by Juliette Poe
I glance out the window at the courthouse square, look back to Penny, then do a double take. My head whips left, my eyes locking on the scrumptiousness that is Deacon Locke as he exits out of Floyd’s Hardware, which is directly across from my bakery.
His jeans are faded and worn, strings hanging from the hem that lays perfectly along the top of his badass biker boots. He’s got on a navy T-shirt, red flannel shirt over it, and his leather jacket.
Deacon puts the small bag of whatever he bought from Floyd into one of his saddlebags, then throws a long leg over the bike. Next, his helmet goes on. Just as he’s adjusting the strap, Penny murmurs with appreciation, “Damn, Larkin. You seriously hit the motherlode.”
I give her a quick glance, finding her chin resting in her hand as she gazes dreamily out the window at my man.
Deacon’s sunglasses go on next, then he fires up that big beast of a hog, the sound rumbling like thunder across the courthouse square like sexy music to my ears.
Penny and I both sigh at the same time as we watch Deacon raise the kickstand with his heeled boot. He scans over his left shoulder for traffic, finds it clear, then slowly glides away from the front of Floyd’s store. He turns left onto Wilmington Street, but this is expected. He’s headed to Milner. To my pure happiness, he comes straight by my bakery, which sits on the corner of South Wright and Wilmington.
I know he won’t be stopping since I fixed him a huge breakfast this morning after we did other things in bed.
It would be hard for him to miss Penny and me sitting in the storefront window as we stare at him. Even though he has his sunglasses on, I can tell his eyes come to mine. His chin lifts slightly before he puts his gloved fingertips to his lips, then he presses them there just a moment before releasing a blown kiss my way.
Like a dork, I lift my hand, catch it, and press it to my mouth. Penny snorts, but Deacon grins at me.
A flash of white teeth from my motorcycle man warms me before he passes my building and out of sight.
Another long sigh is shared by Penny and me before we turn to each other. She shakes her head in disbelief. “Mother. Lode.”
I shrug, downplaying how wonderful he is.
“Where’s he going this morning?” Penny asks, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Milner,” I say with a grimace. “Has a job there that will last a few weeks.”
“Why the bitter tone?” Her eyes are filled with concerned curiosity.
“Oh, it’s a woman who tends a bar over in Milner. She hired him to do some drywall work on her house, and Deacon can do just a little bit of everything.”
“But she has nefarious intentions, doesn’t she?” Penny guesses.
“Well, look at him,” I snarl as I wave a hand in the direction his bike just went. “What woman wouldn’t have intentions with that?”
“So?”
“So look at me, Penny. I’m not exactly in his league.”
“You’re right. You’re actually out of his league,” she sniffs, then tears off another piece of bear claw. Waving it in the air, she proclaims, “He’s the one who has to be worried about men’s intentions with you.”
I give her a chiding smile as I shake my head. “You’re supposed to say things like that. You’re my best friend.”
“Is he interested in that woman?” Penny pops the pastry in her mouth, chewing while she awaits my answer.
“I don’t think so. I mean… he’s never given me any indication he is. Actually, he said point blank he’s not.”
“Then what’s the problem? Because it seems like you’re worrying for nothing. You should take him at face value.”
I hate she’s right, but if there’s anyone I’m able to hash out my insecurities with, it’s Penny. I’ve told her things throughout my life I’ve never even told my twin sister.
I choose my words carefully, not wanting to come off as self-pitying. “It’s just… I think I’m different from anyone he’s been with, and that’s got him interested. But I don’t think I can keep him interested for long. Men like him have super-model girlfriends and wives. I mean, the bartender is stunning. She has huge boobs and long hair and—”
“Those are just trappings,” Penny interrupts. “Tell me what’s really bothering you.”
I stare out the window a moment, conjuring the image of Deacon heading out of town. When I face forward, I say, “Because this won’t last long.”
“Why? He seems really into you,” she replies with surety.
“He is,” I agree softly. “At least, I’m fairly sure he is. But he’s a wanderer, and I’m…”
“You’re a small-town girl who is never, ever going to leave here for good,” she concludes.
I nod, my smile feeling thin upon my face. Straightening, I attempt one that has a little more light in it. “But I have now, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.”
“And just how do you protect your heart?” Penny asks. It’s a question I haven’t quite voiced to myself. Inherently, though, I know it’s the most important one. Because every minute I spend with Deacon allows me to get to know him more intimately as a man.
As a person.
And I like him so very much.
It’s going to hurt when he leaves for sure.
“The alternative is to cut things off now.” I put my chin in my hand, this issue too important to rush. “It would hurt now, but at least it’ll hurt less than it would later.”
She nods in understanding. “Not a bad idea. Make a clean, quick break. You’ll be over it by the end of the week.”
My eyes widen, then narrow as I glare at her. “Are you kidding? It’s a horrible idea. You’re not supposed to talk me into that. You’re supposed to give me legitimate advice on how I can have my cake and eat it too.”
Penny snickers, but it’s not long-lived. Her gaze turns thoughtful. “Maybe you’ve misjudged him. Maybe he won’t want to go.”
