Over the next week, Sierra saw Deacon only in passing. And though he’d lift a hand to wave or offer a smile from across the room, he didn’t seek her out for conversation. He’d obviously moved on, and she knew it was for the best. There was no point in nurturing the seeds of romantic fantasies that could never come to fruition.
The strange thing was that she kind of missed him. Aside from her ill-advised attraction, she’d actually started to like him. He was smart and interesting; he listened to her and challenged her; he made her feel seen and heard and valued in a way she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Unfortunately it seemed that her first instincts about him had been right—he was a player and she wasn’t interested in being played. Not again.
Anyway, she was keeping herself busy enough, getting to know her colleagues at the DA’s office and meeting other people, not just at the courthouse but through interactions at the grocery store and the library and even the pizzeria. But Sky had claimed that they were going to be best friends, and Sierra was happy that their biweekly not-coffee dates seemed to be moving them in that direction.
“I gave notice to Duke that I’m quitting my job at Diggers’,” Sky said, when she sat down across from Sierra at their usual table at Sweet Caroline’s.
“Whatever will you do with all your free time now that you’ll only have two jobs?” Sierra wondered.
Her friend grinned. “Well, as Jake pointed out, in about four more months we’ll have a baby to fill some of that time. And while I love hearing the personal confessions that seem to be part and parcel of tending bar, I don’t love being on my feet until the wee hours of morning.”
“Duke’s going to be sorry to lose you.”
“He offered to give me a stool. Or a raise. Then a stool and a raise.” Sky rifled through her enormous purse, obviously looking for something. She pulled out a stainless steel water bottle decorated with numerous and various stickers and set it on the table as she continued to examine the contents of her bag. “Here it is,” she said, triumphantly holding up her phone. “I’m waiting to hear from the high school about a meeting with a student, and I don’t want to miss the call.”
Sierra nodded, but her attention was on the water bottle—more specifically, one of the stickers on it.
“Are you a fan of the Cowboy Poets?” she asked.
“A huge fan,” Sky said. “Jake and I got to see their show in Battle Mountain on Valentine’s Day. But I’m kind of surprised that you know their music—I didn’t think they had much of a following outside of this part of the state.”
“I don’t know their music,” Sierra admitted. “But I was invited to that Valentine’s Day show.”
“Why am I only hearing about this now?” her friend demanded.
“Because I didn’t think it was important, especially since I declined the invitation.”
“Who... It was Deacon!” Sky said, answering her own question before she finished asking it. “Deacon invited you to the show, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“And you turned him down...why?”
“Because I’m only going to be in town for another few months, and I have no interest in getting involved with anyone while I’m here.”
“I’m going to ignore the first part of that statement,” Sky said.
“Now who’s in denial?” Sierra couldn’t resist teasing.
“And focus on the second,” her friend continued. “Because while I understand all the reasons that you might be reluctant to open up your heart again, I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t tell you that Deacon is a really great guy and you might be sorry if you let him slip through your fingers.”
“Too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“He asked me to go to the show, I said no and he took someone else.”
Sky frowned. “I don’t think he did. I mean, The Vicar’s Vice was pretty packed but it’s not very big, so I’m sure I would have seen him if he was there.”
“Maybe he gave the tickets away,” Sierra allowed. “But he definitely celebrated Valentine’s Day with someone else because I ran into both of them at The Daily Grind the next day.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe he was there—and with a woman, but I suspect you might have misinterpreted what you saw.”
“I also heard her say, ‘Thanks again for last night.’”
“That sounds pretty damning,” Sky acknowledged. “But I still think there might be another explanation.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sierra said. “Because he’s moved on and, considering how often we find ourselves on opposite sides of a courtroom, that’s a good thing.”
“Keep telling yourself that—because I don’t think you quite believe it just yet.”
“Anyway...” She let her words trail off when her friend’s phone chimed.
“That’s the school,” Sky said. “I’m sorry, but I have to run.”
“No worries,” Sierra said. “I’ve got an appointment to get to, too.”
Deacon had a rare, unscheduled afternoon on Tuesday, so when his brother texted to ask a favor, he was able to agree. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the parking lot of Blake Mining.
“Thank you for this,” Regan said, as she buckled her seatbelt.
Deacon waited for the click before shifting into Reverse to back out of the parking spot. “You know I’m always happy to help,” he told his sister-in-law. “Mostly because I’m keeping a tally of all the favors that I do for you so that you can reciprocate someday.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re joking, but I don’t even care if you’re not, because there’s no way Connor and I could ever repay you for everything you do.”
“Well, you did let me live with you all those holidays and summers when I came home from college.”
