Chapter 36 #2
The rawness beneath the words knocked the air from her lungs.
“Sorry.” He sat beside her on the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face, messing up his freshly groomed beard. “That was... I shouldn’t have said that.”
She reached for his hand, found it cold. “What happened between you two? From your letters, I know there’s love there.”
Anson rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, staring at their joined hands.
“Prison happened. Dad visited at first. Every month, like clockwork. But it got... it got hard for both of us.” He swallowed.
“Watching him try to pretend everything was fine, knowing it wasn’t. That I’d disappointed him again.”
“Again?”
“Dad wanted me to take over his farrier business. I joined the Navy instead. Then when I got out, I was supposed to come home, be the son he always wanted.” His laugh held no humor.
“Instead, I burned down a warehouse, killed four men, and ended up in prison. Screwed up so bad there was no fixing it.”
The defeat in his voice tore at her. “But he still calls.”
“Holiday calls. Birthday calls. Monthly check-ins. We go through the motions. Ask about the weather, his latest projects, ranch stuff. Never say what we’re actually thinking.” He shook his head. “I think he does it out of obligation more than anything else.”
“That’s not what I heard.” She squeezed his hand. “I heard a father who misses his son. Who’s too proud or too scared to say it directly, but who wants to connect.” She thought of the warmth in Wendell’s voice when he talked about Anson having someone. “He’s happy you have me in your life.”
Anson looked at her sharply. “He said that?”
“Not in those exact words, but yes. And he didn’t sound like a man making obligatory calls, Anson.” She ran her free hand up his arm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “He sounded like a father who doesn’t know how to cross the gap that’s opened between you.”
“Some gaps can’t be bridged.”
“I don’t believe that.” She sat up straighter, conviction surging through her.
“Not for a second. He’s reaching out. He’s trying.
And I think you want that connection too, or you wouldn’t keep those calls so carefully marked in your calendar.
” She’d noticed the small X on his forge calendar each month, always near the fifteenth.
She’d always meant to ask him what it was for, but now she didn’t need to. It was for his dad.
Anson stared at her, something vulnerable breaking through his careful mask. “It’s not that simple.”
“No, it isn’t. But neither were we, and look at us. Look at how far we’ve come.” She cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers. “I’m going to fix this, too.”
“Mags—”
“Don’t argue. I’ve made up my mind.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. He looked down at her hand on his cheek, then reached for the small tube of gold paint still sitting on the nightstand from the night before. “Maybe not with gold paint,” he said, squeezing a tiny dab onto his finger and touching it to her nose.
She laughed, surprised. “You did not just put paint on my nose.”
His expression lightened, the tension ebbing from his shoulders. “Looks good on you.”
She lunged for the tube, but he held it out of reach, his other arm snaking around her waist. She struggled against him, laughing, both of them falling back against the tangled sheets. He rolled her beneath him, his towel coming loose in the process.
Bramble huffed from his spot by the door, a sound of pure canine exasperation.
“Not fair,” she gasped, going all hot and melty inside as his erection lengthened against her thigh. “You’re distracting me.”
“Is it working?” He bent to kiss the gold spot on her nose, then lower, seeking her mouth.
“Yes.” She slid her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. This was the Anson she knew, the one who’d opened up to her through all those letters, who’d finally let her in last night. Before she could deepen the kiss, a heavy knock rattled the cabin door.
“Anson!” Boone’s deep voice cut through their moment. “You in there?”
He groaned against her lips. “Maybe if we ignore him...”
Another, louder knock. “Sut! Rook threw a shoe. Need you at the barn.”
“Fuck.” Sighing, he pushed himself up and called toward the door, “Coming.” He grabbed a pair of jeans from the dresser and pulled them on, not bothering with underwear.
Maggie’s entire body flushed hot watching him, the memory of his body against hers still fresh.
“Stay right there.” He pulled a clean shirt over his head, then leaned in to kiss her again. “I won’t be long.”
He opened the door to find Boone on the porch, arms crossed over his broad chest. Bramble pushed past both of them, nearly knocking Anson into the doorframe as he headed for the forge, impatient to check on his kittens.
Boone’s gaze flicked from the gold paint still visible in his beard, then past him to where she sat on the bed. No doubt she had gold paint smeared all over her face again.
A smile twitched on Boone’s lips. “Well. Guess the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?” Anson grabbed his jacket and hat.
“That you two finally figured things out.” Boone clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “About damn time. But Rook won’t wait, and that horse gets cranky when his shoes aren’t right.”
Maggie didn’t catch Anson’s response as the door clicked shut and the men’s voices faded. She flopped back against the pillows, laughing despite herself, feeling warm and happy and so completely at home it scared her a little.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of Anson’s flannel.
Montana was home now.
Anson was home.
And if she could build houses from the ground up, she could damn well help rebuild a relationship between a stubborn father and his equally stubborn son.