Chapter Three
Mica locked the front door of the shop and went into the back. They hadn’t had a customer all day and she didn’t expect they would. A blacksmith shop wasn’t a place people frequented often, and it wasn’t like days long ago when people took their horses to a farrier. Now the farrier traveled to the horse.
That’s exactly what Mathias was doing today. A horse trainer named Kyle Stadler called and asked if Mathias could come take care of a thoroughbred race horse who’d thrown a shoe.
If they were going to make this venture a success, it would be a boon to their business to build up a clientele in that area and Mathias was a skilled farrier. When the call came in, she agreed immediately and told Kyle that Mathias would be there within an hour.
Mathias wasn’t thrilled that she’d made the decision for him, but he packed up his things and headed for the Stadler ranch. Now alone, Mica unwrapped the set of throwing knives she’d made as a gift for one of Matty’s friends who was still in the service. She wanted to make sure each was perfectly balanced before she shipped them.
It was a nice day, so she opened both the heavy metal roll-up doors, letting the sun and breeze in. Mica placed the knives on top of a wooden barrel that stood upright, and picked up the first blade, feeling its balance.
It felt right and balanced perfectly when she placed it on one finger. But the real test was in its flight. She looked at the heavy board mounted on the opposite wall with the hand-painted target. The knife came out of her hand smooth and flew straight and true.
“Nice throw.” A sexy male voice behind her had her turning in surprise.
The sight that met her eyes was, in her opinion, every bit as sexy as that low deep voice. The man was well over six feet with icy blue eyes and a face composed of hard planes and angles. The short Van Dyke beard lent a hint of roguish sensuality to an otherwise hard visage.
He was not a young man, but she’d challenge any man in his thirties to look that good. Solid and obviously strong, he wore jeans in a way that made a woman’s eyes wander all the way down to his boots and back up.
And those icy blue eyes were looking straight at her with something in them that said I’ll take you there.
Yes, he was potent, and it’d been a long time since Mica met a man who tripped that yes please switch.
“Thank you.” She shoved erotic imaginings from her mind. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m looking for Mathias Greyhorse.”
“I’m sorry. He’s out on a call right now. But, please, come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He walked in and looked around with curiosity. His gaze fell on the throwing knives and he walked over to the barrel.
“This is fine work. Did Mathias create these?”
“No. I did.”
“You?” He looked up.
“Yes, is that a surprise?”
“Well, yes. I’ve never known a woman who did metal work.”
“Now you do. Oh, I apologize. I’m Mica Greyhorse, Matty’s sister.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Greyhorse.” Deacon extended his hand. “Deacon Johns.”
“Commander Johns?” Mathias thought of Commander Johns as someone near superhuman.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s an honor.” She put her hand in his and almost gasped. She hoped he couldn’t tell that something hot and electrifying had just suffused her entire body.
“So, you and Mathias bought the shop?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I ask why you left Wyoming?”
“It was time, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me, sir.”
“I feel a bit like I do. Mathias has talked about you so much, it’s something like meeting the President or a superhero.”
Deacon’s laugh sounded genuine and sexy as hell. “Neither, I assure you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mica was horrified once the words were out of her mouth. She shouldn’t be flirting with Commander Johns. Careful girl. You’re just a simple metalworker from the res. Don’t let your libido get you in trouble.
And yet, he didn’t seem offended. “Did Etta ask you to come see Mathias?” She asked quickly to cover her discomfort.
“She did.”
“That was kind of her.”
There was a momentary silence that should have been uncomfortable, but was sexually charged thanks to their gazes connecting. “May I try?” He ended the moment as he indicated the knives.
“Yes, of course. I was testing them to make sure the balance is right before I ship them to a friend of Matty’s.”
Deacon’s aim was true, and she was impressed. Not everyone had the knack of throwing a knife. He definitely did.
“These are good blades. Do you have others? For sale, I mean.”
“Yes, in the storefront. Would you like to see?”
“I would.”
“Wonderful. Just this way.” She led him into the front of the store and stood by the counter as he made his way around, looking at the various blades.
“This is unusual.” He lifted one blade from its stand. “Is the handle horn?”
“Yes, Buffalo and before you ask, it wasn’t poached. I know a man who owns a buffalo ranch and when an animal dies, he sells the hide, bones and horns. This one is a hunting karambit knife. Damascus steel with bolsters.”
“Out of curiosity, why the bolsters?”
“Several reasons. First, it provided a defined transition from the blade to the handle, and it also added strength and provided a counter-balance. “
“I’ve never seen a karambit hunting knife, only the small pocket knives.”
Mica was impressed with Deacon’s knowledge. “Well, technically I suppose I should say it’s karambit inspired since they’re typically more utility than hunting, but I’m attracted to the claw like shape.”
“It’s a beautiful blade. Do you also do the engravings on the blades?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very talented. Is this one for sale?”
“No.”
He looked a bit disappointed and then surprised when she said. “But I’d be honored if you’d accept it as a gift.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can.” Mica said and smiled. “You were an important part in my brother’s life for a long time and you were there for him during times that were tough for him. For that alone I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. The small gift of a knife can certainly be accepted as a token of thanks, yes?”
Deacon’s gaze connected with hers and in that moment Mica knew two things. The attraction was mutual, and Deacon was the man for her. The difference in their ages didn’t matter. She knew it as sure as she knew her name.
The question that troubled her was would he feel the same about her and if he did, could she pursue a relationship with him or would she end up leaving Cotton Creek and running again?
“Thank you, Mica.”
“You’re welcome, Commander.”
“Deacon.”
“Deacon. I’m so glad you stopped by. I know Matty will be sad he missed you. Perhaps you could come again?”
“I will. Have good evening, Mica and thanks again for the knife.”
“It’s my honor. Walk well, Deacon.”
He smiled, and she escorted him to the door. She watched as he left, got into a white pickup truck and backed up. He waved as he started forward and she returned the gesture then leaned against the door and watched him drive away.
“Deacon Johns.” She liked the way his name felt on her lips, the way it tasted on her tongue. The fact that he affected her so strongly was a surprise. Not many men did. In fact, no man had in a long time.
She’d heard a lot about Deacon but never in a million years would she have imagined that she would be so attracted to him. Now she wondered what, if anything, he thought about her.