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. Areyouokay?”
“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 bulkagainst 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.
