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the back page. “Especially when Deacon has yet to sign.”
    His brothers turned on him.
    “You didn’t sign?” Grayson said. “But I saw you.”
    Nash grabbed the contract from his father and studied the signatures at the bottom before his gaze narrowed on Deacon. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
    It was a good question. One he’d been asking himself since Olivia had driven away. A sane person would’ve signed the papers and celebrated all the way to the bank. Instead Deacon had not just kept himself from realizing his dream of being a millionaire, he’d kept his brothers from realizing theirs. And he wasn’t sure why. One minute he was bent over the contract with pen in hand, and the next he was air-writing. Since only a fool would screw up a deal for one hundred and fifty million, Olivia hadn’t even glanced at the signatures before putting two of the contracts back in the folder and heading out the door to wait for her ride.
    He had little doubt that his stupidity had to do with the fantasy he’d clung to for all these years. When he met Olivia again, he’d wanted to be a self-made man with all the power. Instead Olivia was still the powerful one, handing out charity to the hillbilly Beaumonts. And it just hadn’t sat well. Not well at all.
    Unfortunately, his damned pride wasn’t worth losing millions over.
    “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll sign this copy and send it to her. I’m sure it won’t change the deal.”
    Donny John slapped him on the back. “Now, that’s my boy.” He rubbed his hands together. “So what say we head into town for a steak dinner?” He smiled. “My millionaire sons’ treat, of course.”
    “No one is celebrating yet,” Deacon said. “Not until I see the will for myself and we have the money in the bank.”
    He should’ve taken the contract from Nash and signed it right then. Instead he turned and headed for the front porch. He needed some time to think. And since he did his best thinking alone, he grabbed his fishing pole and headed to the same fishing spot he’d been in when Olivia had taken the plunge into the water.
    An evening mist had settled around the swamp and the moss-draped cedars, giving them an almost surreal look. Some folks found the bayou beautiful. Deacon just found it sad. After his mother died, Donny John had moved them here to live with their grandfather, and Deacon had spent many an afternoon in the secluded spot, grieving for the woman who had been the center of his universe.
    Althea Beaumont had been a beautiful, vivacious woman who saw the best in everyone and everything. While Donny John had been taught that boys didn’t need hugs, Althea handed them out freely to her sons. Along with kisses on each cheek. An amazing seamstress, she had been the main breadwinner in the family. She made choir robes for churches, ballet recital costumes for dance studios, and cheerleading uniforms for high schools. But regardless of how much sewing she had to do, she would always make time for her boys. She played catch with them, read to them, tickled them, and tucked them in each night.
    They had all adored her, but none more than Deacon. She was everything to him. And when she died, it was like all the joy in the world died with her. Gone were the hugs, the two-cheek kisses, and the love. All that was left was a father who seemed as lost as his sons. Donny John lost his job, lost their house, and lost his desire to be a father to three boys with eyes just like their mother’s. So, at thirteen, Deacon took charge. He worked at odd jobs to help his grandfather with the bills and budgeted the money so there was enough for food and school supplies.
    When Donny John had finally come out of his grieving, he hadn’t gotten a job. Instead he’d dragged his sons to California to get a handout from his big brother. Donny John had been convinced that Michael would help them and had been oblivious to how pathetic they had looked standing in Michael’s huge