As a kid, Deacon loved Mondays. Especially during the school year. Because Mondays meant getting up early and getting out of the hellhole he’d called home. Then, for seven blissful hours, he could pretend that his life wasn’t any different from that of Nathan Pineda or Chase Hampton or Travis Bell. And when he got home again, he could usually hide out in his room with the excuse that he had homework.
But dinner was a family affair, and he was expected to be at the table to eat with the family and then help with the cleanup afterward. He didn’t mind the mealtime routine so much when his mom was home to cook and supervise the tidying. But his mom wasn’t always home and his dad could be a mean sonofabitch, especially when he was drunk. And he was quite often drunk.
So after dinner, Deacon would go back to his homework, then he’d go to bed and get up and do it all over again the next day. And the day after that. And so on. It wasn’t until the final bell went on a Friday afternoon that he’d get knots in his stomach. While his friends celebrated the end of the week and made plans for the weekend as the bus took them closer to home, the knots in Deacon’s stomach tightened, because he knew that his dad was probably already drunk and angry and everything would only go downhill from there.
That had been his life until Dwayne Parrish went a little too far in disciplining his stepson one day. It was Deacon’s fault—he’d knocked over his dad’s beer, his dad had responded by knocking him over and Connor had immediately inserted himself between them. Because even at fifteen, his brother had the makings of a hero.
But he’d been no match for his stepfather, who was bigger and meaner and likely more than half drunk. Thankfully one of the neighbors heard the ruckus and called the sheriff.
It was Jed Traynor who’d worn the badge back then, and he’d shown up right about the same time that Faith arrived home from work. During all the commotion, Connor escaped out the back door, so the sheriff never saw how badly he’d been beaten, and Jed gave Dwayne a choice—leave the house voluntarily or be taken into custody to spend the night, or maybe a few years, in lockup.
Dwayne left voluntarily—and never came back.
Deacon’s life settled down after that. And when he finally accepted that he no longer needed to tiptoe around the house, he started to enjoy weekends and the freedom they afforded from his Monday through Friday routines. The two-day break became even more important when he went away to school, not so much as a reprieve from classes as an opportunity to complete reading and assignments, to work hard and study harder. Because college wasn’t just his escape from Haven—it was his chance to make something of his life, to prove that he was something more than the useless offspring of Faith Neal and Dwayne Parrish.
After two years as an associate in Katelyn Davidson’s law office, he was finally starting to feel as if he’d done that. He’d also learned to fully appreciate weekends, especially when the time away from the office was spent with family or friends.
But as he drifted off to sleep Sunday night, he wasn’t disappointed that the weekend was over, because he knew that he’d see Sierra in court the next morning, and he couldn’t wait.
Late Friday afternoon, Sierra began to gather up the files on her desk to transfer them to her briefcase. After only a few weeks, she was starting to get used to packing up at five o’clock and suspected it would be a lot harder to readjust to the twelve-hour days that were the norm when she was living and working in Vegas.
As she zipped up the case, the blue box tucked in the outside pocket caught her eye, making her smile.
Rhonda Dornan had pleaded to the charges on Monday, per the terms of the original agreement, and the judge had signed off on her sentence of community service. The widow had seemed genuinely remorseful—and grateful—at sentencing, and she’d promised the judge that he wouldn’t see her in court again. Sierra wasn’t convinced, but that was a worry for another day.
After they’d finished in court, she’d surprised Deacon by offering to buy him coffee. Because he’d been right when he accused her of not wanting to like him, and she knew that wasn’t fair. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she was wildly attracted to him, and as long as she kept that fact to herself, she figured there was no reason they couldn’t be friends—or at least friendly.
She’d suggested The Daily Grind rather than Sweet Caroline’s, because the former was closer to the courthouse—and also, she told him, because she didn’t want to be tempted by the offerings in Sweet Caroline’s display case when she still had some in her fridge at home. But that wasn’t actually true. After he’d gone Saturday morning, Sierra had taken the bakery box over to her neighbor, pawning the sweets off on Ayesha’s family so that she wouldn’t overindulge any more than she’d already done. (Of course, she’d almost immediately regretted doing so, and since then had been trying to alleviate her sweet tooth cravings with various “healthy cookie” recipes she’d googled. So far, none had quite hit the mark.)
