Not his. Not hers.
Theirs.
A small thing, this shared claim, but it felt significant. Like building a foundation, one brick at a time.
“Me too.” It surprised him how quickly those tiny creatures had worked their way under his skin. The forge had felt empty all day without them tumbling over each other, demanding to be fed. “More than I thought I would.”
“We could go get them back from Lila,” she suggested. “I’m sure they’re missing us, too.”
“Now?”
“Right now. Unless you have something more important to do?”
He glanced toward the door, thinking of the half-finished horseshoe sitting on his anvil back at the forge, the leatherwork he hadn’t touched in weeks, and all the other work waiting for him.
It could wait.
Everything could wait.
“Nothing more important,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go bring our cats home.”
thirty-two
Maggie’s phone buzzed on the workbench again. She ignored it, focused instead on the chisel in her hand, the way the pine split along the grain as she tapped with the mallet.
Three weeks had passed since Landry had been spotted in Montana.
Three weeks of Ghost’s daily updates—still in Billings, no sign he knew exactly where she was.
Three weeks of breathing room that was starting to feel almost normal, except for the phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing with network demands.
“If you keep ignoring them, they’ll just call more.”
She jumped at Ghost’s voice and turned to glower at him. She should be used to his soundless appearances, but the man moved like a shadow, even in the heavy snow outside. He stood in the forge doorway, his lean frame backlit by the winter sunlight, a manila folder tucked under one arm. He didn’t come in—never did unless invited—just stood there like some pale specter with his perpetually watchful eyes shaded by the brim of his dark gray Stetson.
“Don’t sneak up on people holding sharp objects,” she scolded, setting down her chisel. “And, yes, I know they’ll keep calling. Let them.”
Ghost’s mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “Naomi said you’d say that.”
“Smart woman, your Naomi.” Maggie blew sawdust off the spice rack she was crafting for Nessie’s bakery. “Anything new on Landry?”
“No. Still in Billings, still calling your old number, usually drunk or high.” He offered this information in his typical flat tone. “Is he still emailing?”
“Not as often, but the ones that are making it through all my blocks are a lot less adoring and more threatening. I’m saving them all like you suggested.”
“Good. The restraining order came through this morning.” He held up the folder, then came far enough inside to set it on the closest flat surface before retreating to the doorway again. “Naomi made sure the state police and sheriff were aware, but I doubt the sheriff will do much.”
She should be relieved. Finally, Landry couldn’t come within five hundred yards without legal consequences. But the piece of paper felt like cold comfort against a man who’d broken into her house and taken pictures of her sleeping, just to prove he could always get to her.
“Thank you.” She meant it. Ghost had handled all the security aspects without once making her feel helpless or dramatic. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”
Ghost remained in the doorway, his ice-gray eyes studying her with that unnerving intensity. “Have you told him?”
“Told who what?”
“Anson. About the emails. The threats. He needs to know they’re still happening.”
“I don’t want to worry him.”
