Chapter 30
thirty
The woman was screaming.
Maggie winced as she stepped back into the house to find both Angel and Tariah waiting for her. Tariah was hugging herself, tears gleaming in her dark eyes.
“Hollis and Claire took her upstairs,” Angel said, and looked toward the stairs as another glass-rattling shriek floated down. “It’s not going well.”
Maggie squeezed each of the girls’ arms as she passed. “I’ll go up, see if I can help.”
She took the stairs two at a time, following the sounds of distress to the end of the hallway where a door stood partially open. The screams had dissolved into ragged sobs by the time she reached it.
The woman’s eyes darted around the room, landing on each face briefly before moving on. They were the eyes of a cornered animal searching for escape. When they found Maggie in the doorway, they lingered for a heartbeat before continuing their frantic scan.
“I-I can’t stay. Ryan. He’ll find me.”
“No one can find you here,” Hollis promised. “The address is confidential. We have security protocols.”
“Here,” Claire said softly and held out a glass of water. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
Sarah took the water. Her hand was bruised, her nails ragged. She drank like she hadn’t seen water in days. When she finally lowered the glass, her gaze returned to Maggie, sharper now.
“I know you.” Her voice came out reedy, thin. “You’re on TV. You… build things.”
Even beaten and terrified, this woman recognized her. How many others had watched her on screen while living in private hells? How many had dreamed of escape while their abusers sat beside them on the couch?
“That’s right. I’m Magnolia. Maggie.”
“I watched your show.” Sarah’s breathing slowed a fraction. “When he was at work. Your Christmas special last year, where you made that table from reclaimed barn wood.”
“Ah, the herringbone pattern. That was one of my favorites.”
“Ryan hated when I watched DIY shows.” Sarah’s fingers twisted into the hem of her oversized sweater. “Said I’d get ideas about changing the house. Said I didn’t need to know how to use tools.”
Ryan. The husband.
Hollis caught Maggie’s eye and gave a small nod of encouragement.
“That’s exactly why you should know how to use tools,” Maggie said softly, settling onto the edge of the bed. “So you can build whatever you need.”
“He broke my fingers once when I tried to hang a picture.” She held up her right hand. The pinky was slightly crooked. “Said I’d put holes in his walls.”
“His walls,” Claire muttered, the words full of disgust.
Maggie kept her expression neutral despite the fury building in her chest. “Sarah, you’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you again.”
“But he’s a federal agent.” Her gaze darted to the window, though the curtains were drawn tight. “He has high-up friends. Unlimited resources. He’ll send the FBI or the Marshals after me. He won’t let me go.”
“We’ve dealt with this before,” Hollis assured. “You’re not the first woman to come through here with a husband in law enforcement.”
Sarah’s shoulders hunched inward. “He said if I ever left, he’d hunt me down. Said he’d rather see me dead than with someone else. Said nobody would believe me if I told them the truth about him.”
The words sent a chill through Maggie. How many times had Landry implied the same thing? Never directly threatening—he was too smart for that—but the message was clear.
You’re mine. Forever.
“I believe you,” Maggie said, the words coming from someplace deep and raw inside her. “Every word.”
Sarah sniffled. “You do?”
“Yes. I know exactly what it’s like to have someone decide they own you. To have them use your career, your dreams, your success against you.”
Hollis and Claire exchanged a glance but remained silent, letting Maggie continue.
“My former co-host.” She swallowed hard.
“We dated for a short time, and he started with small digs at first. Comments about my clothes, my hair, suggestions about who I should and shouldn’t spend time with.
Then it was checking my phone. Making ‘jokes’ about what would happen if I left the show.
Our show.” Every time she told the story, the words came more easily.
She hoped, in time, the same would hold true for Sarah.
“When I finally ended things, he didn’t accept it.
He started following me. Showing up at events, at my house.
Sending messages through mutual friends.
The police said they couldn’t do anything until he hurt me, but I refused to wait around for that to happen. ”
“Is that why you’re here?” Sarah whispered. Her breathing had steadied, but her eyes were impossibly wide. “Hiding?”
“I was. But not anymore.” Maggie reached out slowly and placed her hand palm-up on the bed between them. An offering, not a demand. “Now I’m building something new. And you can too.”
