Chapter 13 #2
The kitchen was a flurry of activity as everyone grabbed plates and silverware.
Lila produced a ceramic dish from the top of the double oven, steam rising as she set it on a trivet.
“Baked spaghetti. My grandmother’s recipe.
Extra cheese, Italian sausage, and enough garlic to keep vampires away for a decade. ”
Nessie placed her focaccia beside it, the bread golden-brown and fragrant, still radiating heat. She sliced it, revealing a soft interior stuffed with olives and herbs. It smelled so good that Maggie’s stomach growled audibly.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Nessie said with a laugh.
Greta produced a paper plate and set it on the counter next to the focaccia with a flourish.
Strips of beef jerky formed a messy border around slices of apple cut in wildly varying thicknesses.
“I’ve got protein! Don’t judge,” she said when she caught Maggie looking at her offering.
“I can track a lost hiker through a blizzard, but I burn water.”
They ate on their laps and the coffee table, balancing plates and glasses. The cabin grew warmer. Someone cracked a window. Shoes were kicked off, and Maggie followed suit. It felt significant somehow, that small surrender to comfort.
Wine bottles multiplied. Second, then third. At some point, they migrated to the floor, sitting in a circle like teenagers at a sleepover. Blankets appeared, pulled from the backs of furniture.
Socks circulated, shameless in his begging until Greta slipped him a piece of sausage.
“Don’t give him that,” Lila said.
“Why not? He had a hard life before coming here. He deserves to be spoiled now.”
“Is he a rescue?” Maggie asked, watching Socks finish his treat and clean his whiskers with exaggerated dignity.
“He was one of the strays living in the alley behind my bakery in town.” Nessie stretched and hid a yawn behind her hand.
“There were three. All feral, but Oliver loved them like they were his pets. After the fire this summer, Jax and the guys spent a whole day catching them. It was actually one of the only times I’ve ever seen Anson in town. ”
Anson didn’t go into town? That tidbit was a revelation, and she desperately wanted to ask about it, greedy for every bit of information she could glean about the man who was somehow both her pen pal and yet, at the same time, not him at all.
But she didn’t want to seem desperate, so she asked instead, “Fire?”
“Long story involving a very bad man who is now thankfully very dead,” Nessie said. “Anyway, they brought all three cats here. Socks gave up feral life for lap-cat status. Trouble—he’s a gray tabby—still lives in the main barn and earns his name daily.”
“And Princess Jellybean is our mystery girl,” Lila added. “Sassy, bossy calico. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
Maggie sat up straighter. “Wait. Princess Jellybean’s a calico like Ember? Could she be our kittens’ mother?”
Lila tilted her head, considering. “Possibly. I’ve been trying to trap her for spaying, but she’s too smart. Haven’t seen her in days, though. I’ve been leaving food out, but I can’t tell if she’s eating it or if Trouble is stealing it.”
Worry flickered across Nessie’s face. “Do you think something happened to her?”
Lila sighed. “Unfortunately, there are a lot of predators around here that would look at a little cat like her as a meal. And mother cats don’t usually abandon their kittens unless they have to—injury, stress, or something worse.”
Nessie reached out and pulled Socks protectively onto her lap, stroking a hand down his back.
“Oh, no. I hope she’s okay. It would destroy Oliver.
He loves these cats.” She glanced at Maggie.
“I’ve been meaning to ask if you think Anson would let him come visit the kittens.
He’s been driving me nuts since he found out about them. ”
“I can’t imagine that would be a problem.”
The women all froze and exchanged a look.
“What?”
“Anson doesn’t like people in his forge,” Nessie said. “Like, at all.”
“He’s protective of his space,” Lila agreed. “Honestly, I was surprised as hell when he suggested letting the kittens stay there, since he knew that meant I’d be coming in at all hours to check on them.” She smiled at Maggie. “But he doesn’t seem to mind having you there.”
Heat crept up Maggie’s neck. “We’re just... working together on the kittens.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Lila hummed into her wine glass.
Maggie decided to change the subject. “So how did you all end up at Valor Ridge? I know bits and pieces from Anson’s letters, but not the whole story.”
