Branded (13 page)

“Go?” He grabbed the other bag and got to the door just in time to open it for her. “I'm cooking you dinner, remember?” he said as she headed into the house. He followed her. “If this is about my cooking, don't be afraid, darlin'. I brought a few things already made in case I screw up.”

Once inside the small kitchen, she placed the bag on the counter, then turned to face him. “See, the thing is,” she began, her gaze flickering around the room, “I sort of forgot I already had plans tonight.”

Deacon set his bag down next to hers, then placed his hands on either side of her body, his palms against the countertop. “Is that right?”

Locked in, her back against the counter, she was forced to look at him. Her eyes dragged upward until she caught his gaze. She swallowed tightly. “I have plans. But you know, you're welcome to come along.”

She was really working herself into a state, Deacon mused, watching her. Damn, she was so adorable.

“And where would I be coming along to?” he asked.

Her eyes swept the floor. “Hmmm?”

He chuckled. He couldn't help it. “Come on, honey, look at me.” When she did, he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Now. Where are we going tonight?”

She sighed. “The Appletons' place.”

His brows lifted. “Eli Appleton?”

She nodded, then tried to get away, but he held her tightly. He wasn't even remotely done with this conversation.

“What are you doing, Mackenzie Byrd?”

She shrugged, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. “Playing dirty.”

This time, when her eyes lifted to meet his, he saw flashes of wicked, wicked female in her fantastic blue gaze. He growled, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her closer. When her arms instantly encircled his neck, he covered her mouth with his own and kissed her hard and hungry. And when she moaned, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and taste her. Goddamn, he thought, she tasted like heaven.

Her fingers delved into his hair and she gripped his scalp as she changed the angle of their kiss
and sucked his tongue into her mouth. Tasted like heaven . . . Shit, she
was
heaven—
his
heaven.

“Can we be late, honey?” he uttered, easing his thigh between her legs, making quick contact with her warm core.

She gasped and pressed herself against him, then started moving her hips in slow but deliberate circles. Deacon groaned and shifted his thigh so she could ride him better.

“Oh, dammit,” she uttered, cursing again and disentangling herself from his grasp. Breathing heavy, her eyes dilated, she licked her lips and glared at him. “Now, what are you doin', darlin'?” she drawled.

Though his body was screaming and his cock strained against his zipper, he grinned at her. “Playing dirtier.”

For several seconds she stared at him; then she grinned back at him and reached for his hand. “You coming with me or not, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

His eyes raked her. Damn woman. Of course he was coming. She had to know how she affected him. She had to know that there was no way he was allowing her to go to the Appletons' or anywhere else without him tonight. They had a date, and damn, he needed to be around her, next to her, breathing in her scent and holding her hand.

Shit, he'd turned into quite the bleeding heart.

He took her hand and led her out the door and
down the steps. “We're taking my truck,” he said through slightly gritted teeth.

“If you insist.”

When he glanced back at her, her eyes sparkled with mischief and happiness. His fingers twitched. Might have to put her over his knee later. Just the thought made his body jerk with tension.

He held the passenger door open for her.

But before she climbed in, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Don't look so glum, Deacon. I'll let you get to second base on the ride home; how 'bout that?”

His jaw tightened. “Darlin',” he said, grabbing the bouquet of sunflowers he'd brought for her from the seat and thrusting them into her hands. “If I go to this shindig with you tonight, not only will I be thoroughly enjoying each one of your bases, I'll be roundin' home a few times as well.”

Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh

April 25, 2002

Dear Diary,

Today Mac and me were talking about the future. She likes to do this a lot. I don't know why. We're only thirteen years old for goodness' sake. Well, a month shy for me. Anyways, I'm always saying I don't know, I don't know, and maybe we should paint each other's toes now instead.

She thinks that's silly.

But I think pretending you know what you want as a kid is silly. Superman or Cinderella. A veterinarian 'cause you like animals, or a baseball player 'cause your dad throws you a few balls in the yard. A wife and a mom when there's not one at home and you got a crush on a boy. A boy who's too darn old for you and barely knows you exist.

