Was it really enough?
The letters had been her lifeline for so long. Those beautiful, thoughtful words that arrived like clockwork, each one revealing another layer of this complex man. But the letters weren’t the whole man.
And she wanted the whole man.
“Yes,” she finally said. “It’s more than enough.”
Bear studied her face for a long moment, then nodded toward the windshield. “Tell him that.”
She followed his gaze. Anson sat on the steps of her cabin, hunched against the cold, Bramble at his feet.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “And the insight.”
thirty-one
Anson had been on Maggie’s porch for hours, watching the sun sink behind the mountains, turning the snow-covered fields pink then purple then grey. His hands were numb, even shoved deep in his pockets, and his ass had gone cold against the wooden step. Bramble leaned against him, but the dog’s warmth did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled into his bones.
Still, he didn’t move.
Bramble whined, nosing at his elbow, again trying to lead him back to the forge. But just like the last two times, he stayed rooted until headlights swept across the drive. Bear’s truck rumbled to a stop near the cabin. The engine cut, and his breath snagged in his throat as he watched Maggie climb out. The splash of the headlights deepened the lines of exhaustion on her face, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of something more than just a long day.
“Hi,” he said, voice rough.
“You’re freezing.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t Bear tell you I was going to be late?”
“Yeah.”
She studied his face, then sighed and moved past him to unlock her door. He stood slowly, joints protesting, and followed her inside without asking permission. Bramble scrambled up beside him. The warmth hit immediately, pins and needles shooting through his frozen fingers.
Maggie dropped her keys on the small table by the door and shrugged out of her coat—still his flannel, he realized with a spike of smug satisfaction. She hung it carefully on the hook and unwound her scarf, fingers fumbling with the knot. The cabin felt smaller with both of them in it.
She turned to the woodstove, adding another log and stoking the embers until flames licked upward. The firelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the hollows beneath her cheekbones, the tension around her mouth.
Finally, she faced him. “We need to talk.”
“I know.” He tugged off his gloves, flexing stiff fingers. “Been sitting out there trying to figure out what to say.”
“Did you figure it out?”
He hadn’t, not really. Words never came easy, especially not the important ones. The ones that mattered.
“I’m sorry about last night.” His voice sounded strange in his own ears, too loud for the quiet cabin. “For asking you to leave. For sending River.”
She crossed her arms. “That was a dick move. Trying to push me away by pushing me toward someone else.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
She waited a beat. “Is that all you have to say? Just… yeah?”
He took a deep breath, searching for words that might bridge the gap he’d created.
“You’re the first woman I’ve wanted since before prison. The first woman I’ve touched. The first I’ve let touch me.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh.” She uncrossed her arms and took a step toward him, but he backed up. His heart rode high in his throat, and if she touched him now, he wouldn’t be able to say what needed saying.
