Chapter 22
twenty-two
“Spark, no!” Anson dropped his hammer and crossed to the kitten box in three fast strides, catching the tiny orange daredevil before he could reach the edge of the box and fall out. The kitten squirmed in his grasp, paws batting at air, indignant at having his escape plan foiled.
“You’re gonna be trouble.” He tucked Spark against his chest, where the kitten immediately began climbing his flannel like it was a tree.
Princess watched from her recovery bed, eyes tracking her wayward offspring with maternal concern. She was healing well, but Lila still insisted on keeping her separate from the kittens for at least one more day.
Bramble huffed, as if scolding Anson for his momentary lapse in attention.
“I’m sorry,” he told his wolfhound and set the kitten down, only to have Smoke immediately try the same escape route. “Nope. Not happening, buddy.”
These kittens were going to be the death of him. Three weeks old and already testing boundaries, seeking adventure, refusing to stay put where it was safe.
Reminded him of someone else he knew.
The thought of Maggie sent a wave of unease through him. She hadn’t been gone long, but he’d fought the urge to text, to check in, every second since he watched Johanna’s truck disappear down the drive.
Bramble lifted his massive head from his bed near the kitten box, ears perking at a sound outside. A truck door slammed, followed by the crunch of boots in snow.
Maggie.
Anson set Smoke down, crossed to the door, and yanked it open, intending to meet them in the driveway. But she already stood on the other side, her face paper-white beneath a new wool hat, Johanna’s hand steady on her elbow. The panic in her eyes hit him like a fist to the sternum.
“What happened?”
Jo guided her past him into the forge’s warmth. “Someone recognized her. Evan Miller at the hardware store. He was excited, wanted a selfie.”
“I said no.” Despite the heat of the forge, Maggie wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. “But when we got back to the ranch, Jo checked social media.”
“He posted anyway.” Jo pulled out her phone, opened an app, and handed it to Anson.
The screen showed a slightly blurry photo of Maggie examining work gloves, clearly taken without her knowledge. Below it, text screamed: MAGNOLIA ROWE FROM TV IS IN SOLACE, MONTANA!!! At Simms Hardware RIGHT NOW! #celebritysighting #magnoliabuilds #DIYqueen
Anson stared at the tiny numbers beneath the post. Three hundred likes. A hundred shares. The post tagged her location, her full name. It might as well have been a flashing neon arrow pointing straight to Valor Ridge.
Fuck.
“I should’ve been more careful, but I didn’t think anyone would recognize me here.
I’m not exactly Taylor Swift.” Maggie sank onto his work stool, her face in her hands.
“God, Landry will definitely see this. He monitors all my fan sites, social media mentions. He’ll know by tonight, if he doesn’t already. ”
“I already spoke to Ghost and Naomi,” Jo said. “They’re monitoring Landry’s credit cards, phone activity. If he makes a move, they’ll know.”
Not good enough. They needed to kill this at the source—hundreds of people sharing Maggie’s location, each one a potential link back to Landry.
“I’ll fix it.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. “How?”
“Get the post deleted.” He handed Jo’s phone back to her, untied his leather apron, and grabbed his coat. “Then make sure he doesn’t post again.”
“Anson, you don’t have to—”
“Yes. I do.”
“But…” Confusion colored her voice. “You don’t go to town.”
So she’d noticed that.
Of course she had.
He pulled on his jacket without answering and reached for his Stetson hanging on the hook beside the door. The forge suddenly felt too hot, too small, the walls closing in as the reality of what he was about to do sank in.
Since coming to the ranch, he’d made exactly four trips to Solace, all of which had happened this past summer during that mess with Nessie’s ex— once to help catch Oliver’s feral cats, once to bail Jax out of jail after he ill-advisedly punched a sheriff’s deputy, once to find Oliver when he wandered off, and once to help rebuild Nessie’s bakery after the fire.
He’d gone because his friends needed him, but each time had left him sweating and shaking, desperate to return to the safety of the ranch.
But the fear in Maggie’s eyes outweighed his own.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He cupped her face in his scarred hands, felt the slight tremor of fear running through her.
“You’re safe here,” he said, the words rough but deliberate. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She leaned into his touch for a moment, and her eyes closed briefly. Then they opened again, sharp with worry. “I don’t want you doing something that’ll send you back to prison.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Not gonna hurt the kid. Just talk.”
“Anson Sutter using his words,” Jo gasped and pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock. “Should I alert the press?”