“It was your home, too,” Regan said.
“But it’s lucky for all of us that I’ve got a place of my own now, because you’re going to need that extra room for the new baby.”
“Are we crazy?” she asked.
“That’s probably a question you should have asked before you decided to have unprotected sex,” Deacon told her.
She laughed. “I really hope Connor can get there in time for the ultrasound today—our first chance to see the baby.”
“He’ll be there,” Deacon said confidently.
The deputy sheriff had been scheduled to testify in court that morning, but the lawyers had wasted so much time bickering over other matters that the judge had postponed his testimony until after lunch.
“How can you be so sure?”
Of course, he wasn’t really sure, but he knew that what his sister-in-law needed right now was reassurance. “He didn’t miss any of your appointments when you were pregnant with Piper and Poppy, did he?”
“No,” she admitted, a smile curving her lips at the memory. “In fact, he was right there, holding my hand, when we found out I was carrying twins.”
“And he’ll be there this time when you get the same news.”
“That’s not funny,” Regan told him.
“Actually, it is kind of funny,” he said. “Could you imagine—Double Double Trouble?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”
Sierra had been hesitant to find a new doctor when she moved to Haven, albeit temporarily. She had a wonderful ob-gyn in Vegas, and she couldn’t imagine sharing the same kind of rapport with a stranger. Or maybe she was worried that another doctor might not be as supportive of what she was doing as Dr. Shah had been from the beginning.
But the truth was, she hadn’t really had a choice. Unless she wanted to make the long trip back to Vegas every four weeks for a checkup—which she definitely did not—she had to find a local doctor. Dr. Shah had recommended Dr. Camila Amaro.
At her first appointment, she’d spent almost an hour with the physician, going over not just her medical but familial history and talking about the unique circumstances of her pregnancy. And though the doctor’s office in Battle Mountain was barely a twenty-minute drive from Haven, Sierra didn’t worry about running into anyone she knew at the prenatal clinic, because the only other person she knew who was pregnant was Sky, and her friend’s appointments were always on Fridays.
She certainly didn’t anticipate that she might cross paths with Deacon Parrish there, but that’s exactly what happened Tuesday afternoon. She was walking out of the clinic as he was walking in—with the same blonde woman he’d been with at the coffee shop.
Regan, he’d called her.
And she’s a lot more than a friend.
Sierra halted in mid-stride, desperately looking around for an escape. But there was one door—and he was holding it open for her. Or maybe just holding it open, as his attention was on his companion and whatever she was saying.
So Sierra drew in a deep breath and walked right past him, murmuring a quick, “Thanks.”
But she made the mistake of glancing up and their eyes met. His widened in surprise, but she hurried away before he could say anything.
She punched the button to summon the elevator, silently chastising herself for believing that going to an out-of-town clinic would allow her to be anonymous. Not that she planned to keep her pregnancy a secret forever—an impossibility in any event. But she had hoped to keep it to herself a while longer, and if she was going to confide in anyone about the baby she carried, her first choice certainly would not have been Mr. Columbia Law.
Connor rushed into the waiting room of the clinic just as his wife’s name was called, allowing Deacon to breathe a sigh of relief that his brother would be there to hold Regan’s hand while they got a first peek at their baby. Of course, it also meant that Deacon had to rush back to Haven to pick up the twins from day care, but that was a task for which he was much better suited.
Piper and Poppy chattered the whole way home, regaling him with the most minute details of their day. As he listened to them talk, he secretly marveled over the fact that, just about four and a half years ago, his brother and sister-in-law had been looking at their tiny images on a screen.
Actually, Regan hadn’t been his sister-in-law then, but she and Connor had married a few weeks later. Though Deacon didn’t believe that getting married was necessarily the right thing for every couple having a baby together, it had certainly been the right thing for his brother and sister-in-law.
Even if, at the time, Deacon had been certain that Connor had taken leave of his senses. Because the rarefied world of mansions and manicured lawns in which Regan grew up couldn’t have been further away from the rundown neighborhood where Connor and Deacon had occasionally kicked a battered soccer ball around the patchy grass of their postage-stamp-sized backyard.
But there was no denying that Regan loved his brother and the family they’d made together, and Deacon was sincerely pleased that their family would be expanding.
When they got home, he sat Piper and Poppy at the table with a snack—veggie sticks and dip. Baxter, their faithful canine companion, took up position under the table, ready to snatch up any bits of food that might fall off the table.
While the girls were eating, he rummaged through the refrigerator to see what he could find for dinner and wondered what Sierra had been doing at the medical clinic in Battle Mountain. He wouldn’t have given her presence there a second thought if not for the fact that she’d seemed determined to avoid eye contact with him.
