Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Chapter Two
Deacon
Deacon
"What the hell did you do?" I growl, glaring daggers at my baby sister as soon as I cross the threshold of the old-fashioned saloon our parents left us when they died. A sharp gust of cold wind blows in through the double saloon doors before they swing closed behind me, stirring up the familiar smells of wood polish, grease, sugar, and alcohol that's seeped into this place over the last four decades.
"Deacon! I knew you'd come," Nell says, her baby blues lighting up at the sight of me. She scurries from behind the long, wooden bar, wiping her hands on her apron. A smudge of flour runs across her right cheek and dots her nose. There's a streak of it in her brown curls, too.
I briefly consider letting her know it's there, and then quickly change my mind. Serves her infuriating ass right if half of Winthrop sees her with flour in her hair tonight.
"You placed an ad for an assistant," I growl, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "What in the hell were you thinking?"
"Oh! Did someone call?" She beams up at me, completely ignoring my question like usual. Nelia Cromwell does what Nelia Cromwell wants to do. She's been that way her whole life. I don't think the word no exists in her vocabulary. "Who was it? Did you hire him? When does he start?"
Two can play this game. If she's not answering my questions, I'm not answering hers. Besides, mine are more pressing considering I have a curvy little pixie landing on my doorstep in less than twenty-four hours. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?
Oh, I've got plenty of ideas. Starting with bending her over my kitchen table. The girl is the rare kind of beauty that makes a man stupid. Which is precisely why I hired her. I was thinking with my dick. I looked her up on my computer while we were on the phone. One look at her dark green eyes, dimples, and impish smile, and my cock was fully on board with telling her what I need and getting it—her words, not mine. Especially if she calls me sir while she's doing it.
No, goddammit. No. There's a reason I live in the middle of the Cascade Mountains with nothing but my dog. I don't do relationships. I don't do people. I like my solitude, my privacy, and my peace and quiet.
Cordelia Shanks wouldn't know solitude if it landed in her lap. And judging by the way the girl rambled a mile a minute, she ain't ever heard of peace and quiet. I don't think privacy is high on her list either.
"Let me see the ad, Nell. Now," I order, trying not to think about how damn much I actually enjoyed talking to Cordelia. I don't enjoy talking to anyone.
"Fine," Nell says, reluctantly reaching into her apron pocket to pull out her phone. She loads up the classified section of the Seattle Times and then taps on her screen for a moment before passing it over to me.
Before I can take it from her, she snatches it back.
"Maybe you shouldn't read it," she says. "That vein in your temple is already throbbing. It might explode if you read it."
I hold my hand out silently, hitting her with a hard stare.
She grumbles under her breath and smacks me in the chest with her phone. I take it from her, my eyebrows climbing as I read the ad she placed.
Mountain man desperately (seriously. Help. Me.) seeking assistant for a short-term assignment. Must be outgoing, reliable, understand the needs of a small-business, and know how to file. Pay negotiable.
"See? I covered all the basics," she says, circling around behind the bar again. "You're welcome. Now, your turn. How many calls have you had? Did you hire someone? When does he start?"
"I'm not a grouch."
"Ha!" Nell snorts. "Even your dog thinks you're cranky."
"Oscar likes me just fine."
"Oscar likes the bed he sleeps in and the steak you feed him, Deacon. You, he tolerates," she says, smirking at me. "The dog is a diva."
"I'm telling him you said that."
She shrugs, sinking her hands back into the scone dough she was kneading when I interrupted her. "Spill."
I reach across the bar for one of the scones she's already finished.
She smacks my hand before I can grab it. "Hands off. Those are for the dance. You can't have one until then."
"I'm not going to the damn dance, Nell."
"If you aren't going, you aren't getting a scone."
"Fine, then I'm not telling you who I hired."
She narrows her eyes on me suspiciously. "Are you just trying to get a scone out of me, or did you actually hire someone to help you?"
"I hired someone."
She nudges the platter of scones my way.
I smirk, snatching one off the plate before she changes her mind and smacks me again. Swear to God, she got that shit from our mom. Got the scone recipe too. They're delicious.