The voice from the letters was gone, locked away somewhere she couldn’t reach.
Bramble whined softly and pressed closer to her legs. The dog seemed torn, glancing between her and Anson with worried amber eyes.
“Good to meet you,” Anson said. So formal, so completely at odds with the intimacy they’d shared through ink and paper. Then he whistled once. “Bramble. Come.”
The wolfhound hesitated, then nosed her hand one last time before trotting after his person. They made it three steps before Walker’s authoritative voice cut through the tension.
“Anson.”
The single word stopped him in his tracks. He turned just enough to acknowledge the older man, but not enough to face Maggie again.
She hugged her arms around her middle, fighting the ridiculous urge to cry. Six years of waiting for this moment, and she’d ruined it in less than five minutes.
The older man shook his head at Anson, crossed the remaining distance between them, and extended a weathered hand. His eyes—sharp, blue, missing nothing—took her measure in a single sweep.
“Walker Nash,” he said, his grip firm but not crushing. “Welcome to Valor Ridge.”
“Maggie Rowe.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She glanced past him to where Anson stood frozen, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“I know.” Something that might have been amusement flickered across Walker’s face. “You’re about all Anson’s talked about for weeks. In his way.”
Which meant hardly at all, judging by the man’s apparent allergy to conversation.
She forced a smile, determined not to let her disappointment show. “Thanks for having me.”
The woman stepped forward. “I’m Johanna. Jo.” She gestured toward the gleaming Airstream. “That’s a beautiful renovation job. Your work?”
Maggie nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. “Complete gut and rebuild. Took a whole summer.”
“You planning to stay in it while you’re here?” Walker asked. He reached down to scratch the cattle dog’s ears absently. The dog leaned into his touch, grumbling softly, eyes half-closed with contentment.
“That was the idea.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hyperaware of Anson still standing there, still not looking at her. “I’m pretty self-contained. Won’t need much.”
“Nonsense,” Johanna said, her tone warm but brooking no argument. “My old cabin’s sitting empty. Has been since Istarted spending most nights at the main house.” She shot Walker a fond look that made the weathered rancher’s ears turn slightly pink. “It’s just going to waste.”
“I couldn’t?—”
“You could and you should,” Johanna insisted. “It’s warm, it’s got indoor plumbing, and it’s a lot closer to everything than where you’d need to park that trailer.”
Walker nodded. “Winter’s coming fast up here. We’ve already had our first frost, and the road down to the lower pasture where you’d park gets muddy as hell when it rains. Might even get snowed in.”
“The cabin’s just past the bunkhouse,” Johanna continued. “Small but comfortable. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, little sitting area. I fixed it up when I first moved here to work with the men. Been a lot happier at the main house, though.” Another glance at Walker, this one making even Maggie’s cheeks warm.
She looked toward Anson, hoping for some sign of what he thought about this arrangement. Did he want her close to the bunkhouse? Or would he prefer her as far away as possible? The way he’d just acted didn’t give her much hope.
“It’s settled then,” Walker said. He was clearly a man who didn’t waste time on debates once his mind was made up. “You can move your things into the cabin, park that fine Airstream of yours in the covered space behind the pole barn to keep it protected.”
The pole barn had been converted to Anson’s forge and workshop when he came here five years ago. He’d written about the process, written about his first horseshoe and how he’d nailed it up over the door for luck.
She fought the urge to look at him again. “I—thank you. That’s really generous.”
Johanna smiled, and the lines around her eyes crinkled. “It’s nothing. We’re glad to have you here. Anson’s friends are always welcome.”
Friends. The word felt strange after all they’d shared in those letters. More than friends, less than lovers. Something in between that had no name but felt achingly intimate, until the moment they’d actually stood face to face.
“I should get my things, then.” She desperately needed something, anything to distract her from the crushing weight of disappointment settling in her chest.
“I’ll show you where to park,” Walker offered. “Then we can get you settled in the cabin.”
