Chapter 3 #2
“Wait.” She straightened, reaching out, but he was already turning away. “Anson, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, I just—”
“It’s fine.” His voice was flat, empty of emotion. The same voice she imagined had answered prison guards and parole officers. Not the voice that had filled pages with thoughts about redemption and second chances and the beauty in broken things.
The voice from the letters was gone, locked away somewhere she couldn’t reach.
Bramble whined softly and pressed closer to her legs. The dog seemed torn, glancing between her and Anson with worried amber eyes.
“Good to meet you,” Anson said. So formal, so completely at odds with the intimacy they’d shared through ink and paper. Then he whistled once. “Bramble. Come.”
The wolfhound hesitated, then nosed her hand one last time before trotting after his person. They made it three steps before Walker’s authoritative voice cut through the tension.
“Anson.”
The single word stopped him in his tracks. He turned just enough to acknowledge the older man, but not enough to face Maggie again.
She hugged her arms around her middle, fighting the ridiculous urge to cry. Six years of waiting for this moment, and she’d ruined it in less than five minutes.
The older man shook his head at Anson, crossed the remaining distance between them, and extended a weathered hand. His eyes—sharp, blue, missing nothing—took her measure in a single sweep.
“Walker Nash,” he said, his grip firm but not crushing. “Welcome to Valor Ridge.”
“Maggie Rowe.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She glanced past him to where Anson stood frozen, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“I know.” Something that might have been amusement flickered across Walker’s face. “You’re about all Anson’s talked about for weeks. In his way.”
Which meant hardly at all, judging by the man’s apparent allergy to conversation.
She forced a smile, determined not to let her disappointment show. “Thanks for having me.”
The woman stepped forward. “I’m Johanna. Jo.” She gestured toward the gleaming Airstream. “That’s a beautiful renovation job. Your work?”
Maggie nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. “Complete gut and rebuild. Took a whole summer.”
“You planning to stay in it while you’re here?” Walker asked. He reached down to scratch the cattle dog’s ears absently. The dog leaned into his touch, grumbling softly, eyes half-closed with contentment.
“That was the idea.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hyperaware of Anson still standing there, still not looking at her. “I’m pretty self-contained. Won’t need much.”
“Nonsense,” Johanna said, her tone warm but brooking no argument. “My old cabin’s sitting empty. Has been since I started spending most nights at the main house.” She shot Walker a fond look that made the weathered rancher’s ears turn slightly pink. “It’s just going to waste.”
“I couldn’t—”
“You could and you should,” Johanna insisted. “It’s warm, it’s got indoor plumbing, and it’s a lot closer to everything than where you’d need to park that trailer.”
Walker nodded. “Winter’s coming fast up here. We’ve already had our first frost, and the road down to the lower pasture where you’d park gets muddy as hell when it rains. Might even get snowed in.”
“The cabin’s just past the bunkhouse,” Johanna continued.
“Small but comfortable. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, little sitting area. I fixed it up when I first moved here to work with the men. Been a lot happier at the main house, though.” Another glance at Walker, this one making even Maggie’s cheeks warm.
She looked toward Anson, hoping for some sign of what he thought about this arrangement. Did he want her close to the bunkhouse? Or would he prefer her as far away as possible? The way he’d just acted didn’t give her much hope.
“It’s settled then,” Walker said. He was clearly a man who didn’t waste time on debates once his mind was made up. “You can move your things into the cabin, park that fine Airstream of yours in the covered space behind the pole barn to keep it protected.”
The pole barn had been converted to Anson’s forge and workshop when he came here five years ago. He’d written about the process, written about his first horseshoe and how he’d nailed it up over the door for luck.
She fought the urge to look at him again. “I—thank you. That’s really generous.”
Johanna smiled, and the lines around her eyes crinkled. “It’s nothing. We’re glad to have you here. Anson’s friends are always welcome.”
Friends. The word felt strange after all they’d shared in those letters. More than friends, less than lovers. Something in between that had no name but felt achingly intimate, until the moment they’d actually stood face to face.
“I should get my things, then.” She desperately needed something, anything to distract her from the crushing weight of disappointment settling in her chest.
“I’ll show you where to park,” Walker offered. “Then we can get you settled in the cabin.”
She nodded, grateful for the clear direction, and turned toward Anson, determined to salvage something from this first meeting. “Maybe later you could show me the forge? I’d love to see—”
But he was already moving away, his long strides carrying him toward an outbuilding behind the barn. His shoulders were rigid beneath the dark green shirt, his head ducked low, making himself as small as a man his size could manage.
“Anson?” she called after him, hating the plaintive note in her voice.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
Beside her, Bramble whined, ears flattening. The wolfhound took a few steps after Anson, then stopped and looked back at her with confused golden eyes. The dog clearly felt torn between following his person and staying with the newcomer.
“It’s okay,” she told Bramble softly. “Go on.”
He hesitated a moment longer, then loped after Anson, closing the distance between them in a few bounds. Together, man and dog disappeared around the corner of the barn.
“He gets like this,” Johanna said quietly. “It takes time for him to find his footing with new people.”
“But I’m not new people. I’ve known him for six years.”
The older woman’s eyes softened with sympathy. “On paper. This—” she gestured around them, “—is different for him. Give him time.”
Time. As if she hadn’t already given him six years of her life, poured out her soul in blue ink, trusted him with secrets she’d never told another living soul.
As if she hadn’t driven thousands of miles to find sanctuary with the one person who’d made her feel safe when her entire world was falling apart.
“He’ll come around,” Walker said. The certainty in his voice suggested he knew Anson well enough to make such promises, but she didn’t have such high hopes. “Man spent most of his adult life in war zones and then behind bars, which is its own kind of war zone. Social graces aren’t his strong suit.”
She nodded mechanically, not trusting herself to speak. She’d known Anson was reserved. Known he struggled with people. Known he carried trauma that made normal interactions difficult.
But she’d thought she was different. Special. That what they’d shared in letters would translate to something real when they finally met.
She’d been wrong.
“Come on,” Walker said, nodding toward her truck. “I’ll help you stow that camper.”
Maggie followed him, grateful for the opportunity to hide her face. She climbed into her truck and blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill over.
She’d driven halfway across the country for this. For a man who couldn’t even look at her. For a man who’d rather hide in his workshop than spend five minutes in her company.
She started the engine and followed Walker toward the garage, fighting the urge to keep driving straight past Valor Ridge, past Solace, past all of Montana, until she found somewhere new to hide.
Somewhere that didn’t hurt quite so much.