Sarah stared at the outstretched hand like she couldn’t quite believe the offer of friendship. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, stopping just short of contact. “He’ll never stop looking.”
“Maybe not,” Maggie acknowledged. “But you no longer have to face him alone. I have your back, and so does Hollis and every other woman here.”
After a long moment, she lowered her hand to Maggie’s. Her skin was cold, her grip weak. “I’m so tired of being afraid.”
“I know.” Maggie squeezed gently. “But you did the hardest part already. You left. That’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”
“I don’t feel brave. Will you stay with me?” Sarah asked, her voice small. “Just for a little while?”
“Of course.”
Hours passed. Sarah drifted in and out of fitful sleep, startling awake at every creak of the old house.
Maggie stayed, telling stories about renovations gone wrong, about the time she accidentally knocked out a load-bearing wall, about the family of raccoons she’d discovered living in an attic she was converting, and how cute the babies were.
When Sarah finally fell into a deeper sleep, she slipped out into the hallway and found Hollis waiting.
“Thank you,” Hollis said quietly. “I think it would’ve been a much harder transition for her if you hadn’t been here when she arrived. She felt like she knew you from your show, and that put her at ease.”
“I guess celebrity has some uses.” She looked back at the closed door. “I’m glad I could help, but I wish I could do more. She reminds me of myself. If I hadn’t gotten out when I did...”
God. She could have been Sarah. Landry had been on the exact same violent path when she ended their relationship and partnership. The only difference between them is that she got out in time.
Because of Anson’s letters.
“Maggie?” Hollis touched her arm gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She blinked, forcing back the burn of tears.
“Guess I should’ve realized sooner why you were so invested in teaching here,” Hollis said with a sad, soft smile. “I knew Nessie’s story and why she wanted to volunteer her time, but you’ve also been where these women are, haven’t you? Is that why Bear McKenna is sitting outside?”
“Yes, but it’s just a precaution. It never escalated to…” She motioned to Sarah’s room. “To that level of violence. I was lucky. I got out because I had someone showing me what I deserved.”
Hollis nodded. “That’s what we do here. Show women what they deserve. What’s possible.”
“And I’m very glad I can be part of it.”
“Oh, good.” Hollis exhaled in a rush as if in relief. “So you’ll come back and try the carpentry class again? The girls were so excited for it.”
“Absolutely,” Maggie replied without hesitation. “Sarah’s arrival just confirmed how much these women need practical skills. Not only for employment, but for independence.”
Hollis fanned her face like she was trying not to cry. “Oh, can I hug you?”
She laughed and opened her arms. Hollis embraced her tightly, her arms strong despite her slender frame. When they stepped apart, Hollis’s eyes were shining despite her efforts to keep the tears at bay.
“You have no idea how much this means. Knox has been trying to get a workshop program going for years, but he’s—”
“Too male?” Maggie supplied with a small smile.
“Exactly. Some of these women can’t even look a man in the eye yet, let alone take instruction from one.” She glanced at her watch and winced. “It’s late. You should really go home now and get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” Maggie looked back toward Sarah’s room. “Will she be okay?”
“She will be. Eventually.” Hollis looped an arm through hers and steered her toward the stairs. “Come on. Bear’s probably wondering if we locked you in here.”
Bear was exactly where she’d left him, overflowing one of the porch rockers, a paperback novel open in his hands. He didn’t look cold at all, even though it was snowing again, but she supposed all the muscle must make for good insulation.
Maggie didn’t have that luxury and shivered as she stepped out onto the porch. She tugged Anson’s flannel tighter around her and nodded toward the book. “Is that Anson’s?”
He glanced down at the battered paperback of Lonesome Dove in his hand. “No, I got it from the library. He doesn’t lend out his copy. But he’s been on me to read it for years. Since I’m on bodyguard duty this week, figured might as well see what it’s all about.”
She let out a huff of laughter that clouded in the air. “Oh, so I’m not the only one he’s bullied into reading it? He talked about it so much in his letters that I finally took it with me on vacation earlier this year. And it’s good, but you know he’s read it seven times?”
Bear’s eyes widened. “That’s… dedication.”
