Sierra enjoyed the weekend with her brother and sister-in-law, and she’d been happy to introduce Deacon to her family. Though Nick had obviously been reserving judgment when he shook hands with her friend and canine co-parent, Deacon had soon won him over. Or maybe her brother had taken his cues from his wife, who had taken an immediate liking to “Sierra’s new man,” as Whitney referred to him.
In any event, they all had a good time, and when Sierra waved goodbye to them after brunch Sunday afternoon, she knew that she would be seeing them again in only seven weeks, when she went back to Las Vegas.
Which meant that she only had seven weeks left in Haven.
Seven weeks left with Deacon.
Funny how six months had seemed like so much time when she’d been moving into her temporary home, but now she suspected the last seven weeks would pass in the blink of an eye.
On her way back to the office after court Tuesday morning, she made a quick stop to grab a cranberry apple tea from The Daily Grind and spotted Deacon’s sister-in-law waving to her.
“Do you have a minute?” Regan asked.
She glanced at her watch. “Sure,” she decided, taking a chair on the opposite side of the table. “How can I help you?”
“I’m aware that I’m overstepping here, but I wanted to talk to you about Deacon,” his sister-in-law said. “More specifically, about his feelings for you.”
“Deacon and I have become good friends over the past several months,” Sierra acknowledged, at the same time silently chastising herself for accepting the other woman’s invitation to join her without question. “But it’s not anything more than that, and he knows that I’m not looking for anything more than that.”
“Does he?” Regan sounded dubious.
“He does,” she confirmed. “I’ve also been very clear that I’m leaving Haven when my six-month contract with the DA’s office is up.”
“Or maybe you’re just waiting for him to step up and ask you to stay.”
“Step up?” Sierra echoed. Then the pieces clicked into place. “You mean because I’m pregnant?”
She was grateful that she no longer had to whisper the word. When she returned to work after recovering from the flu, she’d told her boss, and then her coworkers, about her pregnancy. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread after that, and anyone who hadn’t heard the gossip would be able to guess her status now that she was sporting an obvious baby bump.
Regan nodded.
“You think I’m looking for someone to be a father to my baby?” she guessed.
“I’ve been there,” the other woman confided. “I was pregnant when Connor and I got married, so I understand that the prospect of being a single mom is daunting, and I know all the reasons that an expectant mother would want a father for her child.”
“The baby I’m carrying will have a mother and a father,” Sierra assured her.
Deacon’s sister-in-law seemed taken aback by this response. “You’re still in a relationship with the father?”
“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Can you clarify?”
“I thought Deacon would have told you,” she admitted.
“Told me what?”
Now she did lower her voice, to tell Regan what she’d only confided to Deacon and Sky. “The baby I’m carrying isn’t mine.”
Regan had to close the jaw that had fallen open before she could respond. “Are you saying...you’re a surrogate?”
“A gestational carrier, actually, for my brother and sister-in-law.”
“I did not see that coming,” the other woman admitted.
“It’s a rather unusual situation,” Sierra acknowledged.
“I can’t believe Deacon didn’t tell me. Actually, I can believe it,” Regan quickly amended. “He’s nothing if not discreet, and if you asked him not to say anything, he wouldn’t. Not to anyone.”
“I’m relieved to hear that,” she said. “Because I’m sure people have enough to say about my situation without adding that to the mix.”
She’d heard some of the whispers and even speculation about the identity of the baby’s father. Deacon’s name had popped up in that conversation, notwithstanding the fact that she’d obviously been pregnant before she came to Haven. But gossips were rarely concerned about facts and, thankfully, Deacon didn’t seem bothered by the rumors.
“Now I have another question,” Regan said. “Since you’re obviously not in a romantic relationship with anyone, why are you trying so hard to keep Deacon at arm’s length?”
“Because the complication of my pregnancy aside, I’m only going to be in Haven a few more weeks.”
“Because that’s when your contract runs out? Or because you don’t want to stay?”
“There’s no reason for me to stay if I don’t have a job,” Sierra pointed out.
“I can understand why you might feel that way,” the other woman said. “It wasn’t so long ago that my career was the focus of my life. And I still love my job, but I love my family more.”
“The best of both worlds,” she acknowledged.
