“It’s not about Landry. It’s about what I want.”
“What do you want, then? More money? Creative control? Both are on the table. We can go to one-point-five million, and I can get you final cut on all episodes.”
The number should have made her gasp, should have made her rethink everything. But it didn’t. Instead, she thought about Sarah at Haven House, learning to use a drill with hands that had finally stopped shaking. About Princess Jellybean and her kittens growing stronger each day. About Bramble and his stick collection. About Anson’s face when he finally let himself be seen, when he finally let himself feel.
“I’m not going back to Florida, Jim.”
A pause. “What are you saying?”
“I’m staying in Montana. If HDN wants to continue Magnolia Builds, you’ll need to film it here.”
Silence stretched across the line, punctuated by Jim’s heavy breathing. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
“Montana.” He said the word like it tasted bad. “Do you have any idea what that would cost us in terms of production?”
“Less than what you’re offering to pay me.”
“Magnolia, this is your career we’re talking about. Everything you’ve worked for. You’re at the top of your game.”
“I know.” She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, and gold flaked from the strands. “And I’m not walking away from building or teaching or creating. I’m just doing it on my terms, in a place I’ve chosen.”
“This is about a man, isn’t it?” Jim’s voice hardened. “Some Montana cowboy swept you off your feet, and now you’re throwing away everything for?—”
“This is aboutme.” She was surprised her voice stayed calm, steady. “About the life I want to build. If HDN wants to be part of it, great. If not, I’ll build it without you.”
The door opened behind her. Anson stood there, sleep-rumpled and bare-chested, gold still painted across his scars. His sleepy eyes focused on her face, a question in his gaze.
“I need to go, Jim. Call me when you’ve made a decision.”
She disconnected before Jim could respond and set the phone on the counter. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, just stood watching each other in the dim bathroom light.
“You’re staying.” Anson’s voice was rough with sleep, with something deeper.
“I am.” She stepped toward him, bridging the gap between them. “Not just through New Year’s. Permanently.”
His hands came up to frame her face, callouses rough against her cheeks. “What about your show? Your career?”
“If they want me badly enough, they’ll film here. If not...” She shrugged, the movement pressing her breasts against his chest. “I’ll figure something else out. Maybe I’ll start my own business.”
“Maggie.” He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, she saw the flash of fear, of uncertainty. “Are you choosing this for the right reasons?”
“I’m choosing myself.” She covered his hands with hers, keeping them pressed to her face. “I’m choosing the life I want. And that life includes you. This ranch. Those kittens. The women at Haven House. All of it.”
He studied her face like he was memorizing it, like he was searching for a lie.
“It’s not just about you,” she continued softly, “but God, Anson, you’re a big part of it. I don’t want to walk away from this. From us. I love you.”
He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her lips. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
His mouth crashed down on hers, urgent and hungry, hands tangling in her hair to tilt her head back. She met his kiss with equal fervor, rising on her toes to press against him. He backed her against the counter, lifting her easily to sit on the edge, stepping between her spread thighs. His erection pressed hot and hard against her stomach.
“Wanted you from your first letter,” he growled against her mouth, hands skimming down her sides to grip her hips. “Scared the hell out of me.”
She laughed breathlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer. “I wanted you too. Then I saw you in person and thought I’d burst into flames.”