The women exchanged glances again. After a drawn-out moment, Mariah spoke first.
“I came to Solace to escape my family. Thought I’d be here a month, maybe two.” Mariah’s Southern drawl thickened as she refilled her wine glass. “That was two years ago.”
“What happened?” Maggie asked, surprised by her own boldness. The wine was loosening her tongue, warming her from the inside out.
“They couldn’t handle that I’d fallen for a Black man,” she said, her Southern accent more pronounced now that she was tipsy.
“The Duvals of Charleston got rich off of plantations in the 1800s and very much still subscribe to the mindset of the Confederacy. But I didn’t care what they thought.
He was charming, and I was in love. I broke off my engagement to a Congressman’s son—an appropriate match in my family’s eyes, but I swear to you that man had all the personality of wet cardboard.
And he was all teeth.” She bared her teeth in a grimace of a smile.
“Ew,” Lila and Naomi said at the same time.
She pointed at them. “Exactly.” Then she exhaled softly and swirled her wine in her glass, her eyes going distant. “I was ready to run away with my lover, but come to find out he’d already moved on to his next conquest—which is exactly what my mama told me he’d do.”
“And your family didn’t take you back?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, no. I was pregnant, and they saw Tate as a stain on the family name instead of their own flesh and blood. So I packed up and moved here. But I can’t regret anything.
He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
And, moving here, I met my best friend.” She bumped her shoulder to Nessie’s.
“And Tate found a best friend in Oliver. I built my flower shop, and for the first time in my life, I’m standing on my own two feet.
I can do what I want, and I don’t have to ask anyone for permission. ”
“And you have X,” Nessie teased.
Mariah rolled her eyes and finished her wine in one long drink. “In his dreams.”
“Admit it. Some of yours, too.”
She sniffed and brushed imaginary lint off her pant leg.
“Mariah…”
“Okay, yes. Fine. He’s hot, and I may have thought about him a time or two while…
in bed.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
“But that’s all that will ever happen. He’s exactly like Tate’s father, and I’m not falling for that again.
I can’t. I just…” She looked at her empty wine glass, and tears shone in her eyes. “I can’t.”
For all of her outward bravado, underneath Mariah was just as broken as Maggie. It made her feel less alone, somehow, knowing this beautiful, glamorous woman had skeletons rattling in her closet, too.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. I am. I get emotional when I drink.” Mariah blinked quickly and waved a hand in front of her face to dry the unshed tears. “Whew. Ness, you go before I mess up my face.”
“Well,” Nessie said, “I ended up in Solace because I was in witness protection after testifying against my abusive ex-husband, who was also part of the Armenian mafia.”
Maggie sat back. “Anson wrote to me about that.”
“Did he?”
“Not in a lot of detail,” she hurried to add. “Just enough to explain why he hadn’t written in a while. Honestly, I kind of thought he was making it up.”
“Oh, I wish.” Nessie shook her head. “Long story short, my ex-husband came after me, and he’s dead now. Oliver and I are safe, thanks to Jax and the men here at Valor Ridge, but I’m still learning how to live without looking over my shoulder.”
Maggie understood that fear, that hypervigilance.
Every time she’d stopped for gas on the way to Montana, she’d scanned for Landry’s silver Audi, heart hammering at each glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders.
In a truck stop outside of St. Louis, she’d spotted a man with the same build and messenger bag, and she’d abandoned her half-eaten sandwich, tossing a twenty on the table before fleeing to her Airstream.
She’d driven another four hours without stopping, hands shaking on the wheel, checking her rearview mirror at every intersection.
It had been the same at each motel—parking in well-lit areas, requesting rooms near the office, wedging a chair under the doorknob. She’d barely slept, jolting awake at every sound, the baseball bat she’d bought in Tennessee clutched in white-knuckled hands.
“That feeling gets under your skin,” she murmured, more to herself than the others.
Silence fell. Five pairs of eyes turned to her.
Shit. She’d said too much.
“Someone from your past?” Mariah asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. These women had shared their truths. She could share hers.