was her business and she didn’t feel right about telling it to him. Especially her money business.
“Because if you get your ass shot off going after outlaws or your throat cut challenging a pack of Indian braves to a fight, I don’t want the kids left starving. So in case you decide to be a fool and end up dead, how much and where do I send?”
“Oh.” How was that for a show of her smarts? It was all she could think to say. There was no laughter in his expression, no teasing as he turned her to face him.
“I’m pushing thirty-four and no prize. I was married once and my big mouth got my wife killed. I never thought I’d want to marry again, but I was wrong. I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”
“I said we could be partners.” She no more got that out than he had his answer ready.
“It doesn’t work—us bounty hunting as partners—at least, not the way it’s been. Times are changing. We need to change with them. I want you to marry me and go forward in a new business. We’ll bring the children here. Naomi’s been talking about setting up a schoolroom and this will give her more reason to do it.”
Miri was stunned. He wasn’t just managing her future now. He’d already commenced thinking about how to raise the kids. She was reminded of their earlier match. He’d just out-powered her. He was doing the same thing again.
“I’ll have to give it some thought,” she hedged. There were things about being married that didn’t work for her. Like acting like a female. She didn’t know how. It seemed pretty certain that Deacon expected his wife to look womanly. She didn’t want to insert disagreement and disappointment into the fine time they’d just had, so she patted his arm and said, “We’ll see.”
He put his big paw over her hand, holding it to his arm and started up the path, leading her toward the house. It occurred to her that he’d not accepted her evasion.
“Deacon, I ’spect I’d better head on home. We’ll have that food together some other time.”
“No.” His grip on her arm tightened. He looked at her and smiled. “We’ll have it now.”
In this particular instance there were some advantages to being bigger than Miri. He swept her along beside him, leading her toward the house, not breaking stride when she hesitated. He had a feeling that if they didn’t get this straightened out and nailed down, things might never be right between them.
On the walk to the house, he sensed her growing uneasiness and when they entered the ranch yard, she veered toward the barn. They’d given each other pleasure and now she was ready to say good night and maybe goodbye. Hell no. He wasn’t having any of it. He had a whole list of reasons for her to stay and none for her to leave.
“Did you not say you were hungry?” he asked. He guided her back toward the house.
“Deacon, you know darn well I don’t want to go into that house. If any of your kin is still awake, they’ll know what we’ve been up to.”
“At least we spared them the noise,” he growled, bringing a startled look of surprise to her face.
Her hair was damp but mostly dry as he gathered it up in his hands and bent his head to rub his face in it.
“What are you doing?” She tried to shy away from him but
he nuzzled her neck, reducing her to giggles that ended in a moan of want. He also maneuvered them closer to the house while he teased her, blowing a raspberry on her neck and nipping her before he quit.
“I’m staking my claim, letting you know you’re not getting away from me, showing you how much I want you and trying not to scare you away with how much this means to me.” His kisses carried them to the front porch where he brushed his lips across hers with a quiet brush of assurance.
“If we’re lucky, there are some leftovers from the supper Eden cooked. I don’t suppose you can cook, can you?”
“Probably not any more than you can, Deacon,” she answered. “Is it important?”
“Not at all,” he answered, laughing. “We’ve got one in the family so far who can make a tasty meal. Aunt Rachel and Charlie’s wife, Naomi, are still working on getting the hang of the kitchen.”
“Does Charlie cook?” she asked. “Or Sam or you?” Her voice was tense, defensive. He laughed harder.
“If need be, I will. Or we can hire someone to cook for us.”
“You’re mighty generous with money not earned yet,” she told him waspishly. “And if you don’t let me get on with earning it, I for one am not going to be able to—”
“We’re eating, then we’ll set up a plan to go back to the Pleasure Dome and retrieve the plates. It sounds to me like with a little luck, we might be able to bring in the head of the counterfeiting gang if we want. Or just turn in Ned and the plates and we’re a tidy sum richer with plenty of time to decide what’s next.”
Even as he said the words, he amazed himself. He’d dedicated all of his time and thoughts to hunting criminals for so long, he’d lost sight of anything else—until Miri Beauregard came into his life.
He had a moment of panic at the thought of losing her and ushered her up the steps and through the front door before she could think of a reason to object further.
“I’ll see what’s in the pantry.” As soon as they entered the kitchen he handed her a sack of coffee beans and a grinder before disappearing through a second door,
Miri hadn’t decided whether she was staying or going. The coffee beans reminded her, though, of how good a hot mug of brew would be.
She capitulated to hunger, grinding the beans and lighting the stove to set the coffee kettle on to boil. Deacon came out of the little room carrying plates, eggs, a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and a half-dozen potatoes.
“Looks like it’s breakfast we’re having,” he grinned.
They worked as a team fixing the meal. By the time they’d peeled the potatoes and sliced them thin, the coffee was finished. Deacon poured two cups, handed her one and stood beside her, drinking his as she fried the sliced potatoes, browning them until they were crisp. She scooped them on a platter and watched as Deacon twirled the spatula in his hand and bowed.
“My specialty,” he boasted. He turned to the stove, cracked a dozen eggs in the already hot skillet and expertly scrambled them.
Miri admitted to herself how comfortable she was standing side by side with Deacon, cooking together in the kitchen. Tenderness welled inside her as she watched him try so hard to please her.
“All right, let’s talk,” she said abruptly. “What gave me away?”
“You smell like a woman.” He lifted the iron skillet and tipped the contents onto two plates.
She thought of the times he’d bent closer than natural toward her and the way he’d inhaled and said she smelled like Ketchum.
