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It sounded like Deacon was clearing his throat. “I can count. One, two”—he held up fingers as he ticked off numbers, and finished with his middle finger extended, flipping off Adam—“three hundred seventy. Fuck.”
Adam sucked Deacon’s middle finger into his mouth, and Deacon looked like he was biting back a groan.
How did I walk away from this kind of easy fun? I didn’t want to give them up, but I had kids to worry about.
And Bryan moved into the shot alone, as if to drive home the thought. “Flirt later. Boss says we have work to do.”
I was certain Deacon hadn’t said that, but I needed to end the call anyway. “Okay. Call if you’re going to be too late.”
Bryan hung up, but the teensy morsel of phone call with Adam and Deacon lingered in my thoughts and heart. I didn’t like not seeing them. Not talking to them. But I also couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning the twins. Making them put up with gossip. With a negligent mom.
Or I’m terrified of letting myself fall in love again.
The thought side-swiped me and I fumbled with it.
“Mom?” Paige’s voice saved me from my own thoughts and I looked up to find her in the doorway of my office. “You’re sitting in here alone with a dorky look on your face. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” A little confused, but good. “What’s up?”
“I need to show you something.”
My heart dropped into my shoes at her hesitant tone. “Show me what?”
“Nothing bad. I hope.” She stepped into my office, her voice and body language doing anything but reassuring me.
Paige pulled an empty chair closer to mine, so she was sitting next to me in front of my laptop. “So I’ve been trying to figure out how a tank got in our barn,” she said.
It had taken her a little time to convince me she didn’t move it in piece by piece, but I did believe her now.
“I can’t find much of anything except that the man who owned this place before us, his grandfather brought it home at the end of World War I. There are photos of it arriving on the train.”
It was a strange story that left me with more questions than answers, but it didn’t explain the way she was acting. “Okay?”
“But while I was looking… Can I?” She nodded at my computer.
I rolled out of the way to give her access.
Paige moved in, and her fingers flew across the keyboard. She opened several tabs, and I caught a glimpse of each, most of the pages looking like basic, early internet days sites. The kind with busy backgrounds and lots of text.
“I know why Deacon has a basement, and why there’s that stuff in it,” she said. “His great, great grandparents owned a lot more of that block when the city was founded. And, well…” Paige gestured at the screen she’d stopped on.
The Unbelievably True Story of Utah’s First Brothel
I stared in disbelief at the headline. “No way.”
“I did a lot of cross referencing”—she gestured at the other tabs—“and it looks like it’s true. They opened it for miners, and the state shut it down, boarded it up, and made them surrender most of the street-level property.”
“Wow.” I scrolled through the page, skimming every third word—enough to pick up the meaning—this is…wow.”
“Right?” Paige sounded excited. “You’re fucking someone who owns a part of sex history.”
“I’m not…”fucking him. I sighed. I wanted to be. I wanted to be more with Deacon. I wanted to go back to Adam. Why did I push them away?
“Why not?” Paige’s question echoed my thoughts.
Because of her and Bryan?
Because I was scared.
