Early the following Saturday morning, Sierra dragged herself out of bed because someone was pounding on her door. Not knocking, pounding. Remy wasn’t happy about the early morning interruption, either. His hackles were up and he was growling deep in his throat as she carried him down the stairs.
Scowling with annoyance, she peered through the sidelight to see Deacon standing there before unlocking the door and yanking it open.
“Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.
“Eight thirty... Almost.”
“It’s eight twenty-two on a Saturday morning.”
“You were still in bed,” he realized.
“What do you want, Deacon?”
He held up the tray of drinks and bakery box from Sweet Caroline’s.
“Not even a salted caramel brownie can make up for you showing up at my door before nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.”
“How about a salted caramel brownie and a heartfelt apology?”
“Maybe,” she allowed, after a moment of hesitation.
“Can I come in? Or are you going to make me grovel on your porch?”
She looked at the dog in her arms. “What do you think?”
Remy let out a sigh and rested his chin on her arm.
“I guess you can come in.” She opened the door wider. “Actually, I’m a little surprised you didn’t let yourself in. Did you lose your key?”
“I didn’t think it was an appropriate time to use it.”
“But you thought it was an appropriate time to bang on my door?”
“Only when you didn’t respond to my knock.”
She put the dog on the floor, and he immediately headed to the kitchen for his breakfast.
Deacon set the drinks and pastries on the counter while Sierra filled Remy’s bowl.
Then she took a seat at the island and removed the lid from the to-go cup Deacon handed to her.
“Let’s try this again,” she suggested. “Why are you here?”
“Because I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t want to be with you.”
Her heart bumped against her ribs. “Were you pretending?”
“I was pretending. I was an ass.”
“Actually, I’d argue that you really were an ass.”
His lips curved a little, but his expression remained contrite. “And I’m sorry.”
She opened the bakery box to peer inside, waiting for him to continue.
He cradled his cup in two hands. “You asked me once about my mom, and I gave you a flippant response,” he said.
“I remember.”
“I don’t like to talk about my childhood—or even think about it most of the time. It’s easier to believe that I’ve moved on and left my past in the past. But I want to tell you some of that history now, so that maybe you’ll understand why I acted like an ass.”
“Okay,” she said.
“My mom, by her own admission, was a little wild in her younger days. She was barely seventeen when she got pregnant the first time, and when she told the baby’s father he was going to be a father, he drifted out of town again as aimlessly as he’d drifted into it, leaving her on her own.
“Despite her age and lack of a high school diploma, she insisted on keeping her baby. But she struggled to make ends meet as a single mom and occasionally found herself in...unhealthy relationships, because she was desperate for help to pay her bills and looking for a father figure for her son.
“Connor was five when she met Dwayne Parrish, six when she got pregnant again and seven when they got married—a few months before I was born. Of course, plenty of people had things to say about the fact that she’d been six months pregnant when they exchanged vows, but the consensus was that at least this one did the right thing and put a ring on her finger, because Connor’s dad never did.
“Of course, it’s easy for people to pass judgment based on what they can see from the outside, without ever knowing—and probably not caring about—the rest of the picture. Because marrying Dwayne wasn’t the right thing for my mom, who didn’t know he was an abusive alcoholic until it was too late. And it wasn’t the right thing for my brother, who was frequently knocked around by Dwayne when our mom was out.
“And she was out a lot, because Dwayne was injured on a construction site job shortly after they were married and wasn’t able to work after that. So my mom got a job—sometimes she had two or three jobs—to pay the rent and utilities and put food on the table and—far more important to Dwayne—beer in his belly.”
Sierra’s heart ached for the boy he’d been, living a life that no child should have to live. And it ached for the man he’d become, still living with the scars of his childhood.
She wanted to reach out to him now, to offer him comfort—or at least support—but she knew it couldn’t be easy for him to talk about any of this, and she was reluctant to interrupt. So she held on to her cup with both hands and didn’t let them tremble.
“That was my life. My family,” he continued. “So you can maybe understand why I didn’t grow up thinking that I’d ever want a wife and kids. The atmosphere in the rented, rundown bungalow on Second Street wasn’t anything I’d ever aspire to emulate. All I ever wanted was to get out of that house, that neighborhood, the whole damn town.
