With a look of resignation, he moved to the small table and sat down. “You are certainly something.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He took a bite of egg. It was followed by a half a slice of toast. Partway through his meal, he stopped and looked at her. “Why do you care?”
“Because you apparently need someone to care about you. You don’t seem to do a very good job of it on your own.”
“How am I supposed to, when I know what I’ve done?” The worry and stress lines etched his handsome face.
“I thought you said you didn’t remember the accident?”
He let out a heavy breath, causing her heart to lodge in her throat. Did he know more than he’d told her? Had the police report been released? Her mind rapidly searched for the reason for his despair.
“Talk to me,” she prompted, needing him to tell her that the worst hadn’t happened.
“The nightmares are getting worse. It’s hard to tell the truth from the products of my imagination.”
“And...” She waved her hands as though trying to pull the information from him.
“And I remember bits and pieces, like the fire burning my skin. I remember your aunt. I remember her saying ‘Take care of Gabrielle.’”
“What? She did?” When he nodded, she asked, “Is that why you gave me this job?”
His gaze met hers. “Yes.”
Gaby had been right about him. Deacon was a good man—buried beneath a mountain of unnecessary guilt. Her aunt’s words were the proof of his innocence that she needed.
“Why are you smiling?” His dark eyes searched hers.
“Don’t you understand? You’re innocent.”
His eyebrows drew together and his forehead wrinkled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because if you were guilty, my aunt never would have asked you to reach out to me and take care of me—not that I need you to.” Gaby smiled at him, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted. When he didn’t look convinced, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Deacon rubbed the back of his neck. “Your theory is not proof—not legally.”
“It’s enough for me. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.” There was one more thing bothering her. “But if you really wanted to fulfill her wishes, instead of having me work here, you could have just offered me money or something, but you didn’t. Why?”
Deacon hesitated. “When you went on and on about how you cared for your father after telling me that he could take care of himself, I wanted you to know that you could have a life of your own and you didn’t have to sacrifice everything for him.”
“It was more than that and you know it.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps nothing. You wanted to separate me from my father in order to punish him for the pain he caused you.”
Deacon’s gaze lowered and he nodded. “Yes, I did. I suppose that makes me a bad person.”
“No. It just makes you human.” She eyed him as he returned to eating. “Speaking of making you more human. What would you say to a haircut and shave?”
“I
don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She wasn’t going to let him wiggle out of this. He’d been hiding behind all of that hair long enough. “Really? You like having your hair hang in your eyes?”
“No, but it’s better than seeing what’s beneath it.”