Chapter 22
twenty-two
Deacon lay in bed on Christmas morning, the silence around him somehow holier than usual.
Molly had invited him for breakfast, set to start in a half-hour, and to watch the kids open their presents so he wouldn’t be entirely alone on this Christmas Day.
So many texts had been coming in since last night, and he certainly didn’t feel alone.
He marveled that technology could connect people across so many miles, and time zones, and boundaries.
But it did, and he’d really enjoyed the steady stream of news, travel updates, and well-wishes that had been hitting his device.
On the big group community-family text thread Deacon belonged to, Steele Harris had led them off last night with a beaming, bright picture of him and Hazel Monson, grinning at the camera, her left hand up and showing the giant diamond ring she now wore.
Yep, that was how he’d announced his engagement to his friends and family. And honestly, Deacon didn’t blame him.
His stomach did tighten, though he was happy for Steele. He knew the other cowboy had often struggled with where he fit in the world, in his community, and in his family.
Deacon knew exactly where he belonged, and it was right here on the farm. What he didn’t know was if he’d have to endure this life he really loved alone or not.
After a really great, really friendly date with Alaska, Deacon had decided to take a break from dating.
He didn’t ask anyone new out, and while he saw Alaska several times each week, they’d both agreed that the date hadn’t really held any romance for either of them.
That actually brought Deacon a lot of relief, as the exchanges between him and Alaska—an employee here on the ranch—weren’t as awkward as they could’ve been.
Mike had sent a picture of West in his new Buzz Lightyear pajamas, and then, only twenty minutes later, Gerty had chimed in that Tag and Opal had gone to the hospital only moments after her water had broken
Deacon was one of those early-to-rise, early-to-bed type of cowboys, and he hadn’t seen any news of the baby since going to bed last night.
But this morning, he’d awakened to a whole slew of texts, including one of Tag half-laying in the hospital bed with Opal while she cradled their new infant in her arms.
They’d both been crying, and Deacon sniffled as he looked at the photo now, his own emotions at what a miracle a Christmas baby was catching him a bit off-guard.
Opal likes the name Mary, Tag said. But she thinks it’s real boring, and she always wished she had a nickname, so we decided to name her Marigold Sapphire Crow, and we’re going to call her Mari.
His next text read: But not like ‘Merry Christmas,’ even though she was born on Christmas. And Opal wants me to make sure y’all know that we’re going to have two different celebrations, a birthday for Mari and Christmas every year, and she doesn’t want them combined.
Deacon smiled and added his own congratulations to the text string, both for the engagement and the newborn.
At that point, Gerty, Poppy, Molly, and Gloria started talking about what to do about Christmas dinner.
See, Opal and Tag were supposed to be hosting at their house this year for Gerty and Mike, Uncle Wes and Aunt Bree, Tarr Olson and Briar Prescott, and Steele and Hazel.
But with Opal in the hospital and unable to cook, Molly had invited anyone who wanted to come to her parents’ to do that, citing that there would be plenty of food.
Anyone can come here too, Gloria said. It’s us and Boone’s family, with Travis, Poppy, and their kids.
Deacon certainly couldn’t help in terms of food prep, unless everyone wanted to eat scrambled eggs and toast for Christmas dinner.
Poppy came on and said, Travis and I are going to take the kids out to Gerty’s and help with the food and do everything that Opal would have done. So we’ll go there instead, okay, Gloria?
That’s totally fine, Gloria said.
That meant Deacon’s dinner party had just been reduced to himself with the Whettsteins—Matt and Gloria and their still-single kids—Boone and Cosette and theirs, and Keith and Lindsay, their baby Nash, and Britt and Lars.
We are not having any more babies born on Christmas, okay? Keith said. Britt, Lars, you hearin’ me?
I’m not due for another three weeks, Britt said. Opal was due in only a few days.
Ten days, Mike had said. Twenty-one is not that many more.
We’re not having any babies on Christmas, Keith said.
His text only reminded Deacon of how protective Keith was of his sister.
Britt still worked at Pony Power, though she would be taking leave come the first of the year.
Deacon knew she was scared, and she never got more than a few feet away from Cosette or Gloria while she was working.
He’d advised all of his cowboys and cowgirls to keep an eye on her too, just in case she went into labor and needed help while dealing with horses or kids.
Big news for us again, Mike said. My parents are thinking of moving here to Ivory Peaks.
Wow, Hunter said.
That’s amazing, Jane said. They should, since both you and Opal are having babies left and right.
That’s what they said. Mike sent a grinning emoji, and the conversation switched after that to Merry Christmas!
and Happy Holidays! and pictures of Christmas trees from various couples and families from around Ivory Peaks.
Deacon loved them all, even the tree in Oklahoma that came from Bobbie Jo’s parents’ house and held individual ears of corn that lit up, as if that was an appropriate holiday ornament.
He’d been getting texts from his brother for several days now about his mother- and father-in-law, as Tuck had never really spent a lot of time with them while dating Bobbie Jo or since they’d been married.
Blending two families certainly wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do, and instead of spouting off and causing a problem, Tucker had matured enough to simply text his brother and vent things out instead.
Deacon had a smaller family text that included his parents, Jane and Cord, Hunter and Molly, and Tucker and Bobbie Jo, and he sat up and took a selfie of himself with rumpled hair and his black sleep shirt.
Merry Christmas to everyone. I love you all, and hope that maybe we could have the holidays here at the farm next year together.