“I was determined to make something of myself. To prove that I was better than who and where I came from. Going to college was the first step. Being accepted into law school was the second. When I got that letter from Columbia... I was blown away.
“Not that I actually had any plans to attend. I’d applied just to see if I was good enough, and I figured I’d hold on to the letter for the rest of my life, because it proved that I was. But there was no way I could afford to go to an Ivy League school.
“Connor was beyond proud—he was insistent that the opportunity was too big to pass up. I pointed out that I had other options—the William S. Boyd School of Law at UNLV, the University of Idaho College of Law or S.J. Quinney College of Law in Utah.”
None of which was ranked number four of all law schools in the country, as she knew Columbia was.
“So I decided to go to New York—and tried not to freak out about what it would cost and how I would pay for it.
“Connor came through for me again, taking out a second mortgage on his house to pay for my tuition. Then I got a scholarship from Blake Mining, which coincidentally came through around the same time that Connor and Regan got married, so I suspect my sister-in-law had a hand in that.”
“I didn’t realize Regan was a Blake,” she said, her surprise momentarily eclipsing her determination to stay mum.
“A Channing, actually,” he clarified. “But her mom was a Blake.”
“The Blakes and Gilmores really do have connections to everyone in this town, don’t they?”
“It certainly seems that way,” he agreed.
“So you went to law school in New York,” she said, prompting him to pick up the thread of his story again.
He nodded. “And when I left, I was certain that I’d never want to come back. But the time away gave me perspective—and made me realize how much I’d miss Connor and Regan—and later Piper and Poppy, too—if I decided to live and work anywhere else.
“When I came home that first summer, I thought I’d have to get a job bagging groceries or cutting grass—both jobs that I’d done in the past. Because despite the fact that I already had one college degree and a year of law school under my belt, I knew no one in town would be eager to hire Dwayne Parrish’s kid. Because even though he’d been gone a long time by then, the shadow of his reputation remained.
“But the sheriff told my brother that I should send my résumé to Katelyn, and I did, not really expecting anything to come of it. I was thrilled to score an interview, but my cautious hope was trampled when I learned that she’d also interviewed Isabelle Graves.”
“Judge Graves’s daughter?”
He nodded.
“I was certain Katelyn would give the job to the candidate with the pedigree. Instead, she hired me. And now people who once looked down on me because of where I came from seek my counsel and representation. Because Katelyn gave me a chance when I didn’t think anyone would.”
“Which proves that she’s a very smart woman.”
“Anyway, the point of all of that was to show you that Mr. Columbia Law, as you like to call me, is really just a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks, albeit grown up now and wearing a suit—and occasionally ‘designer original’ Cole Haan loafers.”
She smiled at that, then her expression turned serious again. “Or maybe that poor kid was always a Columbia-educated lawyer just waiting to prove to the world what he was capable of.”
“That’s an interesting spin,” he said. “But the fact remains, the earliest years of my childhood aren’t something I like to revisit, and my fear of turning out like my...like Dwayne...made me reluctant to even consider getting married and having a family. Until I met you.
“And just when I was starting to think that I could have everything I never knew I wanted, Dwayne showed up in town again.
“That’s why, when I saw Madison later that day, after hearing about his return, I jumped at her invitation to go to Spring Creek for the weekend. Because she didn’t tempt me to want anything more than what I already had, whereas every time I’m with you, I find myself wanting to believe that I can be the man you deserve.”
It was an effort to hold back the tears that burned the backs of her eyes. “You’re making it really hard for me to stay mad at you.”
“I’m...sorry?”
She managed a chuckle. “I’m grateful to you for telling me all of that, but none of it changes what I already knew—that you’re a good man, Deacon Parrish. One of the best I know.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” he asked.
“You’re forgiven,” she said, and gave him a quick hug.
“There’s one more thing I want you to know.”
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t spend the entire weekend at Spring Creek.”
A fact of which she was already aware, as she’d spotted his truck in his driveway when she returned from her trip to the lake with Remy on the Saturday afternoon. And because she’d later overheard one of the court admins whispering to another that Madison was annoyed “Dekes” hadn’t stuck around.
“Also, I didn’t sleep with Madison,” he told her now.
“Your personal life isn’t any of my business,” she said, dropping her gaze to stare into the bottom of her now empty cup.
