Page 53 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Deacon smiled a little, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, he does. But he also knows I’m not the bad guy.”

That part was true. Roman trusted Deacon’s integrity even if he didn’t like the man attached to it.

Jessa stared out the window as the familiar roads slid past, headlights sweeping over fences and trees. Her chest tightened with a truth she hadn’t said out loud.

She could get her heart crushed six ways to Sunday by getting involved with Deacon again. History had proven that, and Roman knew it. Love and duty did not mix cleanly with them. Secrets, danger, and loss had a way of carving deep wounds.

Still, some reckless part of her didn’t want to stop what was happening.

Didn’t want to pull away.

Didn’t want to pretend that spark between them didn’t still burn hot and dangerous in the dark.

After gliding the cruiser over the dark country road, Deacon turned up the long drive toward his house, headlights cutting through the dark. And her stomach clenched when she saw a vehicle parked near the front porch.

“Someone’s here,” she said, already scanning the shadows.

Deacon glanced ahead and relaxed. “It’s okay. That’s Eli Turner. He helps take care of Ranger when I’m working late.”

Her pulse slowed, but only a little.

They pulled to a stop, and the front door opened before they even got out. A tall man stepped onto the porch, moving carefully, like every motion cost him something. He was lean, mid-forties or so, with a pronounced limp and a guarded look in his eyes.

“Eli,” Deacon called out. “Thanks for coming by.”

Eli nodded and dropped his gaze to Ranger, who trotted out happily to greet him. He crouched with obvious effort, scratching behind the dog’s ears, murmuring something only the dog seemed to hear.

“This is Jessa,” Deacon said. “Jessa, this is Eli Turner.”

Eli gave her a brief nod, polite but distant, then straightened. “Ranger’s fed and settled,” he murmured. “Horses, too.”

“Appreciate it,” Deacon replied. “I’ve got it from here.”

Eli didn’t linger. He stepped past them, headed straight for his truck, and drove off without another word.

Jessa watched the taillights disappear. “He doesn’t like people.”

Deacon smiled slightly, and they stepped inside. “Not much. He’s a wounded vet. Lost his unit overseas. Lost part of his leg. Dogs and horses make more sense to him than people do.”

She nodded, understanding more than she wanted to admit.

Ranger pressed against Deacon’s leg, tail thumping, and Deacon rested a hand on his head, grounding himself. The house loomed quiet and solid around them. And for the first time in hours, Jessa felt the edge of safety settle in around her.

Deacon locked the door, reset the security panel, and the soft beep confirmed the system was armed. He checked the monitor once more, then turned toward her.

The look in his eyes stopped her breath.

It wasn’t rushed or careless. It was intent. Focused. As if he’d made a decision and she was standing at the center of it.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but the words wouldn’t come. The air between them felt charged, tight with everything they hadn’t said all day. Fear. Relief. Exhaustion. Want.

He stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel his heat, smell the faint mix of soap and leather from his jacket. Her heart started pounding, loud enough that she was sure he could hear it.

“We should probably slow this down,” she said, even as her body leaned toward his.

“Probably,” he agreed. And then he didn’t slow down at all.