Chapter 39
thirty-nine
The bunkhouse hummed with life beyond Anson’s door—River’s laughter, X’s rapid Spanish, metal clanging against the stove. Sounds that usually grated against his nerves like sandpaper and sent him fleeing to his forge.
Today, they sounded like home.
Maggie stirred against him, her nose wrinkling as she fought consciousness. Her throat bore the mottled evidence of Landry’s attack—fingerprint bruises in sickening purple—but her breathing came easy, untroubled. No nightmares for her either, despite everything.
“Morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She blinked up at him. “You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“The forge. You usually...” She waved her hand vaguely, not needing to finish. They both knew his patterns by now—his tendency to retreat, to hide among his tools and projects where people couldn’t reach him.
“Not today,” he said, sitting up slowly to avoid disturbing Bramble. The wolfhound raised his head anyway and regarded them both with sleepy interest. “Hungry?”
This earned him another surprised look. “You want to eat here? With everyone?”
He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Unless you’d rather not. We could grab something and head to the forge.”
“No,” she said quickly, sitting up beside him. “Breakfast with everyone sounds perfect.”
She slid from the bed, grimacing slightly as her feet hit the cold floor. The shirt he’d given her to sleep in hung loosely on her frame. Her hair stuck up at odd angles, and a faint trace of gold paint still shimmered along her collarbone.
“Can I borrow one of your flannels?” She nodded toward his closet. “This T-shirt isn’t warm enough.”
“Whatever you need.” He got up, crossed to the closet, and pulled out his warmest flannel—soft red with faded black checks. “This one’s good.”
She shrugged it on over the T-shirt and rolled up the too-long sleeves. The flannel swallowed her, making her look smaller and somehow fiercer at the same time.
She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He didn’t bother hiding his appreciation. “I love how you look in my clothes.”
“I love how I feel in your clothes.” She padded across the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. “Safe.”
That single word lodged in his throat like a stone. Safe. After everything that had happened yesterday, she still felt safe with him. Even though he’d failed to protect her. Even though he’d nearly lost control completely when he saw Landry’s hands on her.
He’d come so close to crossing a line he’d sworn never to cross again.
“Hey.” She tipped her face up, studying him with those perceptive green eyes. “Where’d you go just now?”
“Nowhere good.” He traced the edge of the bruise on her neck, his fingers barely grazing her skin. “I almost killed him, Maggie.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Only because Bear stopped me. But I wanted to.”
“And I wanted you to.” Her voice was steady, unflinching. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“No.” He caught her hand, brought it to his lips. “It makes you human.”
“So are you.” She held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. “What happened yesterday doesn’t erase all the work you’ve done. That was one moment of protecting someone you love, and it doesn’t define you.”
A crash down the hall, followed by River’s startled “Holy shit, that’s hot!” broke the moment.
“River’s going to burn the place down one of these days.” Anson broke away from her to grab another flannel—blue, not as soft. He pulled it on with his jeans and boots, ran a hand through his hair to tame the worst of it, then opened the door.
“Anson.”
He stopped.
Maggie hadn’t moved. She stood in the middle of his room, worry forming a line between her brows. “What happened to Landry?”
“Sheriff’s department took him.”
“Doesn’t Sheriff Goodwin have a grudge against us?”
Us.
He closed his eyes at that. She counted herself as part of Valor Ridge now.
“He does, but Naomi will make sure Landry doesn’t walk. The assault charges alone should keep him locked up until the trial, and the restraining order violation is a slam dunk.”
“Good.” She nodded, but her shoulders remained tense. “I never want to see him again.”
Remnants of fear still lingered in his eyes, and it killed him. He went to her, wrapped her up in his arms, and said, “You won’t have to.”
He’d make sure of it.
Slowly, she relaxed against him. “Okay.”
Bramble gave a soft woof and rose from his place on the floor, circling them once before heading to the door.
“Someone’s ready for breakfast,” Maggie said with a small smile.
“He’s always ready for food.” He released her reluctantly, but kept one hand at the small of her back as they followed the wolfhound into the hallway.
The bunkhouse kitchen vibrated with chaotic energy. River stood at the stove in a grease-splattered t-shirt and those ugly-ass bright pink bunny slippers of his, spatula in one hand, coffee in the other, flipping what might generously be called pancakes.
Bear hovered nearby, blocking most of the counter as he guarded a plate of bacon from King, who stared up with laser focus.
