He’d given away two million dollars to four charitable drug rehab clinics.

He was keeping the rest for a rainy day.

Did I say I loved my man?

I loved my man.

* * * * *

I heard it so I grinned, bent, grabbed the tray with my oven-gloved hand, pulled it out of the oven, and walked out of the kitchen, both Bossy and Priest at my heels.

I kept hold of the tray while I reached out and opened the door.

Bossy raced out in front of me. Priest followed, floppy ears bouncing, mostly galloping.

I strolled out, stopping at the top of the steps, looking down them to Deacon dismounting a shiny, black, totally kickass, vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

He gave Bossy a rubdown, snatched up Priest, then came up the steps to me.

He nabbed a cookie from the tray even if it was still hot. And apparently, badasses didn’t get their mouths burned on hot snickerdoodles since he popped it into his mouth and immediately started chewing.

“Looks nice,” I noted about the bike after he swallowed hot cookie.

“Gettin’ you an apron,” he replied strangely.

“Sorry?”

“You in an apron, makin’ me cookies.”

I rolled my eyes.

When I rolled them back, he was grinning.

“Take off your jeans, top, bra, panties, keep the apron on, fuck you against the kitchen counter.”

My legs started trembling.

That I could do.

“Though,” he said reflectively, “might keep on the panties but pulled down around your thighs.”

I glared. “Do you want me to drop these cookies I slaved over while I experience a spontaneous orgasm on the front porch?”

He grinned again. “Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes again.

When I rolled them back, Deacon was leaned in to me.

“Want a ride?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Absolutely.”

He leaned back. “Go get rid of the tray, woman.”

I went and got rid of the tray.

Deacon went to put Priest in his kennel.

We left Bossy behind as I went back out with my man.

I swung up behind him on the back of his new bike, he revved it, and I felt quivers assault my nether regions.

We took off.

And life was sweet.

* * * * *

I sat on the steps of the gazebo facing the river, its riverbanks edged with a plethora of wildflowers.

So was the area round the gazebo.

The steps were also lined with pots of thriving flowering plants and trailing greenery, more boxes were hooked to all the railings containing the same.

It was gorgeous. I loved it. The plants made it awesome.

But the fact that Deacon built it for me made it magnificent.

I also had a laundry building and I’d been right, those machines cost a whack, we were making a mint.

I’d let Deacon pay for all of it.

His buy-in.

A statement needed to be made.

We were partners.

In everything.

Though, that didn’t mean I didn’t bust his chops. I did.

But he liked it (mostly because I gave in).

I thought that was good but beautiful war was waged over the fact that Deacon didn’t. In the end, he won that too by paying back my dad, with interest. He also paid the mortgage every other month.

I didn’t grouse. There was no need.

We were in this together.

He’d found work in construction, working for a man who had a business in Gnaw Bone named Holden “Max” Maxwell. Weirdly, this was the man who married the woman who got attacked at my cabins years ago.

Strange how life connected like that.

He was a good guy. His wife Nina was an awesome lady, a bit crazy and more outspoken than me, so I dug her. They had two kids. They’d been over for dinner. We’d been over to their place. And when Max lost one of his foremen, he’d promoted Deacon.

Deacon had been working for him for a month.

Seemed Holden Maxwell wasn’t only smart enough to get himself tied to a tough broad, he was smart enough to see he had talent on his team.

So far, Uncle Sam had not cottoned on to Deacon rejoining the citizenry.

That might happen but I wasn’t worried. Deacon and I could weather any storm.

We’d proved that.

Life with Deacon was a beautiful war no way we could lose.

I heard his boots on the steps that led up on the other side, but I didn’t move.

I also heard Bossy’s claws.

She hadn’t defected from me. She still loved her momma. But she preferred Deacon.

I didn’t mind.

I did too.

Then again, it was becoming clear Priest preferred me.

Payback.

My eyes searched for my puppy but he didn’t come out with his daddy. This boded good things, since if he did, we’d need to pay attention so he didn’t get in trouble.

And thus this said Deacon was intent to give his attention to me.

I knew this to be true when Deacon didn’t sit beside me. He sat behind me and surrounded me with his long legs, feet to the step where mine were, his arms wrapping around my middle.

I felt his chin rest on my shoulder and closed my eyes.

Happy.

Completely and utterly.

I opened my eyes.

“Thanks for my gazebo,” I said softly.

I heard the grin in his voice when he replied, “Not a problem.”

He was happy too.

So I was happier.

“Thanks for my laundry building.”

There was a thread of humor in his voice when he said, “Not a problem.”

And even happier.

“Thanks for being you.”

His arms tightened and the humor was gone when he repeated, “Not a problem, Cassie.”

“Thanks for letting me be me.”

More tightening, then, “Definitely not a problem.”

“Thank you for loving me,” I whispered.

No reply. Just his arms got so tight I could barely breathe.

When he released the pressure, I went on.

“And thanks for letting me love you.”

“Makin’ this easy,” he said weirdly.

“Sorry?”

He let me go but didn’t move away. One of his hands caught my left one, the other one disappeared.

It came back.

And when it did, I stopped breathing.

This was because he was sliding a princess cut diamond set in a thick platinum band on my ring finger.

“Marry me,” he whispered into my ear.