Regan smiled. “It is, indeed. Now I need to apologize for being rude, jumping to conclusions and taking up too much of your time.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Sierra said. “Not for looking out for your family.”
“Deacon is family—whether he wants to accept it or not.”
Sierra smiled. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“You really do care about him, don’t you?”
“Of course I care about him. And if circumstances were different—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “But there’s no point in speculating, because circumstances aren’t different.”
The Friday before Memorial Day, Deacon rushed back to the office after court in the hope that he could finish the sentencing memo he’d been working on and escape from the office a little earlier than usual. He and Sierra hadn’t made any big plans for the holiday weekend, but they did plan to spend it together.
He’d suggested packing a picnic on Saturday and taking Remy to Cutthroat Lake to hike some of the easier trails. He knew he’d likely end up carrying the dog after about twenty minutes, but he didn’t mind.
Today, though, the weather was perfect for a barbecue, so he wanted to stop at The Trading Post on his way home to pick up some steaks for dinner with Sierra. And salad stuff, because she insisted on balancing her meal with healthy vegetables, and apparently a fully loaded baked potato didn’t count.
He’d just clicked save on the document when there was a knock on his door. He glanced up to see his brother standing there, attired in his deputy sheriff uniform.
“Is this official business?” Deacon asked.
“No,” Connor said. “It’s personal.”
His brother’s serious expression immediately set off alarms. “Is everything okay? Regan? The girls? The babies?”
“They’re all fine,” his brother hastened to assure him.
“Are you okay?” he pressed, wondering if Connor had received some bad news from his doctor about his health.
“I’m fine, too.”
Another thought—even more chilling. “Sierra?”
Deacon had seen her in court earlier that morning, but several hours had passed since then.
“As far as I know, there’s no reason to worry there, either.”
He exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. Now that he knew everyone he cared about was okay, he had no reason to be anxious about whatever his brother wanted to discuss. “Then what is it?”
The deputy sheriff sat on the edge of one of the visitors’ chairs. “There was a fight in the parking lot behind Diggers’ last night,” he began. “Did you hear about it?”
“I got my coffee from The Daily Grind this morning, like I always do,” Deacon told him. “Of course I heard about it.”
Apparently several men from out of town had stopped in for a drink, but they were already more than halfway to being drunk—and belligerent—so Duke kicked them out of the bar. Instead of going away quietly, they started fighting amongst themselves in the back parking lot. Tempers flared, fists flew—and then one of the guys pulled out a knife.
“That about sums it up,” Connor agreed, after Deacon recounted what he’d heard. “But they weren’t all out-of-towners. One of them—the one who was stabbed—was Dwayne Parrish. Your father.”
Deacon felt as if he’d been sucker punched and had all the air knocked out of his lungs.
Just when he was finally moving forward with his life...
“I know who Dwayne Parrish is,” he said, when he’d managed to catch his breath and could speak again. “And while he might have contributed half of my DNA, he was never much of a father.”
Connor nodded slowly. “I’m not going to disagree with that. I just thought you should know, and I didn’t want you to hear the news from anyone else.”
“I appreciate it,” Deacon said.
“He’s in ICU at NNRH in Elko, if you wanted to see him.”
“I don’t.” His response was blunt and firm.
“His prognosis is pretty bleak,” his brother warned.
“And maybe you think I’m unfeeling, but the honest truth is, I figured he was already dead—or maybe in jail somewhere.”
“Neither of those things would have surprised me, either,” Connor admitted. “But he’s here. And after more than twenty years, don’t you want to know why he came back?”
“No,” Deacon said fiercely. Because he’d stopped wondering about his so-called father years ago. Relegated him and the unhappy memories to the past. And silently cursed him now for not staying there. “I only wish he hadn’t.”
He sat at his desk after his brother had gone, thinking about the man he hadn’t given more than a passing thought to in a very long time.
He’d meant what he’d said to his brother about wishing Dwayne had never come back. When his dad left, after that horrible fight with Connor that Deacon would never forget, he’d felt nothing but relief. Gratitude that the man was out of all their lives. That he wouldn’t ever again have to hear him yelling at his mother or see him hitting his brother.
