Chapter 37
thirty-seven
There was paint on his hands.
Anson rubbed his thumb against the streak on his index finger as he followed Boone toward the barn. A stupid grin tried to work its way onto his face, but he forced it down. Boone already knew too much—no need to broadcast it any further.
The barn door groaned open, releasing a cloud of warm, hay-scented air. Rook stood in the center aisle, one hoof lifted slightly off the ground, radiating impatience.
River leaned against a nearby stall door, arms crossed, and Bear loomed beside the horse like a particularly grumpy mountain.
“Well, well, well,” River called, straightening with a grin that spelled trouble. “If it isn’t the golden boy himself.”
Anson ignored him and crossed to his tack box to grab his tools.
“I mean that literally,” River continued, undeterred. “There’s actual gold in your beard, Sut. Were you eating it? Or... something else?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Was Maggie painting you like one of her French girls?”
Bear cuffed the back of River’s head without looking at him. “Shut it.”
That shut River up for all of three seconds. Then: “Jesus, who pissed in your corn flakes this morning, big guy?”
“You did.”
“Huh. Don’t remember doing that.” River rubbed his head, his grin never faltering as he turned back to Anson. “It was that kinky-sugi thing, right? That’s why Maggie needed the paint? Was it a whole-body application, or just strategic placement? Asking for a friend. That friend being me.”
“River,” Anson warned without heat and crossed to the horse. “Don’t make me tell Boone about the whiskey flask you keep in the hay loft.”
“Joke’s on you. He already knows and confiscated it. But he doesn’t know where my back-up is.” River winked at Boone, who responded with a flat stare that would have sent a smarter man running.
Rook shifted, snorting softly as if to say, “Hey, I’m still here and have a problem.”
“Lift,” Anson murmured and tapped the horse’s fetlock. Rook responded immediately, raising his hoof for inspection.
“He’s not denying it,” River stage-whispered to Bear. “That means it was definitely a whole-body thing. Wait, does that mean—”
Bear’s hand landed on River’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough that he tilted sideways with a squeak of pain.
“Let him work, Riv.”
“Yep. Yep. Okay. I’ll shut up and let him work.”
Anson shot the big man a grateful look and refocused on Rook’s hoof. The shoe had twisted to the side, likely caught on something in the pasture. He pried it off completely and inspected the hoof wall for damage.
“No cracks,” he said to Boone, who hovered nearby. “He’ll just need a fresh shoe. I’ll have to go back to the forge to shape one, but he should be okay in a boot until I get back.” He straightened and patted the horse’s side. “He’ll be pissed about it, but he’ll survive.”
When he turned, he found all three men staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “What?”
“You used complete sentences,” River said, still grinning.
Anson frowned. “I always use sentences.”
“Grunts and nods aren’t sentences. Usually it’s just ‘shoe’s bad’ or ‘need new nails’ or my personal favorite, the silent death glare that somehow communicates everything.”
Had he really been that taciturn?
“Leave him alone,” Bear rumbled, though Anson caught the hint of amusement in his voice. “Man’s happy. It’s Christmas.”
“Oh, it’s not Christmas making him happy,” River said. “It’s—”
“If you finish that sentence, I will nail this twisted horseshoe to your backside,” Anson said without looking up. Rook shifted restlessly as he placed the temporary boot, and he patted the horse’s flank. “Easy, boy. Almost done.”
The barn door opened again, bringing a brief swirl of cold air. Lila stepped inside, veterinary kit in hand, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Morning, boys. Merry Christmas.”
“Lila.” Boone nodded with his usual gruff acknowledgment.
“Doc!” River called. “What are you doing here? It’s a holiday!”
“The horses don’t know that. I was in the area on an emergency call. Evander Cole’s horse got caught up in some barbed wire, and—”
Boone’s scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t go out to Cole’s property alone.”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“He’s right,” Bear said. “You should’ve called me.”
“Not you, too. Evander is not dangerous, and if he were, I know how to protect myself.” She turned away, dismissing them both, and set down her medical bag to stroke Rook’s nose. “What happened to you, handsome boy?”
“Just a thrown shoe,” Anson said. “No hoof damage.”
“That’s good. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…” She shot Boone a quick, narrowed-eyed glare before refocusing on Rook and Anson. “Since I was in the area, I wanted to stop in and look at Junie’s abscess. Have you checked on her lately?”
“Yeah, yesterday. Did an Epsom salt soak, repacked it with sugardine, and wrapped it. No heat, and she’s bearing weight again.”
“I trust you, Anson, but I’m still going to check,” she said, sounding apologetic. “You know she’s my favorite girl.”
