Bossy got love first then they climbed the steps and I got some.

Introductions were awkward. Even though Mom invited Deacon to call her Beth on a warm smile, Dad invited Deacon to call him Obadiah on an assessing look.

We got them in. Mom and I set about filling cups of coffee. Deacon went back out and helped Dad get the bags.

And I got wired again because Dad allowed this but he didn’t hide he was doing it to be polite.

“It’ll be okay, Cassidy,” Mom murmured to me in the kitchen while they (followed by Bossy) took the bags upstairs.

I said nothing.

Mom knew I was wired, reached out, and gave my hand a squeeze before letting it go.

That was reassuring, as Mom could be, but not reassuring enough.

The men came back, we sat around shooting the breeze at the kitchen table, then Deacon sent my freak out into overdrive when he turned to Dad and said, “Obadiah, been cooped up in a car awhile. You wanna take a walk?”

Oh God.

My eyes flew to Mom’s.

She nodded encouragingly.

“It’s cold,” Dad replied and my heart sunk. “But you know, I think I would.”

My gaze went to my father and my heart swelled.

Their chairs scraped as they got up and left the room, Bossy going with them.

I didn’t move a muscle.

Neither did Mom.

I heard the door close.

“You were right, he’s extremely handsome,” she noted.

I looked to Mom and said nothing.

“Rugged.”

She was not wrong.

“Manly,” she went on.

I swallowed.

“Tall,” she kept at me.

I fought wringing my hands.

“Built.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.

“And, Cassie,” she said, her voice going soft. “It is not lost on your father that he’s being respectful to us, this is not easy on him because we know what he put you through, and he looks at you like you’re the only reason on this earth he’s still breathing.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“It’ll all be okay,” she whispered.

I swallowed again and nodded.

“Love you, angelface.”

The tears threatened to spill over so my voice was husky when I replied, “Love you too, Mom.”

“And so happy you found yourself a man who loves you like that.”

I deep breathed.

She calmly took a sip of coffee even though her eyes were bright too.

When she was done, she stated, “I hope you have a big spread planned for tonight. I’m starving.”

“We can start dinner now,” I offered gamely. “We’ll eat it early.”

“Let’s do that,” she agreed.

We did that.

The men came back.

I glanced at my father’s impassive face but my eyes became glued to Deacon as he followed Dad into the kitchen.

He came direct to me, his expression giving away nothing.

But when he made it to me, he curled a hand tight at my hip, bent close, touched his mouth to mine, lifted away, and said quietly, “All good, baby.”

I let out my breath.

“You get back, we’ll stay a few days, you don’t mind,” Dad said to the room and Deacon and I turned to him to see him sitting at the table, one hand back to his coffee cup, the other in Bossy’s ruff, her jaw on his thigh. “Take our Cassie to the slopes. You up for that?” Dad asked Deacon.

“Absolutely,” Deacon replied.

I nearly choked on my giggle at the very thought of badass Deacon on a snowboard.

But mostly it was a giggle of relief.

Deacon moved toward Dad at the table.

I looked to Mom and she got close to me.

“What’d I say?” she asked under her breath.

I looked to what I was doing at the counter.

But I did it muttering, “Whatever.”

She chuckled quietly.

As for me, I smiled at the counter.

Huge.

Somehow Deacon had made it all right.

I shouldn’t have worried.

I should have believed.

I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not ever.

Because my man could do anything.

* * * * *

It was snowing, late afternoon, skies gray, when Deacon pulled up to the curb outside the tidy, little house on a sweet street in Iowa.

He didn’t even stop before the door opened and a woman’s body filled it.

This wasn’t surprising. In the hotel that we’d checked into forty-five minutes ago, he’d made the call to tell them we were in town and he wanted to see them.

He suggested dinner at a restaurant that evening.

His mother had told him to come immediately.

We’d come immediately.

As I heard Deacon’s door open, I watched the woman walk out onto the porch, a man followed her, more people were inside.

His sister, maybe.

I pushed my door open and Deacon was there when I jumped out.

He closed the door for me, grabbed my hand, and guided me to the walk.

I took in deep breaths as I saw them, his parents, his sister, a man hanging back in the house, a little boy at his side, leaning against his dad’s leg, a toddler in the curve of the man’s arm.

Deacon’s nephew and niece, both he’d never met.

Deacon let my hand go halfway up the steps that were nearly covered with empty pots awaiting spring flowers, making the ascent awkward for two people.

He didn’t let me go because of that.

He let me go because his mother was losing it. It was plain to see.

And when he hit the porch, she lost it.

I stopped moving one step down.

She rushed him, rolling up on her toes, her hands clasping his cheeks, and stood still, silent tears streaming down her face.

The same happened to me.

“My boy,” she forced out in a voice cracked and scratchy.

“Yeah, Mom,” Deacon replied gently, lifting one of his hands to cup her cheek.

“My boy,” she repeated, lost the silent, and sobbed.

Deacon folded her in his arms, bending his head deep to put his lips to her hair, and he whispered to her words I couldn’t hear.

She clutched him harder.

I concentrated all my efforts on not making a fool of myself and losing it too by letting loose ugly, sloppy tears.

“Got someone I want you to meet,” Deacon said, his voice now louder. “So you gotta let me go so I can introduce you to the woman who brought me back, Mom.”