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like hours before Nash got in a hook that grazed Deacon’s cheek and hurt like hell.
    “Now this is a sight that warms a father’s heart.”
    With a hand cradling his face, Deacon turned to see their father coming around the corner of the house. As always, Don Juan Beaumont was dressed like a pirate version of Don Johnson in Miami Vice . He wore a white button-down shirt, linen pants, and loafers without socks, while his long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a gold hoop hung from one ear.
    Don Juan, or Donny John as most folks called him, lived up to his name in every way. He loved women with the same passion with which he loved life. It was unfortunate that neither passion involved earning money.
    As he watched his father saunter toward them, Deacon tested his cheek with two fingers. “Please don’t tell me that you already spent the money I gave you.”
    Donny John held up his hands. “What good is money unless you enjoy it, Valentino?”
    The use of his middle name never failed to piss Deacon off. “It’s Deacon.”
    Donny John released an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you boys insist on being referred to by the ordinary names your mother gave you. Being named for legendary lovers is part of the Beaumont heritage. And Valentino, Lothario, and Romeo are names that get people’s attention.”
    “And get your ass kicked on the playground,” Nash said dryly.
    “Which is why I taught you to box,” Donny John said. “Although it looks like Val…Deacon could use a refresher course.” He pointed a finger at Deacon. “You forget defense always comes before offense and timing is everything.” He demonstrated by lifting his fists in front of his face. “That’s why Nash always gets the upper hand. You’ve never learned how to close the hole after a jab.”
    No, Deacon had never learned how to close the hole. Whenever life had thrown him a jab, he had always been open to the pain that followed. His father’s inability to provide for his family. His mother’s death from cancer. His true paternity. The wounds were still there and unhealed. Which might’ve explained his sharpness.
    “If you want money, I’m tapped. If you want to fish, the poles are on the porch. And if you want something to eat, there’s hot dogs in the fridge.”
    His father looked wounded. “Why, I just wanted to spend a little time with my sons.” He tipped his head. “Of course, now I am a little curious about Olivia Harrington. When she passed me in that big ol’ Suburban, she looked in quite a hurry.”
    Damn. It figured that his father would run into Olivia and recognize her immediately. Of course Deacon had known her as soon as he’d looked into those big innocent-looking eyes that seemed to take up half her face.
    “So I’m going to assume that she was here to tell you about her father dying?” Donny John said.
    “How did you find out?”
    “I ran into Francesca.”
    Deacon didn’t have to ask how Francesca knew. Wealthy people kept track of wealthy people, and Francesca had always been overly curious about Michael Beaumont.
    Donny John shook his head. “Poor Michael Casanova. I never thought he would go first.” His father’s eyes were sad. Donny John might have his faults, but he loved his family.
    “I’m sorry, Dad,” Deacon said.
    After only a few moments, Donny John shrugged. “I had hoped that we could reconcile before he died, but I guess that’s what this is about.” He pulled one of the contracts Olivia had left from his back pocket. “I found this on the kitchen table. Now I’m not good at deciphering legal jargon, but it seems to me that Michael decided to do his forgiving through my sons.”
    Deacon released his breath. Now that Donny John knew about the money there would be no getting rid of him until he got his share. A share he would no doubt blow at the crap tables.
    “Nothing is final yet,” Nash said.
    “Nor will it be.” Donny John unfolded the contract and flipped to