Or maybe he was reading something into nothing.
He pulled out a tray marked Chicken Broccoli Casserole with neatly printed heating instructions on the label. Apparently the Channings’ long-time housekeeper was still feeding her employers’ kids—despite the fact they all now had kids of their own.
“Whatcha doin’, Unca Dunca?” Piper asked, deliberately dropping a cucumber round onto the floor for the dog. Baxter snatched it up happily.
“I’m getting dinner started so your mom and dad don’t have to worry about it when they get home—and so that they’ll invite me to stay.”
Poppy wrinkled her nose as she examined the contents of the tray. “I don’ wike bwok-wee.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Deacon said, programming the recommended oven temperature. “I’m not a big fan, either, but I do like Celeste’s chicken broccoli casserole.”
Poppy, having finished what she wanted of her snack—and fed the rest to the dog—hopped down from her seat. “Can we do T-shirts now?”
“I don’t know what that means,” he admitted.
The little girl giggled and lifted the hem of her sweater to show him what she was wearing underneath. “Dis is a T-shirt.”
“I know what a T-shirt is,” he said. “But I don’t know how to make one.”
“Wif paint an’ spah-kohs.”
“You want to decorate T-shirts?”
She nodded.
He glanced at Piper.
She shrugged.
“Mommy’s got ev’rythin’ set up,” Poppy said, taking his hand and leading him to the dining room where, sure enough, the table was covered with newspaper and craft supplies, with two pink child-sized T-shirts laid out.
Baxter, who’d been watching over the twins since the first day Connor and Regan brought them home from the hospital, followed.
“I think I’d better check with Mommy,” he said, and sent a quick text message to his sister-in-law.
Regan immediately replied:
Make sure they wear their smocks and keep an eye on them—that stuff can be messy.
“Mommy says okay, but you have to wear your smocks.”
Poppy immediately handed him hers—designated as such by her name printed across the bottom of it—so that he could help her into it. When she was ready, he picked up Piper’s smock.
She folded her arms over her chest.
“Don’t you want to decorate a T-shirt?”
“I wanna dec’rate my shoes, but Mommy said no.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting—” he looked more closely at the supplies on the table “—puffy paint and glittery glue on their shoes,” he said. “But if Mommy said you should decorate a T-shirt, then you should decorate a T-shirt.”
With a heavy sigh, she unfolded her arms and let him help her with the smock.
While they were occupied with their craft, he decided to check his email, in case he’d missed anything important while he was out of the office. He filtered out the junk, drafted a couple of quick replies and flagged other messages that required more detailed responses to be dealt with later, periodically poking his head into the dining room to see how the twins were making out.
The paint was messy, but they were giggling and obviously having a good time—even Piper—so he let them be.
Connor and Regan returned home a short while later.
“How did it go?” Deacon asked. “Was the doctor able to tell you what you’re having?”
The expectant parents looked at one another, as if not quite sure how to answer the question.
“Twins,” Connor finally responded. “We’re having twins.”
“Again,” Regan added.
Deacon couldn’t help but chuckle at the stunned expressions mirrored on their faces.
“This is your fault,” Regan accused.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I bear absolutely no responsibility for your condition.”
“You joked about me having twins again on the way to the clinic.”
“I’m pretty sure there were already two little zygotes when I made the remark,” he felt compelled to point out in his defense.
“The babies are well past the zygote stage,” his brother told him.
“Not the point,” Regan told her husband.
“What are the odds of having a second set of twins?” Deacon wondered aloud.
“Apparently pretty good when a woman is a hyperovulator. Of course, Regan’s always been an overachiever,” Connor said, with an affectionate glance toward his wife.
“So it’s your fault,” Deacon couldn’t resist teasing his sister-in-law.
“Laugh all you want,” she said, as the oven timer buzzed. “Because I promise you, I’ll be the one laughing when it’s your turn.”
Deacon’s name was on the docket as counsel for one of the defendants at First Appearance Court the following morning. Though Sierra trusted that he wouldn’t comment on her doctor’s appointment in the middle of the courtroom, she was nevertheless a little apprehensive. But when he approached the prosecutor’s table, she found herself fighting to hold back the smile that wanted to curve her lips.
“Nice shoes,” she remarked.
“Thanks,” he said. “They’re designer originals.”
“Double Trouble?” she guessed.
He nodded. “And yet their mother wonders why I call them that.”
“They look like they were new shoes.”
“Cole Haan loafers that I wore for the first time yesterday.”
“It could have been worse,” she said, giving in to the smile now. “They could have decorated your cowboy boots.”
“That would have been worse,” he acknowledged.