Anyway, they’d had coffee together—or rather he’d had coffee and she’d had cranberry apple tea (not as flavorful as Sweet Caroline’s raspberry bliss, but not bad)—and shared some conversation before going off in different directions. Though Sierra had been at the courthouse every day after that, she hadn’t seen Deacon again until today, when he tracked her down to give her the box of cereal.
“Not a bribe but an apology,” he’d told her.
“Apology accepted,” she’d replied. “But contrary to what you apparently believe, I don’t usually eat sugary cereal.”
“And yet, you were ready to arm wrestle me for the last box of Frosted Flakes at The Trading Post the first day we met.”
“A moment of weakness,” she acknowledged.
“Do you have many of those?” he asked curiously.
“More than I’d like,” she confessed.
He tipped his head toward her, a hint of a smile curving his lips. “Anything other than sugary cereal that makes you weak?”
Yes. You.
Even now, her heart was beating a little too fast and her knees were trembling, just because he was standing close to her.
She racked her brain for a more appropriate response. “Pastries from Sweet Caroline’s.”
“I probably could have guessed that one,” he said.
“Then you know all my weaknesses.”
“Not yet,” he’d denied. “But I’m going to.”
Then he’d given her a full, bone-melting smile before turning and walking away, and she’d stood there watching him go, a tiny part of her wishing that she might have met him at a different time, under different circumstances.
But she knew it was futile to wish for things that could never be, so she pushed the box deeper into the bag and pushed all thoughts of Deacon Parrish out of her mind.
“Four weeks down, only twenty more to go,” Sierra said, as she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“Are you really hating the job so much that you’re counting down the days?”
She felt heat rise into her cheeks as she glanced up to see investigative analyst Julie Keswick standing in her office doorway.
“I thought everyone else had gone,” she admitted.
“Which doesn’t answer my question,” her colleague noted.
“I don’t hate the job at all,” Sierra said. “But I didn’t anticipate that I’d miss my family so much.”
“So why’d you take a job so far away from Las Vegas?” Julie wondered.
“Because I needed to get away from my family.”
Her colleague chuckled at that. “What you need is a distraction,” she decided. “I’m getting together with some friends tonight and heading to Sparkle—a new dance club in Elko. You should join us.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Sierra said. “But I’ve actually got plans tonight.”
“Hanging out with case files doesn’t count as plans,” her colleague protested.
“That’s not what I was planning. Or not exclusively what I was planning,” she amended, in response to the other woman’s openly skeptical look.
Julie laughed. “Okay. But if you change your mind, you’ve got my number.”
Sierra thought about the offer throughout the drive home. While she was pleased that the other woman had thought to include her, she was certain the invitation wouldn’t have been issued if Julie had known of her condition.
Of course she was going to have to tell her colleagues about her pregnancy eventually—and probably sooner than she’d anticipated, considering that her pants and skirts were already starting to feel snug around her waist—but she wasn’t in a hurry to make herself the hot topic of gossip at The Daily Grind. Not only because she was pregnant and unmarried—which shouldn’t be at all scandalous in this day and age—but also because the circumstances of her pregnancy were a little unusual.
Then she pulled into her driveway, where a silver SUV was already parked, and the only thought on her mind was of her family, and her heart overflowed with joy that they were here.
Her brother stepped out of his vehicle at the same time she did hers, and she rushed into his arms.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, somehow managing to push out the words around the lump in her throat. “But why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” She turned her head then, looking for her sister-in-law, but the passenger-side door remained closed and the seat, she could see now, was empty. “And where’s Whitney?”
“It’s good to see you, too.” His words were muffled in her hair as he held her tight. “And I didn’t tell you I was coming because I was afraid that you’d tell me not to—especially as Whitney’s stuck at home waiting for her jury to come back with a verdict.”
“I would never tell you not to come,” she assured him. “Though I might have pointed out that I’ve barely been gone a month.”