But Mac has it in her head that we should have a plan. She says the stars have one for us if we don't. That makes my belly nervous when she says it. What does it even mean?

Should I make that boy know I exist? Is he my future?

Cole's calling me down to supper. Better go.

Love and kisses,

Cass

Two hours into the barbecue and Mac wanted to pull the plug on the whole thing. Her
brilliant
idea. She'd thought that if Deacon could interact with some of the people in town, he might gain a fresh perspective—a different perspective—on his plans to destroy the ranch. But instead of people talking to him about what a hardship it would be to lose the Triple C, how their families relied on all the jobs that filtered down from the place, they were listening.

To Deacon.

Talk about
his
ideas and
his
plans to make sure everyone in River Black was not only taken care of financially but had a new job with him if they wanted it.

On
his
ranch!

Why hadn't she thought of this? She knew he was maybe ten months or so away from that place being finished. She knew how smart he was and that he always had a plan in place.

Standing next to Eli Appleton's ancient red pickup truck, a plate of uneaten food in her hands, Mac watched as Deacon flowed through the crowd, slapping men on the back and smiling handsomely at all the women as he answered questions about the property and how far along he was in construction.

“So, how much land you got over there?” Cory Craft asked him, handing him a beer.

“Nearly double what we got at the Triple C,” Deacon answered. “Double the water, too.”

Manning the grill, Shep Lansing handed him a loaded plate. “Here you go, Deac,” he said with a grin. “This beef is your cattle, you know?”

“That right?” he asked.

Deac
? Mac shook her head, feeling completely out of sorts, confused, and betrayed. Not at Deacon, but at the town. They were calling him Deac, like he was family. Or at the very least like he was River Black family. She couldn't believe it. After all she'd said to them. How eager they'd been to help. How could they just turn their backs on what Everett had created? What had put food on their tables for decades? Did they really not care about the Triple C's survival at all? Was it only about the paycheck?

“You thinking of driving that cattle right on over to your place?” Cory asked, taking a sip of his beer as someone flipped on a radio and country music spilled out over the front yard.

“That's a thought; that's a thought,” Deacon answered good-naturedly. “Although I do have my heart set on Black Angus. Always wanted 'em. You think this town can handle twice the business?”

The man grinned, and several people around them chuckled. Disgusted and disappointed, Mac dropped her plate in the trash, her stomach turning over. Was it going to be this easy to lose?

A fresh Coke in his hand, Sam walked over and sidled up next to her. The Triple C's aging horse and barn caretaker, and Everett's closest friend, looked far too cheerful. “Enjoying the show, Mac?” he asked.

“You talking about them?” She nodded toward the crowd. “The Deacon Cavanaugh Fan Club?”

He chuckled. “Yup.”

“Hell no, I'm not enjoying it, Sam. I'm pissed.” She grimaced as her stomach did another roll and clench dance. “I don't understand how everyone could just forget what we talked about at Ben's. What about the Triple C? What about Everett?”

“Honey, everyone loved Everett, but they got families to take care of.”

“So they'll just go wherever the wind blows?”

“Pretty much.”

Mac turned to look at the older man. “But today—”

“They also love you.” His eyes warmed. “They didn't want to hurt you.”

“So, they were just blowing smoke up my ass?” she hissed.

“No, honey. I think they all wanted to believe it was possible to take down the grizzly bear, but then, you know, reality sets in.” His eyes grew solemn. “Fear sets in.”

“Fear?” She turned to him, the hot night wind whipping her hair about her face. “Dammit, we could've done this, Sam. Convinced him not to go through with his plans. Deacon doesn't want to take down the Triple C. Not really.”

His lips thinned. “You sure about that? Because I'm not, and I've known that boy since birth.”

