My jaw drops.
“What now?” I whisper.
“Bittern likes you, and I’m really fucking tired of him wandering around, acting like a lovesick puppy or some shit,” he says. “Just put him out of his misery. Let him take you out, or just…fuck or something.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re so romantic. It’s no wonder Freya fell head over heels.”
“Nah,” he says, waving a hand, “that took work.”
“And I don’t like people in my business.”
Deacon shrugs, picking up his mug. “It’s my business. My ranch, my house, my business and shit. Anyway, he’s taking you out Saturday night.”
“What?” The slow thumping of my heart turns into a frantic patter.
“Yeah, he’s taking you down to Knifely,” he says, heading to the side door and yanking it open. “Or South Platte. Can’tremember. Be ready in your best whatever you wear. I don’t think he gives a fuck.”
He disappears, door slamming, and I catch a glimpse of him moseying down the side walkway. It takes me a moment to gather myself. Does Bittern know that, or is this something Deacon cooked up on his own? When Bittern said hi to me just minutes ago, was he thinking about it? Or is Deacon on his way up the hill right now, a nonchalant menace in steel-toed boots, to tell him about it?
I go out on the porch, standing with my hands on my hips.
Deacon is at the top of the hill, with Bittern and Dad, waving his hand back at the house like he’s explaining something, pointing right at me then at Bittern, who’s gazing sideways at him with his brows raised. I don’t have to ask to know exactly what Deacon is saying. I already fucking know.
God, that man is a villain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BITTERN
It’s news to me that I’m taking Janie out Saturday night, but I’m not about to cancel plans. I don’t like Deacon in my business, but this time around, he did me a solid. I’ve managed to bypass all the awkwardness of trying to get to know her and remember what dating was like, and I’m headed straight to the point. It does mean I need to find something to do in South Platte or Knifely. I can’t fumble this. The obvious would be to take her out for a drink. There’s a honky tonk bar down in South Platte, where they play live music on the weekends. I’ve heard the wranglers talk about heading down there to drink and try to get laid, but I’ve never been.
On Thursday, we don’t run into each other. I spend most of the day fixing fences, since the heat is finally manageable. She must be inside, because I don’t even see her on her parents’ porch when I head home.
Friday, everybody is back to feeling good at the main house. I’ve spent enough time there, and I don’t have food at my place, so I go eat dinner in the mess hall. Long wooden tables line the back wall, laden with bowls of Ginny’s cooking covered indripping plastic wrap, piles of cornbread, and dessert. Deacon brings on seasonal workers to help her out, and they’re hurrying back and forth, trying to get everything set up before the wranglers get in.
I grab a plate, filling it with ham and soup beans poured over cornbread. Freya must have helped, because these taste like being back home. Sinking down in the corner, I take the field guide out of my back pocket.A Field Guide to Birds of Montana. I got this in town the first month I was here. Absently, I flip through, running my fingers over the worn pages. It’s always in my pocket now, just in case I see something and need to look it up and there’s already a lot of wear and tear.
“Hi.”
I look up, startled. My entire body tingles.
Fuck—she’s standing in front of me, breathtaking in the softest, warmest way possible. Tanned skin, a tousled golden bob, big eyes framed by thick lashes. Thump, thump—my heart’s going like a screen door in a hurricane. I think, but I’m not sure, that my palms are sweating. Either that, or my hands are burning against the hot edges of my plate.
“Hi,” I manage.
She bites her lip, looking at the empty space across from me. I’m not sure what she wants? Is she trying to talk to me? I glance around—or worse, am I sitting in her seat? Does she know we’re going out tomorrow?
“Can I sit with you?” she says.
I shove the field guide aside. “Yeah, sit.”
She sinks down, swinging her bare legs over the bench. They’re long and lean, with a few freckles dusted over her thighs. I clear my throat, taking a second to get a handle on myself.
“Deacon—” I start.
“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”
She laughs, and I let myself laugh along with her. It’s the best feeling in the world, like I was tense without realizing and now I’m finally about to relax. I peel my hand off the hot plate, knocking the field guide off the edge of the table. Goddamn it. Leaning down, I snatch it up and straighten, and she’s smiling, just a little bit.