If he started planning now, he could avoid a situation like what he currently found himself in.
All of the adults in his family replied, sending selfies of themselves as well, some with the hashtag #SaturdaySelfie or #ChristmasComeAsYouAre.
Jane and Cord were still clearly in bed, their heads pressed close together on one pillow as they grinned up at the camera.
Daddy sat at the bar at his house in Coral Canyon, and Momma pressed her cheek to his, the two of them, the half-dark and half-light combo that Deacon found inside Tuck every time he saw his older brother.
Tuck had a picture of just himself on the back deck, saying he’d come outside for a bit of fresh air while Bobbie Jo helped her momma make pancakes for breakfast. Molly had extended her hand way out in front of her to capture her face in the lower part of the picture and Hunt whisking something on the counter in the house right next door.
Satisfied and filled with love for his family, Deacon finally abandoned his phone on his nightstand and went to shower.
Several hours later, Deacon pulled up to Matthew Whettstein’s house, the man who had basically been a second father for him growing up.
Matt had been the foreman at the Hammond Family Farm for almost thirty years, and Deacon wasn’t even that old yet.
He was as steady as the sun and just as warm, and he stepped out onto the front porch before Deacon had even retrieved the three dozen rolls he’d stopped by the bakery and brought along for today’s meal.
“Merry Christmas,” Matt called, and he tucked his hands in his denim jacket pockets. “Looks like the weather held off. It’s good news for those people going up to Coral Canyon and over to loved ones’.”
“Sure is.” Deacon put a smile on his face and jogged up the steps and into Matt’s arms. “Thanks for having me.”
“You’re always welcome here, Deac.” He clapped him on the shoulder and then turned to lead him inside.
Deacon found that he had arrived last, behind Keith, Lindsay, and baby Nash. Britt and Lars sat cuddled together in one oversized recliner, looking at something on her phone. When he saw Deacon, Lars jumped to his feet. “Hey, Deacon, how you doing?”
He was a nice guy, an eternal optimist. Deacon wondered what that would be like—to perpetually see the good and feel happy about almost all things.
He’d definitely inherited some of his daddy’s quietness and grumpiness, and Deacon did like things that were slow and steady, a little bit old-fashioned, and that felt good and downright homey.
He didn’t need flashy technology or bright lights or the rush of a bull beneath him the way Tuck did, and he’d never aspired to be anything but a cowboy, a simple farmer.
He supposed God had put him last in his family for that very reason, as he’d never have to feel the pressure of being the CEO of the Hammond Manufacturing Company the way his uncle had, and then Hunter, and now his cousin Mike.
Jane had fought for her place in town with Cord and among everyone in the Hammond family, whether they were there by blood or not, but Deacon had never felt like that either. He fit, and he belonged, and he had his space. He always had. He’d never needed more.
He leaned down and swept a kiss across Britt’s temple. “How you feeling, Britt?”
“Really good today,” she said. “The baby’s moving a lot, though.”
Deacon smiled at her and then turned toward the kitchen, where Lindsay worked with Cosette, Boone, and Gloria. He went to the cusp of the linoleum and took off his cowboy hat. “Howdy, everyone.”
Cosette moved right into him and hugged him hard. “Merry Christmas, Deacon. We’re so happy you’re here with us.”
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t wanted to go out and see his aunt and uncle and his blood cousins, and he’d thought for a few minutes that perhaps it had something to do with Steele.
But with Opal having the baby and then Gerty making another announcement via text and pictures, he knew it was something more.
After breakfast, she’d sent several of West opening his presents, and then one of her and Mikey, both wearing shirts—hers that read Momma x2, and Mike’s that said, I’m going to be a daddy again.
So they were pregnant again, and due in July, and Deacon should be happy for all the amazing, good things his cousins and siblings and friends were doing. And he was; he absolutely was.
So he shook Boone’s hand, gave him his cowboy hat to hang up, and then hugged Gloria and Lindsay. After the greetings finished, he turned to return to the living room, only to come face-to-face with Keith holding his six-month-old.
“I’ll take him,” Deacon said.
“He needs to be fed,” Keith said. “And I’m supposed to help candy the ham. Do you mind?”
“Not even a little bit.” Deacon took the little boy from Keith and then the burp cloth and the bottle.
“My momma’s got a rocking chair back in the guest bedroom,” he said.
Deacon nodded and went down the hall. Though he didn’t know where the guest bedroom was, and had never been there, it certainly wouldn’t be hard to find.
He found it in the first bedroom on the left, and he settled into the chair in the room with the blinds closed, the sunlight dimmed and pure serenity streaming through it.
Little Nash gave a wail, and Deacon shushed him and tucked him securely into the crook of his arm, holding him tightly against his body, and smoothing the burp cloth over the baby’s chest. Then he offered the bottle, to which Nash glommed onto eagerly, his eyes also locked on Deacon.
Despite what he didn’t have, peace streamed through him, and Deacon somehow knew that God hadn’t abandoned him. He wouldn’t abandon him. He didn’t even know how to do that to one of His children.
“So maybe I just have to hold on a little longer,” Deacon murmured. “Is that it, Lord? I just have to hold on a little longer?”
Yes, my son. Deacon heard the words in his mind, and as much as he didn’t like them, he supposed he’d have to find a way to live with the truth.
He leaned his head back against the rest of the rocking chair and gently toed himself back and forth as his eyes drifted closed.
If that’s what I have to do, he thought. Then bless me with the strength to do it.