She glanced back at where Deacon stood talking and eating. The gorgeous, charming, stubborn, hard-ass who towered above them all and had more money than God, and too much hate and too many secrets in his heart, was finishing up a burger as he told the crowd about his desire to bring in wind turbines on part of his land and the job opportunities that would create. Her heart seized and she felt tears behind her eyes. On one hand, she hated how the town had caved to fear. But on the other, she understood and couldn't blame them. On one hand, she hated that Deacon had land bought and ready and that it was so easy for him to talk about destroying something she loved. But on the other, he looked different when he talked about his place. He looked young and
excited and like maybe that ranch he was building was actually a true goal realized and not just another way to hurt the C.

She took a deep breath and blew it out nice and slow. This had to be her heart talking. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was falling for Deacon Cavanaugh. Hard and fast. Wrong and right. And it felt real, not like the crush she'd had on him when she was a girl.

Her stomach rolled again, and this time, nausea accompanied with it. She pushed away from the truck. “Excuse me, Sam.”

She didn't want to stay here, watch this whole mess she'd created fall apart any longer. She had other irons in the fire, and if those panned out as she hoped, maybe losing the town's help wouldn't be as huge of a deal in the end.

She moved through the crowd, throwing out tight-lipped smiles as people called to her, trying to make silent amends with their eyes. When she finally came up beside Deacon, he grinned brightly at the sight of her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Hey there, darlin',” he said.

As his warm, hard body pressed against hers, she looked up at him. “I'm not feeling very well. I think I want to head home.”

His eyes instantly lost every ounce of their playfulness. He set down his beer and took her
hand. “Night, all,” he said without even a trace of the charm he'd been displaying only moments ago.

“What is it?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her again as he guided her toward his truck. “Headache? You look a little pale.” He glanced around and growled. “It's too goddamn hot tonight.”

She shook her head. “It's just my stomach.”

“What did you eat?” he demanded. “Did you have a hamburger? Shit, it better not be the meat.”

“Calm down, Deacon. I didn't eat anything.”

He stopped beside the truck. “What? Christ, Mackenzie. That's not good either.” His jaw tight, he helped her inside, rolled down the passenger window, then came around to the driver's side. Once he was behind the wheel and they were on their way, he glanced over at her. “How long were you feeling this way?”

“Not that long.” The air hitting her face was warm but fresh, and she breathed it in deeply.

“I should've been by your side,” he grumbled.

“You were doing exactly what you should've been doing, Deacon.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what that means.”

He sighed. “Honey . . .”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She didn't look at him. She was kind of afraid to. Those
breath-stealing, leg-shaking green eyes were pretty damn powerful. And trained on her, they tended to make her heart and resolve weaken. “We both agreed to fight.”

“Dirty,” he said.

“Exactly.”

Another fresh wave of pain rolled through her gut and she couldn't help herself. She looked at him. Stared at him, this man who lingered between worlds: land and luxury, Porsches and Chevys. He was too damn gorgeous for his own good, too smart, and too angry. Angry at something that could never change or be fixed—or erased—no matter how big and mean and deep that bulldozer went.

The fear in her heart mixed with the pain in her belly. No longer was she just worried about keeping the Triple C safe; now her concern extended to Deacon's ability to release his past pain altogether. If he held tight to it, there'd be absolutely no chance for them.

“Deacon?”

“Yes, darlin'?” He pulled off the road and onto the Triple C drive. “You feeling worse? God, I hate it that you don't feel good. And I despise the fact that I can't do anything to fix it. I think I'd pay heavy to see you smiling twenty-four-seven.”

“You can do something,” she said quietly.

“Name it.”

“Stop this whole thing.”

His jaw went tight.

“I don't want to play dirty with you,” she continued. “Not that kind of dirty anyway.”

“Mackenzie—”

“I mean it, Deacon. Let this go. Please. It's not going to give you want you want in the end.”

He didn't say anything, not until they pulled up alongside the cottage. Then he killed the engine and turned to look at her. “And what do you think I want, Mac?”

His eyes captured her, holding her hostage. She wanted to say,
Me. It's not going to get you me
. But she couldn't. She knew how she felt about him, but she had no idea how he felt about her.