“The reason I didn’t sleep with Madison,” he said, continuing as if she hadn’t spoken, “is that the whole time I was with her, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because I don’t want to be with anyone but you.”
The sincerity in his tone tugged at her heart—a heart that she suspected might already be his.
But she was almost seven months pregnant and couldn’t be sure if her feelings were real or a by-product of all the baby hormones in her system, so she kept them buried deep inside.
Or at least tried to.
But his words had touched her deeply, and the single tear that slid down her cheek felt as if it had been squeezed out of her heart.
Twenty-three weeks down, one to go, Sierra noted, as she walked into the DA’s office early on the last Monday of June.
She anticipated a busy week, tying up lots of loose ends. But aside from writing case summaries for Jade on current cases, a few hours in First Appearance Court and a couple of bail hearings, Brett kept her close to the office. And anything new that came in went to one of the other ADAs, since Sierra wouldn’t be there to see the charges through to trial.
It was understandable, and yet the restrictions on her duties were yet another reminder that her time in Haven was rapidly counting down.
Tuesday night, she started to pack. An hour later, she texted Deacon and asked him to come over to get Remy. He was there in five minutes.
“What’s going on?” he asked, lowering himself onto the floor near where she sat, cuddling the little dog.
Judging by the sympathy in his tone, he could tell that she’d been crying.
“I’m trying to pack and he keeps climbing in to whatever box or suitcase I’m trying to fill.”
“Obviously he wants to go with you.”
“I can’t take him,” she said. “And we all knew that from the beginning.”
“I’m not sure that he did,” Deacon countered gently. “Aside from sit and stay, I’d guess the rest of our words are gibberish to him.”
“He also knows t-r-e-a-t, w-a-l-k and s-h-e-l-t-e-r,” Sierra noted, opting to spell the words that were likely to get an excited reaction from the dog.
“Do you want me to take him for a w-a-l-k now, while you finish up in here?”
“It would have to be a really long w-a-l-k. I’ve still got a fair amount of packing to do.”
“Should I take him home with me tonight?”
Her eyes filled again as she nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
“C’mon, Remy,” he said, lifting the dog from her lap. “Let’s give Mommy some space.”
“I’m not his mommy,” she protested. “I’m not anybody’s mommy.”
And, inexplicably, she began to cry.
Or maybe her roller coaster emotions weren’t so inexplicable. After all, she was seven months pregnant with all kinds of baby hormones running rampant through a body that didn’t seem to understand the baby she carried wasn’t her own. And while her mind understood that basic truth, the knowledge did little to help control her emotions.
She wouldn’t have blamed Deacon if he’d taken the dog and ran. Instead, he placed Remy in her lap again and put his arms around her, holding her while she cried.
His wordless support and understanding only made her cry harder as she realized how much this man had come to mean to her in such a short time—and how much she was starting to wish that she could hold on to him forever. But right now, she wasn’t feeling strong enough or brave enough to risk her heart on a future filled with so many uncertainties.
“I’m sorry for the meltdown,” she said, when she’d finally pulled herself together enough to be able to speak.
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he assured her.
She brushed her hands over her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m such a mess.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
She managed a laugh. “You really do need to get out and spend time with other people.”
“I tried that,” he reminded her. “It didn’t go so well, because I only want to be with you.”
“I’m leaving, Deacon.”
He held her gaze for a long minute before he replied, “I know.”
She wished he would ask her to stay, even though she knew that she couldn’t and that his asking wouldn’t change that fact.
And apparently he knew it, too, because, in an abrupt change of topic, he asked, “Do you have any plans for Friday night?”
“Just hanging with Remy, like I do most Friday nights. And almost every other night.” Except this Friday would be her last Friday night with the little dog that had stolen her heart.
Her last night in this town.
The realization made her throat tighten again, but this time she managed—barely—to keep the tears at bay.
“Do you think Remy would mind if I took you out to dinner Friday night?”
They’d shared several meals together but, aside from that long ago Valentine’s Day invitation, this was the first time Deacon had formally asked her to go out with him, which almost made it seem like a date...
“Not a date,” he hastened to assure her, as if privy to her innermost thoughts. “Just an informal meal at Diggers’.”
“I don’t think he’d mind,” Sierra said. “And I’d like that very much.”