“I know, right? In one of my letters, I told him he’s basically in a committed relationship with it now.”
Bear didn’t laugh as she’d hoped. He just pushed out of the chair and straightened to his full, gigantic height, staring down at her with a faint wrinkle between his brows. “You okay?”
“Sarah’s resting now,” she answered automatically. “She should be fine with proper care.”
“Not what I asked. Are you okay?”
“No,” she admitted, because lying took energy she didn’t have, and nodded toward the book. “But I’d rather talk about cowboys and cattle drives right now.”
“Want to go home?”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around herself against the November chill. “Please.”
He set a hand on her back and guided her down the porch steps and across the yard to his truck, where King waited, snoozing on the backseat. He opened the passenger door for her, giving her a boost when her foot slipped on the snow-slick running board.
For such a big man, he was incredibly gentle. He reminded her of Bramble; enormous size for an enormous heart.
Bear climbed in and started the engine. The heater kicked on, but it would take time to warm the cab.
She huddled deeper into Anson’s flannel, breathing in his scent.
King raised his head when she settled in, then shifting forward to rest his warm bulk against her side.
He was a furry furnace with dog breath, and she was grateful for it.
The drive back to Valor Ridge passed in blessed silence.
Bear didn’t push, didn’t pry. The quiet gave her space to breathe, to process what she’d witnessed.
Sarah’s bruised face kept appearing in her mind’s eye, overlaid with memories of Landry’s rage-contorted features the last time she’d seen him.
She’d gotten lucky. So damn lucky.
When Bear pulled onto the ranch’s driveway, he finally spoke. “I’m about to say something that might pissed you off.”
“Okay...”
“Anson’s not built for the kind of relationship you want.”
She blinked and shifted in her seat to stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“Told ya it’d piss you off. Just sayin’, if you want Anson, you gotta stop tryin’ to squeeze him into this mold of who you think he is, or it will never work between you.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but closed it again without making a sound.
Bear glanced at her, his expression impossible to read in the dark cab. “You want him to be the man from the letters. The one who could put all his thoughts into words. The one who opened up about everything.”
“That’s who he is,” she insisted, but even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow. Hadn’t last night proven that false? He hadn’t opened up about everything in his letters.
“No. That’s who he can be when he’s got time to think, to choose every word carefully. When he can edit and rewrite until it’s perfect. That’s not the real him. You want the real Anson, you gotta accept that sometimes he won’t have the words at all.”
Her chest tightened. She stared down at her hands, suddenly unable to meet Bear’s steady gaze. “I thought you only spoke in grunts.”
“Mostly,” Bear agreed. “But when I have something to say, I damn well say it. But when Anson talks, really talks, it costs him. Every word is like pulling teeth. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. Doesn’t care.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because I’ve watched you push and push, expecting him to suddenly transform into this eloquent guy.” He sighed, the sound filling the cab. “That’s never gonna happen, Maggie. Not in real life.”
He was right. She had been waiting for Anson to become the man from the letters—the one who could articulate his feelings, who could match her verbal sparring. “I didn’t realize I was doing that. I guess I kept hoping if I pushed enough...”
“He’d suddenly start spouting poetry?” Bear shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying give up. He needs the push. But adjust your expectations. He’s never gonna be the guy who tells you how he feels in beautiful sentences. But he’ll show you. Every day. In a thousand small ways.”
She thought about Anson staying in that uncomfortable chair all night. About him feeding the kittens every four hours. About him going into town—a place that terrified him—just to protect her.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “I’ve been unfair to him.”
“Not unfair. Just expecting something he can’t give.” Bear pulled the truck to a stop in front of her cabin. “Question is: what he can give, is that enough for you?”
Her immediate gut response was yes, but she gave herself a moment to examine that.
Was it really enough?
The letters had been her lifeline for so long. Those beautiful, thoughtful words that arrived like clockwork, each one revealing another layer of this complex man. But the letters weren’t the whole man.
And she wanted the whole man.
“Yes,” she finally said. “It’s more than enough.”
Bear studied her face for a long moment, then nodded toward the windshield. “Tell him that.”
She followed his gaze. Anson sat on the steps of her cabin, hunched against the cold, Bramble at his feet.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “And the insight.”