That would be my hope. I haven’t known Deacon long, and I’ve never been a big believer in things like love at first sight, but there is something important going on between us. I’ve never felt a connection like this before.
“Maybe he’s fallen hopelessly in love with you already, and he wants some sort of sign from you,” she hypothesizes, and I don’t pay that much attention.
“Or,” she drawls with excitement as if something very elucidating has occurred in that noggin of hers. I lean forward to listen carefully. “You could sit and have a mature talk about it. Just tell him you have feelings, you’re not looking forward to him leaving, and you would like to know how he feels.”
Reaching across the table, I pop her in the arm with the back of my hand. “That’s ridiculous. Have a mature talk? Like adults? Why the hell do I keep you around as my best friend?”
Penny grins and pushes up from the table, nabbing her coffee and the remainder of her pastry. “You keep me around because you know I’m right. Now, I have to go meet my parents for breakfast at Aunt Muriel’s.”
“But you just had a bear claw,” I exclaim.
“Half a one,” she corrects. “Love you and talk later.”
“Love you,” I say distractedly as I slowly rise from my chair and make my way back around the counter. I’m immediately immersed in what-if’s based on her latest suggestion.
Maybe a talk wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Tonight, I’m making dinner for him. We could talk while we eat.
The thought nauseates me actually, because I don’t want to open myself up and have him tell me I’m silly for even thinking this could be something outside of a wonderful but temporary fling.
Yeah… talking is stupid. I really should trade Penny in.
In fact, I want to try to do anything I can tonight to discourage talk. We should keep things light. I shouldn’t get too close. We should probably just concentrate on sex… and leave everything else out of this.
A plan forms in my mind.
I’ll dress super sexy tonight. His mind will be so preoccupied wit
h the way I look, he won’t want to have any deep conversations. There will be no way our bond will strengthen.
It’s the perfect way to keep things at arm’s length—figuratively, of course.
CHAPTER 19
Deacon
I love the feel of exhaustion from a grueling day of physical labor. The reward of personal accomplishment rings in every sore muscle.
Today should have been such a day. My ass is dragging as I pull my Harley in front of Larkin’s house. The physical side of the remodel I’m doing for Linda, the bartender from Milner, is exactly the type I love to do. But when I add that she was hovering over my shoulder all day, chattering at me incessantly, it sucked every bit of joy I’d normally glean from such a job.
Plus, she was beyond annoying with her flirtations. They started out as vague little comments that could be taken either way. When I wouldn’t respond or engage, she ramped it up. This involved a change of outfits into one far too skimpy to be wearing on a winter’s day.
It progressed to sexual innuendo. Not too shockingly, she took the leap, crossed the line, and thought to put her hands on me.
Now, I’m not a delicate flower. Ordinarily, a woman touching me in a flirtatious manner would not offend me. But for some reason, it had this time. The only thing that crossed through my mind when she put her hand on my lower back to pretend to examine my work was that only Larkin had the right to touch me that way.
Larkin is the only one I want to touch me that way.
Or any way.
I walked out, telling Linda I wouldn’t be able to complete the job. She was irate, and her screams followed me out the door. I don’t think she was pissed I wasn’t going to finish the job, but that I hadn’t responded to her come-on’s. Linda is a knockout of a woman, and I don’t imagine she’s turned down very often. I also suspect she’s got an ego as big as her bust size, so it had to have hurt I wasn’t interested.
I turn off my bike, put the jiffy stand down, and stare at Larkin’s house. Yeah… it bothers me a little that it feels like I just pulled up to “home”.
It’s a dawning sort of feeling, one not fully seated within me. But I feel like I’m on the verge of realizing something huge.
After dismounting the bike, I pull my helmet off and head across her small front yard to her porch. Not bothering to knock, I walk in, knowing the door will be unlocked. She’d sent me a text about half an hour ago to tell me to use the guest bathroom if I wanted to shower up before dinner was ready, because she was using the master.
I cross the threshold, and my mouth immediately starts to water. Larkin once told me she’s a much better baker than cook, but whatever it is that’s going on in that oven smells heavenly. It washes away the foul memories of Linda, then puts a smile on my face and a rumble in my belly.
Taking Larkin’s suggestion, I find my duffel in her closet where she stashed it, then grab some clean clothes and head to the guest bathroom. Her humming wafts from her bathroom as I walk by. For a moment, I consider saying to hell with cleaning up—imagine knocking on that door to see what she’s up to—but I think better of it. Larkin is clearly dolling herself up for me after she made what smells like an amazing dinner. I don’t want to push that off track just to satisfy my baser urges.
In fifteen minutes, I’m showered and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt before I pad into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. I bend at the waist, peeking into the oven with curiosity, but whatever it is, foil covers it.
I straighten, twist the cap off the beer, and nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Larkin’s throaty voice behind me. “Good day at work, honey?”
When I shift to see over my shoulder, my jaw drops as I take Larkin in.
She’s wearing a blood-red dress, which is cut so low in the front her navel is in danger of showing. Her cleavage is—well, it’s beyond description. The scrap of a dress rides high on her thighs, and her legs are elongated by the spiky black heels she’s wearing.
