Chapter 16
sixteen
He hadn’t changed his mind.
Dammit.
She really didn’t know why she thought he would. She’d waited until paranoia forced her out of bed to flip the deadbolt.
But now it was time to feed the kittens, so she had no choice but to face him.
Maggie hesitated, her hand raised halfway to knock at the forge’s door. The morning chill bit through her borrowed hoodie—she really had to make time to go to town and shop for proper winter gear—but that wasn’t why she shivered.
She was excited to see Anson again, even if he probably didn’t want to see her.
And… okay, also nervous.
Last night’s kiss—could it even be called that when she’d been dry-humping his leg?
Oh, God.
Embarrassment burned in her cheeks even as his kiss still lingered on her lips. The memory of his hands in her hair, taking control… the taste of him… the stab hurt when he’d pulled away…
All of it tangled into a knot in her belly and kept her from knocking.
But she needed to face him. They had kittens to feed, and she also wanted to talk to him about doing that carpentry class at Haven House.
She’d started to tell him last night, but he’d cut her off with that completely unexpected kiss.
That glorious, mind-blowing kiss that had turned her inside out and left her aching and alone when he’d walked away.
She let her hand fall to her side, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. This wasn’t about her feelings. It wasn’t about his rejection. It was about three tiny lives that needed them both. And it was about the purpose she desperately needed in her life.
He wouldn’t like her going to Haven House. She knew that without a doubt. But she didn’t want to live in fear anymore, and didn’t want it to stop her from helping others who were just as scared and alone as she’d been when she’d driven here.
She knocked. Three quick raps against the wooden door, then silence. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited, counting the seconds. One, two, three...
The door swung open. Anson stood framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking most of the forge’s warm light.
God, he was big. All muscle. And Lila was right, he had very nice arms. It was a shame he was so self-conscious of his scars and always hid them under long sleeves.
His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his beard was flattened on one side. The dark circles under his eyes told her he’d slept as poorly as she had.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Morning kitten duty.”
He nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Heat enveloped her immediately, chasing away the morning chill, and she breathed in the familiar scents—coal, metal, leather, and the earthiness that was uniquely Anson.
Bramble padded over from his bed by the workbench, his tail sweeping once across the floor in greeting.
She bent to plant a kiss between his eyes.
“There’s our hero boy.” She gave him an ear scratch that sent his back leg thumping.
“Such a good protector. You did so good finding the kittens’ mama.
” She straightened and glanced toward the corner, surprised to see a recovery area next door to the kittens’ home. “Princess is here?”
“Better.” Anson’s voice was rough, as if he hadn’t used it yet today. “Lila came by at dawn. Changed bandages. Got her to eat some.”
Maggie moved toward the small enclosure, where Princess Jellybean lay curled on a soft blanket. The calico’s eyes were open, tracking her movements with wary interest. The bandages around her middle stood out starkly against her multicolored fur.
“Hey, sweet girl. You gave us quite a scare.”
Princess blinked slowly at her, then turned her head toward the kitten box a few feet away.
The three kittens were awake, tumbling over each other in their morning play.
Spark, true to his name, had climbed halfway up the side of the box, tiny claws hooked into the wood Anson had so carefully crafted.
“She tried to get to them earlier,” Anson said from behind her. “But Lila says we need to wait. Make sure she’s healing before letting them near her. She probably won’t be able to nurse them again, so we’ll have to continue bottle feeding until they’re weaned.”
“Poor thing. She must be so confused.” The ache in Maggie’s chest had nothing to do with her own problems and everything to do with the mother cat separated from her babies. “Who would do this to her?”
“If I find them, I’ll make sure they understand what she’s feeling right now.”
She turned. He stood at the workbench, measuring formula into the tiny bottles with those scarred, steady hands. So careful. So gentle. The same hands that he had just promised to do violence with.
Her pulse kicked.
A week ago, she thought she knew this man better than anyone else in the world. But those letters had only been a sketch, an outline of the man who stood before her. The real Anson Sutter contained multitudes she was only beginning to understand.
