Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

feet? The ice was slippery enough with plain old boots on. Putting sleigh runners on your feet had to make it worse. Just went to show how crazy those fools on the continent were.
Dante had a bitch of a time breaking through the ice on the troughs in the barn. The animals stood huddled together, snorting and blowing steam in the frigid air. They turned their mournful eyes on him, as if cursing him for being human.
“Don’t look at me,” Dante said. “I ain’t the one decided you don’t get a fire of your own.” In the towns, some barns were kept warm with coal furnaces, but the livestock on the prairie had no such luxury. Coal was heavy, and a pain in the ass to cart so far into the wild. What they did have was kept in store for the generator. And checking the generator was his next order of business.
Like most Oestend ranches, the Austin ranch had only one windmill, large enough to protect the buildings nearest to it—the main house, the barn, and the barracks. The BarChi was the only ranch Dante had ever seen to have multiple generators, but that was because Deacon and Jeremiah weren’t men who left things to chance.
The windmill of the Austin ranch was situated between the big house and the barracks, and it towered over them all. Its gears had frozen up in the night. Icicles hung from the unmoving propellers. The generator stored excess power during the day, so the ranch residents had slept safely, but only a fool would depend on reserve power two nights in a row.
“Better check the coal,” Dante said to himself. “And the wood piles.”
But it turned out the coal and woodpiles had already been stocked. In truth, Dante wasn’t surprised. Simon had taken on the role of foreman without ever being asked, and as usual, he’d set the hands to work early that morning, without having to ask Dante what needed to be done. Dante found himself shaking his head. He thought of Deacon, back on the BarChi, who’d always run the ranch. Deacon may have acted as if Jeremiah was in charge, but everybody knew who the real boss was. There’d never been room for any of Jeremiah’s sons. Of course Brighton and Jay hadn’t cared, but Dante had. He’d always dreamed of running the ranch with Deacon, side by side with the man he loved.
Side by side. And yet, with their love somehow held secret.
Now Deacon really did run the BarChi with the man he loved. But that man wasn’t Dante, and there was nothing secret about the way he lived or about how he felt about Aren. The ugly but familiar sting of jealousy throbbed deep in his chest as it always did when he thought of Aren. Dante remembered with painful clarity the day Deacon had kissed Aren in front of everybody. Dante had already known the two were sleeping together, but nothing had hurt him the way that kiss had. Up until that moment, he’d convinced himself Deacon was just using Aren—scratching an itch—but kissing him as he had, right there for all of the BarChi to see? That spoke of more than sex.
That spoke of love.
So now here he was, running a ranch that reeked of death. Aren had Deacon, and Dante was left with nothing so tangible. Sorrow and regret were his constant companions. He grieved for his brother and for the loss of his marriage, if not for the loss of Daisy herself, and he grieved with every fibre of his being for the loss of Deacon.
Of course, he realised now that Deacon had never belonged to him in the first place. Maybe that was the fact he grieved for most of all.
Dante pushed his fingers hard into his eyes, swallowing hard against the familiar lump in his throat. He hated being lost in the past.
He turned and slammed his fist into the cold metal at the base of the frozen windmill. It hurt, but that was the point. It distracted him from his heartache and from the treacherous sting behind his eyes. It was better when he managed to stay busy. Maybe he’d see if Cami needed anything.
He hung his head as headed for the Austin’s big house. That was still how