X sprawled in a chair, strumming an acoustic guitar and singing something melodic in Spanish. Kavik sat beside him, head tilted back, howling along in harmony.
Ghost occupied his usual corner spot, his blue mug at his elbow, filled with back coffee. Naomi sat beside him, head resting on his shoulder, her expression serene despite the surrounding madness.
Jonah stood behind River, peering over his shoulder with mounting concern. “You’re supposed to wait until the bubbles form before you flip them, man.”
“That’s for basic pancakes,” River shot back, flipping one that was simultaneously burnt on the edges and raw in the middle. “These are Beckett Specials.”
“Inedible is what they are,” Boone muttered and got up to pour himself a fresh mug of coffee.
The door swung open, admitting Jax, Nessie, and Oliver in a burst of cold air.
Echo followed at Jax’s heels, her mismatched eyes scanning the room before she settled at her master’s feet.
Oliver immediately made a beeline for the dogs, dropping to his knees to greet Goose, who sprawled under the table, tongue lolling in golden retriever bliss.
“Oliver, don’t get dog hair all over your—” Nessie began, but cut herself off with a laugh as King bounded over and knocked the boy flat with enthusiastic face-licking.
No one had noticed them yet, standing there in the hallway, and that familiar urge to retreat—too many people, too much noise, too much of everything—crept up his spine. But Maggie’s hand slipped into his, squeezing tight, and the moment passed.
They both belonged here.
Ghost spotted them first, of course. Nothing escaped those pale, watchful eyes. He nodded once, and the gesture was somehow more welcoming than a dozen hearty greetings would have been.
Jonah was the next to notice them. “Coffee?” he asked, already reaching for clean mugs.
“Please,” Maggie said, and her voice cracked slightly.
If Anson hadn’t been watching closely, he might have missed the way Jonah’s gaze flicked to her bruised throat, the almost imperceptible tightening of his mouth.
But he just gave his bright smile and poured two mugs, then also filled a glass of water for Maggie without comment. That was Jonah. Always the caretaker.
“Morning, sunshine,” River called. “And sunshine’s slightly grumpier companion.” He gestured at the smoking pan with a spatula. “Bacon’s a little... well-done.”
“Creamated,” X corrected.
“It’s a crime,” Ghost said glumly, and Naomi patted his shoulder in sympathy. If the man had one passion in life besides security, it was properly cooked bacon.
“I’ll take some anyway,” Maggie said, sliding onto an empty stool. “I’m starving.”
River beamed at her. “Finally, someone with taste.”
“More like someone who’s too polite to tell you your cooking sucks,” Jax said, snagging a strip of the blackened bacon despite his criticism.
Anson took the seat beside Maggie, their shoulders touching, and the casual contact anchored him. He’d spent years avoiding this—the crowded kitchen, the overlapping conversations, the easy camaraderie that felt too much like a family he didn’t deserve.
Us.
She had brought him back to this. To people. To belonging.
“How are you feeling?” Nessie asked Maggie softly, sliding into the seat across from her.
“I’m okay.” She touched her throat self-consciously. “It looks worse than it feels.”
Anson ground his teeth, suddenly wanting to punch Landry all over again, but he kept his expression neutral for Maggie’s sake. Beneath the table, her hand found his knee and squeezed.
“You need anything, you let me know,” Nessie said, passing a plate heaped with eggs. “Hollis sends her love. She wanted to come by, but Claire needed help with Sarah.”
“Is she okay?” Maggie asked, fork poised halfway to her mouth. “Her husband didn’t find her, did he?”
“No, nothing like that. Just… you know… hearing about what happened to you shook her up.” Nessie gave a small, sad smile. “Triggered bad memories.”
Jax put his arm around Nessie’s shoulders and pulled her against his side.
“I’m okay,” she told him and kissed his cheek. “It didn’t bring back bad memories for me. I promise.”
The mood changed, darkened. Too many of the women in their lives had experienced abuse and violence at the hands of men.
And every single man in this room—the guys who’d found their person and the bachelors—would lay down their lives to prevent it from happening again.
It was a shared understanding that bound them together as surely as the ranch itself.
“Okay, enough doom and gloom.” River turned from the stove with a dramatic flourish, spatula raised like a conductor’s baton. “We should be celebrating the Christmas miracle.”
X raised a brow. “Didn’t know you were a religious man, Riv.”
“Not that one,” he scoffed. “The miracle of our very own Anson Sutter finally getting laid!”
Anson choked on his coffee.