“I made it a point to stay clear of most folks, keep my tobacco at hand and make sure those I did business with weren’t close enough to sniff me.” She frowned at him defensively. “Most of ’em weren’t, anyway.”
“My turn,” he said. “Why did you gift me with your maidenhead?”
Daggone she wished he’d let up on that question. She could feel her face getting warm and knew a blush stained it red.
None of your business, she mentally snarled but remained silent.
He set the plates on the table and guided her to her chair, seating her as he had the night at the Pleasure Dome, as if she were a lady. That memory made her face get even hotter.
When he sat down, she stood and deliberately turned the chair around, straddling it, facing him and the table over the barrier of the back. It made eating awkward but she felt better with something between her and Deacon besides scrambled eggs.
“That’s childish,” he reproached her.
“Practical,” she corrected. “I’m a tad more comfortable being myself than pretending to be a female.”
“You are a woman,” he said sharply.
She shrugged, marshaling her thoughts before she spoke.
“Eat your eggs before they get cold,” he said gruffly.
“Did you leave God because your wife got killed or because you killed her murderers?” The question spilled from her lips, bringing a frown to his face. While he tried to figure out an answer for her indelicate question, she picked up her plate and enjoyed her eggs, feeling in control again.
“I didn’t leave God,” he answered quietly. “I left the church. I wasn’t a good candidate for the ministry to begin with.”
“Then why’d you go to school to be a preacher?” She’d wondered that more than once since, though in her opinion Deacon was a good man, he didn’t strike her as being a church man. There was a difference and she understood it though she couldn’t have explained what the difference was.
“Jonas McCallister, my grandfather, was a tyrant. Anywhere I had a chance to go was an escape from him.”
Miri listened as Deacon gave her a glimpse of his childhood, living here on this ranch with a half-crazed old man who used a whip to enforce his will. He’d decreed his grandson Robert’s future, and Deacon had been more than willing to undertake religious training in order to escape the old man’s cruelty.
“As for loss of faith? I guess most people—even my own family—think I rejected the hereafter when Annie was killed. Had it been possible, I probably would have.”
She listened, fascinated as he explained himself for her. His pragmatic view of life was threaded together with an inner conviction that a greater power pulled the strings like a puppeteer playing with dolls. She shook her head at that.
“Nope, Deacon. I’d have to disagree with that idea. There’s been no rhyme nor reason to my helter-skelter here and there. If there’s a God up there managing things, he’s not doing a very good job.” She uttered her blasphemous thoughts, testing him to see what he’d say. “People claim the Indians are heathen, but what they believe makes as much sense to me as the other.”
Deacon nodded instead of disagreeing. Listening to him, it became clear to Miri that having early been exposed to Charlie Wolf’s Kiowa world of shamanism—a place where mystics, dreamwalkers and spirit guides prevailed—the young Robert McCallister’s beliefs had been half-formed before he’d ever agreed to attend seminary and become a minister. Deacon’s Christianity had cleaved to Charlie’s Kiowa mysticism and developed something akin to what she believed when she gave it much thought.
“Call the divine what you want,” he said, shrugging. “It doesn’t much matter to me. I know there’s a pattern to life and you and I were meant to meet.”
“Whether by happenstance or decree, I’ve met some mighty fine people in my travels. I’m right pleased you were one of them, Deacon.” Miri felt almost shy admitting even a portion of the feelings she had for him.
“I’m more than just one of them.” He glowered at her. “We’ve been circling each other for over a year. I know what was on my mind. Before I even saw through your disguise, I wanted you. It scared me, I fought it, but I lost. And you? You had to have felt those sparks between us, same as me. I don’t think all those stumbles across my trail were accidental. Were they?” He sipped his coffee, waiting for her response.
Miri didn’t think it smart to confess she’d been craving a taste of him practically from the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
She shrugged and muttered, “I had my reasons.”
He thumbed his hat back on his forehead and gave her a shit-eating grin before he began ticking off possibilities.
“Let’s see, hmmm, you decided I was the best bounty hunter around and you needed to watch a master at work.”
Miri snorted at that one.
“You wanted the name of my tailor since you’ve grown fond of my shirts.”
“Well, that might be the case. I’m partial to ’em for sure.” An answering grin curved her lips as she looked down at her front where her nipples tented one of said shirts.
Deacon groaned.
“Now tell me—why did you disguise yourself as male and why finally choose me as your lover?”
His tone was implacable, willing her to explain what she didn’t want to explain. He stood and walked to the stove, bringing the pot back to fill her cup again with coffee before topping off his own. “Tell me,” he said.
“Well, Deacon. Think about it. I can’t make a decent living as a female,” she answered dryly. “As for why I had my way with you at the Pleasure Dome. Well, just once, I wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man and I figured me saving your life the way I did, you wouldn’t mind so much being my first one.” That was the truth, just not all of it.
“Your last one too, if I have my way,” he said to her delight.
She loved the fierce possessive look he gave her when he said it too. It was something having a man such as Deacon wanting to be with her.
“Now aside from saving my life, any other reason for choosing me?” Deacon seemed real intent on treading into her thoughts where he wasn’t invited.
She could have lied. She opened her mouth to tell a whopper in fact. But truth spilled from her lips instead. “I’ve feelings for you.”
Deacon, being a strong man and quick to boot, lifted her up easily enough, setting her down to straddle his lap instead of the chair.
“I have feelings for you too,” he whispered. “Hell, I had feelings for you when I thought you were a half-grown boy.”
