Page 7 of Hold the Line

Deacon Slater had grown up hard, and it showed, but it didn’t lessen how devastatingly handsome he was. I’d never found myself attracted to tattoos on men, but the ones covering his lean, sinewy forearms made my knees weak.

When we were young, I’d thought he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. He’d never really looked at or talked to me, making staring at him for long swaths of time without getting caught easy.

I wasn’t so lucky this time.

“What?” he gruffed.

I ripped my gaze from his arms, realizing I’d been biting my bottom lip.Oh, my muffins. What the hell am I doing, and why am I doing it on this man’s porch?

“What?” I echoed, without the gruffness.

His lids lowered, and a ripple went through his jaw. “Never mind. Did you need anything else?”

“Actually, yes.” I held out my own envelope. “This is for you.”

He took it in his hand, frowning like he’d never seen pressed paper before—which might’ve been true. I didn’t know what kind of mail prisoners received, but I had a feeling it didn’t usually come on fancy stationery.

With unexpected care, Deke slid his thumb under the flap, opening the envelope without ripping it, and slid the card out. A harsh crevice took up residence between his brows as he read it. Then he replaced the card and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans, holding the cash out to me.

“Appreciate it, but you need to take this.”

I raised my hands, taking a step back. “I don’t want it, Deacon. Please keep it.”

His fist balled around the bills. “I can afford to pay for a couple pots.”

Though he was making a valiant effort to keep his tone void of…well, anything, I didn’t miss the echo of injury behind his words. I was aware of what some people in this town thought of my family, especially when the disparity between the haves and have-nots was so vast. The Slaters were on the opposite side of the spectrum. I’d never seen their home, but I’d heard tales of crumbling foundations and boarded-up windows. No heat or indoor plumbing. And everyone said they cooked meth, though I wasn’t certain that was true. If it were, surely they’d have the money to fix up their house.

There was probably a lot of veracity to the things I’d heard, though, and it had to be a sore spot for this man. I hated that he thought I was insulting him. That wasn’t me. Then again, just because I’d carried a torch for him back in high school didn’t mean he’d ever given me a second thought, let alone knew anything about my character. He might’ve thought I was a snobby bitch who looked down on the Slaters.

I wished he didn’t.

“I’m not implying you can’t. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was. I feel as though we’re misunderstanding each other, so I’ll start over.”

He waited, amber eyes keen but darkened by the storms stirring behind them.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I bought those pots on a road trip to Yellowstone with my grandparents. We stopped at an art fair we’d spotted from the road and met the artist who made them. They weren’t very expensive, but I thought they were really pretty. That was right before I moved into my apartment. They were the first purchase I’d made for the start of my new, independent life.”

Deacon was as still as the dead, attentive but silent. I went on.

“The pots are gone, and while I’m sorry about that, it’s okay because I had one of the best trips of my life with my grandparents. I don’t need the pots to remember that. That’s why I don’t want your money, Deacon. It has nothing to do with whether I think you can spare it.”

He cocked his head. “What was so good about it?”

“The trip?”

He nodded.

“A lot of things. We went out with a nature guide at sunrise two mornings in a row and saw wolves. They were just hanging out in a valley, living their wolf lives and letting us witness it. It was the coolest thing I’ve seen in my life. Plus, my grandmother is a little crazy, and my granddad loves the stuffing out of her. It’s always nice to be around that. Love and wolves.”

A little happy laugh bubbled out of me. Deke jumped as though he was startled. I’d have to remember not to laugh so suddenly around him.

He rubbed his chest like he was trying to calm his skittish heart. “Okay. Doesn’t sit right with me, but if you won’t take the money, I can’t force it on you.” He inclined his chin. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.” I had a lot to do tonight, but I was still dragging my feet. “Will tomorrow be another early morning for you?”

“Always is.” He cupped his nape, scuffing his foot against the floor.

“Me too.” I rubbed my lips together. “It’s none of my business, but I’m going to ask anyway. What do you do?”

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