He dropped his hands from Maggie’s face, suddenly aware of Jo watching them. “Need X and Bear with me. Can you—”
“Stay with Maggie? Of course.” Jo settled on the bench near the kitten box. “Go wreak your particular brand of quiet havoc.”
He nodded, then turned back to Maggie. “Won’t be long.”
“Be careful.” She caught his sleeve as he passed, her fingers light against the worn fabric. “This isn’t worth—”
“You are.” The words escaped before he could stop them, honest and unfiltered. He didn’t wait to see her reaction, just pulled his sleeve free and strode toward the door, whistling for Bramble to follow.
Outside, the air bit at his exposed skin, grounding him as he walked toward the bunkhouse.
His breath puffed white in the cold, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.
Each step away from the safety of his forge sent waves of unease through his gut.
His right palm tingled, an old burn scar pulling tight as it always did when anxiety crept up.
He’d been off ranch property exactly fourteen times in the five years since his release. Fourteen times in nearly two thousand days. Each time he’d done it because something or someone at the ranch needed him to. But never for just one person. Never like this.
The thought of town—of strangers watching him, judging him—made bile rise in his throat. But the image of Maggie’s pale face, the tremor in her hands, pushed him forward.
Bramble nudged his leg as they walked, the wolfhound sensing his distress.
He buried his fingers in the thick fur at the dog’s neck, anchoring himself. “I’m okay.”
He found them in the bunkhouse common room. X and Bear hunched over a poker game at the big oak table, River sprawled on the couch pretending to scroll on his phone while actually watching their cards.
X’s dark eyes flicked up at Anson’s entrance, and a smile spread across his face. “The forge master emerges. Want in on this hand? Bear’s about to lose his shirt.”
“Not even close.” Bear’s impassive expression didn’t change as he laid down his cards. “Full house.”
X swore colorfully in a mix of Spanish and English and threw his cards down. “Third time today. You counting or something?”
River snorted from the couch. “Bear doesn’t know how to count.”
Bear shot him a finger.
He ignored it and sat up. “You’re telegraphing, X. You start playing with chips when you have a good hand. When you have a shit hand, you—”
Bear’s rumbling voice joined with his to finish, “—tap your pinky finger on the table.”
River smirked and added, “Like a damn metronome.”
X’s face darkened. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do,” Anson said, shifting his weight. Normally, he’d enjoy watching X get taken down a peg, but there wasn’t time for it now. “Need you two.” He nodded at X and Bear. “Town. Now.”
Bear straightened. “What happened?”
“Someone posted Maggie’s location online. Need to get it deleted.”
“Sonofabitch.” X shoved his chair back. “Just point me at ‘em.”
“Kid at the hardware store. The Miller boy.”
“Evan?” River’s eyebrows shot up. “Skinny kid, acne, talks a mile a minute?”
Anson nodded. “Took her picture without asking. Posted it. Six hundred likes, four hundred shares.”
“Shit.” River grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. “I’m coming too.”
X scoffed. “You’re not mean enough for this.”
“I can be plenty mean. And if Just Maggie’s in danger, I’m coming.”
“No, he’s right, River,” Anson said. “I need you here. With her.”
“Babysitting duty?” River’s face darkened.
“No. Making her laugh.” Anson met the younger man’s eyes. “She’s scared. Shaken up. You’re good at... making people feel better. Taking their mind off things.”
Understanding dawned in River’s expression, followed by a flash of something like pride. “You trust me with that?”
“Yes.” The simple truth. He did trust River—with Maggie, with the forge when he needed extra hands, with the animals. Despite all his outward chaos, River was solid at his core. Reliable.
River nodded, suddenly solemn. “I’ll head over.”
“Thanks.” Anson turned to X and Bear. “Ready?”
“Been ready.” X grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. “Truck’s out front.”
“You driving?” Anson asked Bear.
“Always.” The big man pocketed his winnings and stood, towering over both of them. “X drives like he’s auditioning for a stunt team.”
“One time I take a turn fast...” X muttered, following them out.
The walk to Bear’s truck felt like a death march. Each step away from the bunkhouse tightened the band across Anson’s chest. By the time he climbed into the passenger seat, his hands had developed a slight tremor. He shoved them into his pockets before X or Bear could notice.
Bear started the engine and pulled away from the bunkhouse, the truck’s heater fighting against the bitter cold. X lounged in the back seat like they were going for a Sunday drive.
How could the guy be so relaxed? So at ease knowing they were about to walk into a confrontation?