“Won’t take offense.”
She picked up her bag, gave Rook one last pat, and headed toward Junie’s stall. “I heard you and Maggie figured things out after the party last night,” she called over her shoulder.
How the hell did she know that? He opened his mouth to ask, but closed it again without uttering a word because, honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
But of course, River—being River—noticed and answered anyway. “Buddy, the whole east side of the property heard last night.”
Heat crawled up his neck. “Jesus Christ.”
“Ignore him,” Lila said. “He’s jealous.”
“Damn right I am,” River agreed cheerfully. “Been a dry spell for yours truly. At this rate, I’m going to be the only single guy left on the ranch. First Jax and Nessie, then Ghost and Naomi, now Anson and Maggie.”
“Don’t forget Walker and Jo.” Lila emerged from the stall and closed the door behind her. “You’re right, Anson. She’s healing well.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait.” River held up a hand. “Back up. What do you mean, Walker and Jo? Their relationship isn’t new.”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? He proposed last night after everyone went home.”
All eyes snapped to her. Even Rook pricked up his ears.
“You’re shitting me,” River breathed.
“Nope.” Lila smiled, clearly pleased with the bombshell she’d dropped. “I stopped by the main house before coming here, and Jo told me he finally popped the question.”
“About damn time,” was Boone’s opinion.
Bear nodded. “Yep.”
“That’s it?” River threw his hands up. “Our fearless leader finally gets his head out of his ass after, what, ten years, and that’s all you guys say?”
“What do you want, a parade?” Boone’s eyebrows arched up under the brim of his hat. “Not everyone needs to make a production out of every damn thing.”
“I gotta go find X.” River was already backing toward the door. “He’ll appreciate this news properly.”
Anson shook his head and focused on checking the rest of Rook’s hooves, but his mind kept drifting back to Maggie waiting for him in her cabin.
In their cabin, really, since he’d practically moved in over the last few weeks.
The memory of her skin under his hands, gold-streaked and warm, made his pulse quicken.
“It’s good to see you happy, Anson,” Lila said.
He glanced up, realized he’d been grinning to himself like a crazy man, and felt heat crawl into his cheeks. He wasn’t used to people noticing him, commenting on his personal life. Before Maggie, he’d been practically invisible by design.
“Thanks.” His voice came out rough, and he cleared his throat. “She’s... yeah.”
Lila squeezed his shoulder and moved on, heading for the barn door. She made it halfway when frantic barking cut through the morning air, and everyone froze. He dropped Rook’s hoof and straightened, a cold dread settling in his gut.
It didn’t sound like any of the ranch dogs.
“Fuck, that’s Atlas. Greta’s dog.” Bear was already moving, shoving past River to get to the door when Greta lurched into the barn with Atlas circling her in worried loops.
Blood matted her strawberry blonde hair and streamed down the side of her face.
Her jacket was torn at the shoulder, hanging open to reveal a mud-smeared sweatshirt beneath.
She took two more unsteady steps before her knees buckled.
Bear moved faster than Anson had ever seen him move, covering the distance in three long strides and catching Greta before she hit the ground.
He lowered her carefully, one arm cradling her head, the other supporting her back.
He touched her with a gentleness that seemed impossible for the size of his hands.
“What happened?” Bear’s voice was deadly quiet. “Who did this to you?”
Lila rushed forward. “Let me see her.”
For a moment, Anson thought Bear might refuse to let go. The big man’s face had transformed, all his careful control stripped away to reveal something raw and feral underneath. His shoulders hunched protectively over Greta’s smaller frame, and his eyes—
Jesus, his eyes were murder.
“Bear,” Boone said quietly. That was it. Just his name. But it was enough.
Bear eased back, but only to give Lila access. His hand remained under Greta’s head, cradling it off the cold concrete. His other hand curled into a fist so tight the knuckles went white.
“He...” Greta coughed. “He carjacked me on the road outside the gate. Made me tell him...” Her eyes found Anson’s, wide with panic. “Maggie’s cabin. I’m sorry. I tried—”
The world narrowed to a pinpoint. “Landry?”
“He said he just wanted to talk to her.” Greta clutched at Bear’s forearm as bloody tears streaked from her eyes. “But he had a gun. I’m sorry, Anson. I didn’t—”
Landry knew where Maggie was.
Right now.
And she was alone.
He ran, bursting through the barn doors into the cold.
“Anson!” Boone shouted behind him. “Wait—we need a plan!”
Fuck plans. Fuck waiting. Fuck everything except getting to Maggie before Landry did.