Larkin is leaning against the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, staring at me from under long, thick lashes framing smoky eyes. Fire-engine red lipstick on her lush mouth makes me hot under the collar, and I can’t help running my eyes up and down her body.
“Hey,” is all I can say, throat thick.
Smiling, she takes a step toward me, tottering just a bit in her heels. I get the distinct impression she doesn’t wear them often. In fact, she looks pretty uncomfortable now that I get a good look at her.
“How hungry are you?” she asks, running a provocative finger straight down the center of her chest. My eyes have no choice but to follow the incredibly beautiful track it’s taking. “Because… we don’t have to eat right away.”
This is every man’s dream. A beautiful woman dressed in a sexy dress, pretty much offering herself up on a silver platter.
And yet, this isn’t really Larkin either. The doubt in her eyes despite her assured words has me second-guessing her intentions.
I take a step toward her, put my fingers under her chin, and force her eyes up. “What’s going on here, Larkin?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, but the faltering tone in her voice validates my hunch.
“I mean… what’s up with the dress and sex-pot attitude? The seduction before dinner?”
She jerks back a little. “I… uh… I thought you’d like it.”
Smiling down at her, I pull slightly away so I can get another gander at her amazing body in that itty-bitty dress. I move my gaze up, locking on her eyes. “I like it a lot. You look amazing. But I’d be just as turned on by you in jeans and a T-shirt as I am in that little number. You don’t have to try so hard to get my notice or my attraction. You just being you is enough.”
Larkin glances away for just a moment, nervously biting her lip. “Should I… go change?”
“God no,” I say with a laugh as I take her hand. “But take those damn shoes off. They look miserable.”
I get a giggle in response. As I hold her steady with my grip, she leans over and takes her heels off one by one. It drops her down several inches, making me tower over her small frame. I actually love that—how I feel so large and protective of her even as I stand here in her house.
My hands go to her face, and I kiss those sexy red lips. Her mouth parts and she accepts me in, but only for a moment before she gives me a tiny push on my chest. “The roast is almost done. Let me check on it.”
I step back, because I am starved. But also… I just want to sit with her a bit and enjoy a nice meal. “Want me to pour you a glass of wine?” I ask.
“That would be great,” she chirps, moving to the oven. I take a moment to appreciate her backside as she bends to open the door, but then turn to the fridge to pull out the white wine she likes.
♦
Dinner was amazing, the conversation even better. Larkin has a way of captivating me with her stories, and she can just as easily make me burst out laughing in the next breath. The food was filling and flavorful, the beer went down just right, and I managed to avoid the subject of my workday when she asked by just telling her it went fine.
I have no intention of letting her know I quit because she’d expect me to roll out of town, and well… I’m just not ready for that yet.
Larkin definitely makes me want to stick around for a bit longer.
“My dad might be ill,” I say—blurt out, actually—and it’s such a blatant change of subject that Larkin just blinks with wide eyes.
I’m the first to acknowledge I don’t talk about my family much, but it’s not from a lack of desire. Rather, it’s from a lack of having much to say about them. Whereas Larkin can rattle off story after story about her parents or siblings, and has familial history brimming within her, I don’t have much of anything interesting to share about mine.
Except… my dad might be sick, and I’ve been trying to process it.
“I’m sorry,” Larkin murmurs. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s not,” Larkin says. “They’re different, but they have similar symptoms. I had a great aunt on my mom’s side who had Alzheimer’s.”
I smile, thankful for that little bit of clarity. “He’s going to see a specialist next week.”
“Think you should go home for a visit?” she asks tentatively.
It’s amazing how Larkin knows so little about my family, yet she’s managed to zero in on the exact thing that’s been eating at me.
I answer her as truthfully as I can. “I just don’t know. I feel like I should, but part of me doesn’t want to.”
Her head tilts in curiosity. “Why not?”
“A lot of reasons,” I say. I slump slightly in my chair, then push my empty dinner plate away. “Not sure I’m really needed. Don’t feel comfortable going. Part of me doesn’t want to go, but part of me feels like I shouldn’t waste this opportunity. I don’t have a clear answer.”
“You’re not close to him,” she surmises from what little I’ve told her—and not told her. “I imagine those are all typical feelings.”
She has no clue what’s typical for me. I think my upbringing would be difficult for her to really understand. I feel the need to explain a few things. “I love my family. I really do. My dad did the best he could with me when my mother died. MaryAnne was a lifesaver for us. She gave us stability. My stepsisters are nice. I have a nice family.”
“But…” she drawls, urging me to just spill it.
“But…” I say with a heavy sigh, locking my eyes onto hers as I say something I’ve never admitted to anyone before. “But they were never really there for me. And I’d like to wrap it all up pretty and tell you how it made me strong and independent, but the truth is… I was never given the beauty of a bonded family relationship. It was never equal in our house. We had a hierarchy, and I was always at the very bottom. Always last in everything from being served food at the table to being asked about what I learned in school. I was almost an afterthought.”