Dwayne’s absence had allowed Deacon to believe that he could, if not forget about his past, at least put it behind him and move forward with his life. Recently, he’d even been foolish enough to hope that he might do so with Sierra.
But now Deacon’s past had caught up with him, and he knew that did not bode well for his future.
Sierra heard the whispers around town. She usually didn’t pay much attention to gossip, but when the name Dwayne Parrish caught her attention, she found herself straining to pick up the details.
Of course, there were several variations of a similar story circulating, the gist of which was that Deacon’s dad had shown up in town and gotten in a fight in the parking lot behind Diggers’. According to the reports, he’d either been beaten up, stabbed or shot, and when the sheriff arrived on scene, he’d possibly skipped town, been taken to hospital or shipped to the morgue.
Back at the office, she got the official report—Dwayne Parrish had been stabbed three times and was in the hospital with serious injuries.
She wondered if Deacon had heard the same rumors and how he was handling the news. Though she felt certain that the deputy sheriff would have apprised his brother of recent events, she still felt compelled to reach out.
Heard about your dad. Just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you want to talk.
A few minutes later came a brief reply:
Not necessary, but thanks.
And that was the last she heard from him until two hours later.
I’m not going to be able to walk Remy tonight—and I have to bail on our plans for the lake tomorrow, too. Sorry.
Their planned visit to Cutthroat Lake (named for the fish that inhabited the water, he’d assured her) had been his idea. Since the warmer weather had arrived in northern Nevada, they’d been taking Remy to explore some of the local hiking trails. She’d enjoyed their outings and was looking forward to the picnic he’d promised her.
She responded:
Remy’s going to be disappointed.
Because it was easier to blame the dog than admit that she was disappointed.
But even more than she was disappointed, she was worried about Deacon. Worried that this sudden change of plans was somehow linked to the news about his dad.
Maybe we can do it another time?
She held her breath, waiting for his reply to her suggestion. For his assurance that, of course, they would do it another time.
Or you could take Remy on your own. The trails are clearly marked.
As if she needed his permission or approval to take the dog hiking.
But she didn’t want to take Remy on her own.
And she wanted to know why the man who’d been making up all kinds of excuses to spend time with her over the past several months was suddenly bailing on her.
Why the change of plans?
It took him a while to respond to that one. So long, in fact, that she thought he might call rather than text, taking the opening she’d given him to talk.
In the five months she’d known him, he hadn’t told her much about his family aside from the facts that his dad was an abusive alcoholic and his mom never should have married him. Still, she was sure he must have conflicted feelings about the man’s return—and his injury—and she wanted him to trust her enough to open up to her.
Finally three little dots appeared, indicating that he was responding to her question. But his answer, when it came, wasn’t anything she would have anticipated.
I ran into Madison Russell this afternoon and she invited me to a party at Spring Creek.
A party?
He was blowing her off to go to a party?
Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she’d been pushing him to get out and do things with other people. She’d even specifically mentioned Madison—and he’d claimed to not be interested, that the judge’s clerk was too young.
But maybe after hanging out with Sierra, who really wasn’t that much older but whose activities were somewhat restricted by her pregnancy, he’d decided that he wanted to be with someone more fun and spontaneous. Someone with whom he could enjoy physical intimacy.
Because he’d been spending a lot of time with Sierra. Days out and about with Remy and quiet nights in front of the TV. And while they occasionally held hands—Deacon always took hers to help her navigate a narrow part of a trail—and cuddled on the sofa—there was no kissing (at least, not since the day she’d kissed him in her kitchen) and definitely nothing more.
And the thought of Deacon with Madison...doing more with Madison—
No. She couldn’t go there.
Instead, she stared at his message on the screen, the letters blurred by the tears in her eyes, and wondered if he was waiting for her response.
Or maybe a reaction.
She swiped impatiently at the solitary tear that spilled onto her cheek before composing a reply.
Sounds like fun. Have a great time.
Her thumb hovered over the arrow that would send the message, a sick feeling churning in her belly.
Why should she send him off with her best wishes when he’d just ditched her and their weekend plans?
She knew it wasn’t the same as saying sorry to Eric and Aubrey after catching them in bed together, but it felt a little bit similar. And she was not going to apologize for being wronged again.
Instead, she pressed the backspace key until every last letter of her reply was deleted from her screen.