“You will not charge me an extra dime!” the man barked.

“I absolutely will,” I snapped back.

He moved forward, aiming mostly toward me, in other words making a big mistake, doing it saying, “Don’t you think—”

“Step back,” Deacon growled, shifting minutely but meaningfully. The man shuddered to a halt and jerked his gaze to Deacon. “Now,” he finished.

The man stepped back but did it talking. “You can’t—”

Deacon interrupted him, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. You’re on property that doesn’t belong to you, motherfucker. Step the fuck back, calm the fuck down, and realize that you aren’t dealing with fuckin’ idiots.”

“Your language does not need—”

Deacon cut him off. “I took pictures, moron.”

The man’s head jerked.

“Yeah,” Deacon continued. “Photos of the mess and shots of those boys cleaning up that mess. Puke. Booze. Drugs. Smokes. The damage they caused. I did not touch one of them but they touched two girls and my woman knows where those girls are. You think, she saved them from the shit those boys were dishin’ out last night, they would not back her play if she asked, you’re fuckin’ wrong. They know they got delivered from a world of hurt that would haunt them for the rest of their fuckin’ lives, hurt your punk-ass bitch of a son was open to servin’ up. You lucked out. They wanted to put it behind them and move on. You drag them into this, don’t teach your son the lesson he deserves, don’t pay for the damage he and his buds caused, you’re a punk-ass bitch just like him.”

I was stunned Deacon could use so many words all at once.

I also thought Deacon calling that kid, and his father, a “punk-ass bitch” was pretty hilarious.

“It’s hardly necessary to be insulting,” the man bit out.

“Man,” Deacon leaned in to the guy, taking me with him, and wisely, the guy leaned back, “last night, we walked in on one of your boy’s buds in the middle of trying to violate a teenage girl and you don’t think it’s necessary to be insulting?”

The man shook his head sharply, like he was a woman brushing her hair off her shoulders. “Obviously, I had no idea that happened.”

“We just told you,” Deacon returned. “You’ll get a letter with an invoice but your card is gonna be charged a thousand extra dollars. Suck it up. Don’t challenge the charge. And don’t ever come back to Glacier Lily. You with me?”

“Like I’d ever come back to this place,” the man returned snidely.

“Good you feel that way,” Deacon muttered before he shifted us back and slammed the door in the man’s face.

I looked up at him to tell him how awesome that was, how awesome he was, and try my luck with jumping his bones in my foyer.

I didn’t get even a word out because I saw the look on Deacon’s face and the words died in my throat.

That look being blank. Void. Emotionless.

We’d just had a scene with two parents. He’d spent the night with me tucked to his side in my bed. We’d had sex on my kitchen table. He’d told me how he felt about me (kind of).

And we were back to this.

Then he lifted both his hands, sliding his fingers along my jaw and cupping them in his palms, his hands so big, fingers so long, his fingertips glided into my hair, and he pressed them into my scalp.

I held my breath as I looked up into his eyes.

Eyes that were traveling over my features, still void, still emotionless, but taking me in.

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I felt he was taking that time, making a decision, and I wanted him to come to the right one.

I thought he did when he murmured, “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

I loved that. Flipping loved it.

But even as that feeling soared through me, I would find I was wrong.

I knew it when he let me go.

I pivoted woodenly to watch him saunter to my stairs and up them.

I stayed there, eyes glued to the stairs, unmoving so I was in the exact same place when he came back, this time wearing his boots.

That was when I knew I was right to panic last night.

I’d lost him.

He’d given me something. Something precious. Making me not feel like a stupid slut who’d let a stranger fuck her on the kitchen table then took off after getting off and he did this by spending the night with me, holding me in his arms.

But that was as much as he had to give.

Honestly?

I was surprised he had that in him.

I was grateful all the same.

That said, it didn’t make me feel the slightest bit better.

He came to me and did the same thing he did earlier, except just one hand was cupped to my jaw, fingertips pressed into my scalp.

I took his touch, wanting more, much, much more, and I stared up at him knowing I’d already got more than Deacon was able to give. I did it also knowing no way he’d let me be greedy.

It was my turn to let my eyes travel over his features. Take in his male beauty. Memorize it. Do it knowing that as crazy as it sounded, I’d never forget him. For reasons I didn’t know and would never have the opportunity to understand, there would always be a part of me that would long for him. There would always be thoughts in the back of my mind plaguing me, haunting me, making me wonder, if he let me in, even just a little, how it could have been.

I stopped thinking these thoughts when the pad of his thumb whispered across my lips.

That was when the tears pricked my eyes.

Because I knew that was when he was going to let me go.

For always.

No check ins. No Suburban at cabin eleven.

No John Priest.

No man called Deacon.

I was right this time.

Without a word, his hand dropped from me, he turned, and walked right out the door.

* * * * *

Late that morning, after I’d made the rounds with the renters who were still in their cabins to apologize for the noise that night, Milagros and I stood in cabin six with the windows and doors open.

We surveyed the space.

“I’ll take the throw blanket with the sheets to clean,” I muttered.

“I’ll need to shampoo the sofa as well as the rugs to get out that smell,” she muttered back.

She would. The stench was lingering. We could air that cabin out for a year and it’d still smell like puke, pot, smokes, and beer.

“I’ll look on Craig’s List but maybe this weekend you might wanna go with me to that antique place in Chantelle to look for a new coffee table?” I asked and looked to her at my side.