Her heart pounding, her stomach clenching, she yanked open the car door and jumped out. As she headed for the steps, she felt her throat tighten.
Not here. Not in front of him.
If tears were working their way up her tight throat, she needed to get inside before the bawling went down.

“Mackenzie, wait.” Deacon was behind her.

She picked up the pace. She couldn't look him in the eye. Mackenzie Byrd, ranch foreman and ass-kicker of every cowboy on the ranch, and she couldn't look Deacon Cavanaugh in the eye because he'd see her being vulnerable and weak. He'd see how much she cared about him and how
every moment they spent together was just sending her farther and deeper down a rabbit hole.

He touched her just as her hand closed around the door. He turned her around to face him and said gently, “Talk to me.”

“I don't want to talk anymore.”

“What's going on? We were good a few hours ago. We'd agreed to fight. What's changed? You were ready to take my ass down.”

She shook her head, still keeping her eyes on his chest. “I don't know.”
Yes, you do. You know. You're falling for this
man—this man who plans on destroying your life, your work, your home.

“Mackenzie . . .”

Feeling the tears at the back of her eyes, she turned and grabbed the door, pushed it opened. Goddammit, she wasn't going to let him see her like this. “I just want to be alone tonight, Deacon,” she said, lurching inside.

“No, you don't. You're upset.” He tried to follow her, but she blocked his way.

This time, she met his gaze. “Don't do that,” she warned, her voice unsteady. “Don't tell me what I'm feeling or what I want.”

“I don't have to tell you a thing, darlin'. Tears are welling up in your eyes right now.”

Her lips started to tremble and she shook her head. “Damn you.” Then she turned around, closed the door, and headed for her bedroom.

•   •   •

What was he doing?

What the fuck was he doing?

The woman he wanted, the woman he needed and craved, was behind that door and he'd just pushed her away. He could hear her crying softly, and it ate his guts up. He didn't know how to fix this, how to stop wanting what he wanted—what he had to see done so he could continue breathing. But what he did know was that Mackenzie had captured his heart and made him feel happy for the first time in a long time.

He dropped his forehead to the door and knocked. “Mac?”

She didn't answer him.

“Please open the door,” he called. “I won't say anything more about tonight or the ranch . . .” He rubbed his forehead back and forth. “I just need to see you. I need to know you're all right.”

He heard nothing at all for about a minute and a half, and he started to think she wasn't coming, that maybe he was going to have to camp out on the porch like he and James used to do. Then he heard footsteps.

“You should go back to the house, Deacon.” From behind the wood, she sounded quiet, strangely calm. It sent a wave of fear through him.

“Can't go. Don't want to.” He shook his head, even though she couldn't see him.

“Deacon, I don't know what I'm doing, what
we're
doing.”

“We're spending time together, enjoying each other.”

“But why?”

“Because it feels good.” Fuck, he wanted to rip down the door, take out this barrier between them. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

“It's going to get me hurt.”

Deacon's eyes closed and he drew in a deep breath. He hated to think it, didn't want to even tempt fate by thinking it, but she was right. There was a whole lot of hurt to be had here. For the both of them. If only that made him want to stop seeing her—made him stop wanting her, needing her. But he was pretty certain nothing was going to do that.

“Open the door, honey,” he said. “Let me just say one thing to you.”

For several seconds, the only sounds Deacon could hear were the wind in the trees and the water slapping rock down at the river. Then there was the scuffle of Mackenzie working the door, the lock snapping back, and the wood creaking open.

His eyes lifted, and when he caught sight of her, his breath nearly left his body. She'd changed out of her pretty sundress and into a black tank and matching pajama bottoms. Her dark hair was
loose, falling about her shoulders, and her eyes . . . those stunning midnight blue eyes were red-rimmed and vulnerable. She looked like a dark, beautiful, sexy angel, and the blood racing around in his heart dropped several feet.

Against the door, his hands fisted. He ached to reach for her, pull her into his arms and kiss that damn troubled look off her face, but he wasn't going to risk having her shut him out again.