Chapter 13 #3
“My former co-host. Landry Whitaker. When I refused to take him back, personally or professionally, he started stalking me.” The words came easier than she expected, loosened by wine and the safety of this circle.
“Little things at first. Things moving or disappearing. Notes that weren’t overtly threatening, but still felt sinister.
It’s been happening for years now, on and off.
The police initially dismissed me because we had once dated My producer called me difficult when I asked for extra security.
Friends stopped inviting me out because he would appear and make a scene.
Nobody was really taking it seriously, except Anson.
He was the only one who seemed at all worried.
I felt like I was losing my mind,” she admitted.
“Then I came home one night to an unlocked, open back door. No forced entry. The cops said maybe I’d forgotten, but I know I didn’t.
I’ve been too paranoid to leave anything unlocked, let alone open.
That’s when I knew I had to leave. So I came here. To Anson.”
“You weren’t losing your mind,” Naomi said firmly. “The cops dismissed you because it’s easier than helping. They do it all the time.”
Maggie blinked back a sudden rush of tears. Apparently, wine made her emotional, too. She hadn’t known that about herself.
Or maybe it was just the relief of someone finally listening to and believing her.
Mariah pressed a tissue into her hand. Greta refilled her wine glass. No one made her crying weird. The conversation simply continued, giving her space to compose herself.
Naomi got up and crossed to the kitchen. “I think we need something to soak up all this alcohol, or we’re going to hate ourselves tomorrow.”
“Cookies!” Nessie suggested.
“Excellent idea.” Naomi returned with the plastic container, and everyone dug in.
“Oh, hey,” Greta said around a bite of cookie and glanced over at Naomi. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Angel and Tariah. How are they doing at Haven House?”
“They’re good.” Naomi nodded. “Healing…”
“Why do I here a ‘but’ in that?”
Naomi hesitated for a long beat.
“What’s Haven House?” Maggie finally asked to break the silence.
“Women’s shelter that houses trafficking victims and women and children fleeing domestic violence,” Greta answered, then scowled at Naomi. “Come on, Nay. If Angel and Tariah need help—”
“They don’t,” Naomi said quickly. “Not really. Just… I don’t know. I think maybe they’re bored? Especially Angel.”
Nessie leaned forward. “Okay, I just had a crazy idea. What if we did a work program at Haven House? Teach the residents skills they can use when they’re on their own.”
“So they stand on their own two feet,” Mariah said softly and then squealed. “I love it. I’m in! I can offer floral arrangements and gardening classes.”
“I can teach baking,” Nessie said.
“I don’t know if any of them would be interested in veterinary medicine,” Lila added, “but I’d be happy to teach them about it if they are.”
“I could teach carpentry,” Maggie added.
The idea of it should have scared her—getting up and talking in front of a room of strangers— but it didn’t.
Landry wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there, since homes like that often had strict visitor policies, especially regarding men.
He wouldn’t be able to charm his way in.
For the first time in years, she’d be able to do what she loves without constantly looking over her shoulder.
The thought made her nearly giddy with anticipation.
“It’s a good idea, Nay,” Greta said.
“It’s an excellent idea, but let me text Hollis. She runs Haven House,” Naomi explained for Maggie’s benefit, and found her phone on the coffee table, tapping out a text. “Let’s get her take on it before we get too carried away. She knows those women better than anyone.”
The phone pinged less than a second later, and she read the response aloud: “She loves it. Wants to set up a meeting next week.”
Excitement rippled through the group, and they made plans. As the night stretched on, Maggie realized she hadn’t checked her phone in two hours. She hadn’t worried about whether or not Landry would find her.
First time in years, she’d felt safe enough to be fully present.
Eventually, the conversation looped back around to the Valor Ridge men.
“So,” Mariah said, a teasing glint in her eye, “is it just me, or is Anson hot? Like one of the hottest guys on the ranch.”
“It’s the beard,” Greta decided. “The way it’s just a little bit wild? Yum.”
“And have you seen the size of his arms?” Lila sighed dramatically and fell back against the couch cushion in a mock swoon. “Not that I’m trying to steal your man, Mags, but I have eyes. Very nice arms.”
“Eh, he’s alright,” Naomi said. “If you like the grumpy lumberjack type.”
Greta jabbed a finger toward Naomi. “We all know you like the grumpy, slightly scary nerd type.” Then her finger swung toward Maggie. “She likes the grumpy lumberjack.”
“I do. I really do.” Maggie’s defenses were too low from the wine to deflect. “I think I’m falling in love with him. No, I think I’ve always been in love with him, and the fact he’s hot is just a bonus.”
“A nice bonus,” Greta said, lifting her cookie in a toast before taking a bite.
“But I don’t know if he’ll ever really let me in.”
The women exchanged knowing looks.
Nessie reached out and squeezed her hand. “He will. He looks at you the way Jax looked at me before he figured out he was allowed to want something good.”
“He’s getting there,” Lila said gently, then sighed. “Which is more than I can say for Boone.”
“I told you, just show up at Boone’s cabin wearing nothing but a smile,” Mariah said with a wicked grin. “Men are simple creatures.”
Lila’s face turned crimson. “I am not—”
“She’s not wrong,” Nessie cut in. “When Jax saw me in just a nightshirt, I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. That’s basically how I got his attention. Well, that and my bakery burning down.”
“You’ve been pining for how long?” Greta asked. “Ten years? Twelve?”
“Since I was sixteen,” Lila admitted softly.
“Then it’s time to stop waiting for him to notice you,” Mariah said. “Make him notice.”
“Or just tell him,” Maggie offered. “Sometimes the direct approach works.”
They all turned to look at her.
“Says the woman who communicated with her man through letters for six years,” Nessie pointed out, “and never told him she was a celebrity.”
“Celebrity is a stretch, but fair,” Maggie conceded with a laugh. “Don’t listen to me. I’m hopeless with men.”
“The whole wearing-nothing-but-a-smile thing works,” Naomi confirmed. “Trust me.”
“Ew.” Mariah shuddered. “I don’t want to think of Ghost naked or smiling. That’s like nightmare fuel.”
Naomi threw a pillow at her. “He has a nice smile.” She grinned. “And a nicer coc—”
“Oh my God,” Lila interrupted, cheeks flaming as she buried her face in a pillow. “You all are terrible influences!”