Of course, she knew he was capable of violence. He’d flat-out told her early on in their pen pal relationship that he was in prison for killing a man, and even though he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone in that instance, he had been trained by the military to kill. He was a dangerous man.
And what did it say about her that she wasn’t afraid of him?
Any rational woman probably would’ve stopped writing when he first admitted that to her.
But something in her had recognized that the violence in him wasn’t dangerous to her.
Maybe it was because she had grown up in the foster system where she’d learned to read people’s intentions.
Maybe it was because she’d spent her adult life navigating construction sites full of men who didn’t think she belonged there.
Or maybe it was simply because she trusted her gut.
“I know you would,” she said softly.
He looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time since last night’s kiss. A question lingered there, one he couldn’t seem to voice.
“I’m not afraid of you, Anson. I never have been.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “Maybe you should be.”
“Why? Because you’ve hurt people? Because you could?” She stepped closer, challenging him. “Everyone’s capable of violence when pushed far enough. Even me.”
His eyebrows rose slightly at that, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up a bottle and held it out. “Kittens need feeding.”
Right. Back to safer territory.
She took the bottle and settled on the floor next to the kitten box, lifting Ember out first. Now that she’d seen Princess, she could tell Ember was a tiny replica of her mother.
It still took some coaxing to get the tiny girl to latch onto the bottle, but once she did, she drank with enthusiasm, her paws clamped around Maggie’s hand as if to keep the bottle close.
“She’s getting stronger.”
“Yeah.” Anson didn’t glance her way as he picked up Spark. The orange kitten all but attacked the bottle, making hungry mewing sounds as he ate.
“Did Lila say when they should start weaning?”
“Next week we can start mixing wet food with the formula.”
The stilted conversation made her want to scream. This man had written her letters for years, had poured his soul onto paper, had kissed her like she was oxygen and he was drowning.
Now he could barely look at her.
They worked in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the soft suckling of the kittens and Bramble’s occasional snuffle as he supervised.
“I want to help at Haven House,” she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could arrange them into something more careful. “Teaching carpentry. To the women there.”
Anson fumbled Spark’s bottle, and the kitten protested with a drawn-out cry. He replaced the bottle in Spark’s mouth, his face carefully neutral, but she caught the flicker of concern in his eyes before he shuttered them.
“The girls and I were talking about it last night, and Nessie suggested a work program to teach skills the women could use when they’re on their own.
” The words spilled out faster as she gained momentum.
“I could show them basic construction, furniture repair, how to use tools. Things that could lead to jobs or just save them money on home repairs. Naomi’s setting up a meeting with Hollis—she runs the place—and I just..
.” She trailed off, suddenly uncertain in the face of his stony silence.
“You sure?” he asked, setting the empty bottle aside and replacing Spark in the box. “About going into town regular?”
No, she wasn’t sure. Not with Landry potentially out there, not with the creeping fear that had driven her to Montana in the first place.
“I think I need to,” she said softly. “It feels right. Like something I should do.”
He was quiet so long she thought he might not respond. “The more often you leave, the more chance someone will recognize you. When they do, word will spread, and Landry will be able to find you if he’s determined enough.”
“I know.” She swallowed. “But I can’t stay here forever.”
His jaw tightened at that, but he said nothing.
“And I can’t let fear stop me from doing good work. I’ve spent years looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows. Hell, I ran to the other side of the planet for eight months, and it didn’t help. If I just hide away, Landry wins. I won’t live like that anymore. I won’t let him win.”
Anson was quiet for a long time as he picked up Smoke and fit the bottle to the kitten’s mouth.
“If you’re doing this,” he said finally, “you don’t go alone. Ever.” He met her eyes. “One of the guys drives you, waits outside. No exceptions.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, pride bristling. “I don’t need a babysitter, Anson.”
“Not a babysitter. Backup. There’s a difference.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then paused, really looking at him. This wasn’t possessiveness or control. There was raw, genuine fear in the tightness around his eyes, the slight tremble in his hands as he stroked Smoke’s tiny head.
Fear for her.