“Can we continue this conversation inside?” he asked, shivering. “It’s freezing out here!”
She chuckled. “Yeah, you were definitely right about the weather.” She gave him one last squeeze before releasing him.
“I see you got a new coat.”
“And new boots,” she added.
She returned to her car to grab her briefcase while he retrieved his duffel bag from the backseat of his vehicle.
“How long has Whitney been waiting for her jury?” Sierra asked, as she unlocked the door and led her brother inside.
“Three days. She’s trying to remain optimistic that they’re deliberating the award rather than the verdict, but juries are unpredictable.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Sierra agreed, hanging her coat. “You’re probably thirsty after that long drive—what can I get for you?”
He set his boots on the mat beside hers. “Any chance you’ve got coffee?”
“Decaf.”
“So long as it’s hot, it’ll do.”
She set her briefcase on one of the stools at the island, then found a pod for her single-serve coffee maker, dropping it into place and setting a mug under the spout. While Nick’s coffee was brewing, Sierra filled a glass of water for herself from the dispenser in the fridge, then put some cookies on a plate and set it on the counter.
Nick selected a cookie, took a bite. “Did you make these?”
“Yes, and they’re good.”
“No,” he said, setting the cookie aside. “They’re not.”
“Well, they’re at least good for you,” she said. “Made with all natural ingredients and carob chips instead of chocolate.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to eat healthy—for the baby.”
“Trust me,” he said. “The baby doesn’t want those any more than I do.”
She returned the other cookies to the container. Most likely, she’d toss them in the garbage later, but she wasn’t going to give her brother the satisfaction of doing so now.
“And if you’re on such a health kick, what’s with the box of Frosted Flakes in your bag?”
“What?” She followed his gaze, felt her cheeks heat. “Oh. That was a gift from a colleague.”
“A rather strange gift,” he noted.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“But it’s a good sign that you’re making friends already.”
“I said a colleague, not a friend.”
“But you had a little smile on your face when you were thinking about...him?”
She sighed. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Prying into my life.”
“I’m not prying,” Nick denied. “I’m interested. And happy that your broken heart seems to finally be on the mend.”
“Okay, it’s true that I’ve rediscovered my love for Frosted Flakes,” she acknowledged.
Now her brother sighed. “Are you ever going to tell me what went wrong with Eric?”
“No, because you and Eric were friends long before he and I started dating, and I don’t want what happened between us to cause a rift between the two of you.”
“You’re my sister,” Nick said gently. “And even without knowing the details, I know he hurt you, so the rift is already there.”
“I’m sorry for that,” she said.
“So if you were seeing someone new, I’d take it as a sign that you’re moving on and be happy for you.” He paused. “But I’d still be pissed at Eric.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I can assure you that I don’t have any plans to get involved with a new man—certainly not anytime in the next seven months.”
Nick looked troubled by this assertion. “Because of the baby.”
“Not only because of the baby, although I can’t imagine any man wanting to get involved with a woman carrying someone else’s baby—”
“Any man who truly cared about you wouldn’t let a pregnancy get in the way,” he interjected.
“—but also,” she continued, “because I’m only going to be in town for another five months, so any relationship would automatically have an expiration date.”
“That could be a bigger obstacle,” her brother admitted. “And while some couples seem to make long-distance relationships work, the distance between here and Las Vegas is a little daunting.”
“And yet, you drove all that way just to see me.”
“I needed to see for myself that you were doing okay.”
“I told you that I was.”
“Are you suffering from any nausea?” he pressed.
“Occasionally,” she admitted.
“It might be the cookies.”
She balled up her napkin and threw it at him.
He caught it easily.
“And now,” she said, pushing her stool away from the counter, “I’m going to cook dinner.”
“Please, don’t.”
She narrowed her gaze.
“I just meant that I want to take you out for a meal,” he said, eager to dig out of the hole he’d put himself into.
“You can take me out tomorrow,” she said. “And you’re going to pay—big-time—for disparaging my cookies, because I’m making a reservation at The Home Station, the fanciest place in town.”