“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too.” He turned slightly away from her, like he was trying to keep the conversation private.“No, I’m fine... Just working. Ranch keeps us busy... No, nothing special.”
The stiltedness of it made her stomach clench. This wasn’t how people who loved each other talked. This was the voice of someone forcing themselves through an obligation.
“Sounds good... Yeah... Thanks.” He hung up, set the phone down carefully, and didn’t turn around immediately.
“He seems nice,” she ventured. “We were talking about the shelves he’s building.”
“He would’ve liked that.” Anson’s voice remained flat. “He always wants to talk about projects. Never much else.”
“You talked about your dad a lot in your letters,” she said slowly, watching his back. “But I assumed he had passed away.”
He finally turned to her, his face a careful mask. “Sometimes I think that would be easier.”
The rawness beneath the words knocked the air from her lungs.
“Sorry.” He sat beside her on the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face, messing up his freshly groomed beard. “That was... I shouldn’t have said that.”
She reached for his hand, found it cold. “What happened between you two? From your letters, I know there’s love there.”
Anson rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, staring at their joined hands. “Prison happened. Dad visited at first. Every month, like clockwork. But it got... it got hard for both of us.” He swallowed. “Watching him try to pretend everything was fine, knowing it wasn’t. That I’d disappointed him again.”
“Again?”
“Dad wanted me to take over his farrier business. I joined the Navy instead. Then when I got out, I was supposed to come home, be the son he always wanted.” His laugh held no humor. “Instead, I burned down a warehouse, killed four men, and ended up in prison. Screwed up so bad there was no fixing it.”
The defeat in his voice tore at her. “But he still calls.”
“Holiday calls. Birthday calls. Monthly check-ins. We go through the motions. Ask about the weather, his latest projects, ranch stuff. Never say what we’re actually thinking.” He shook his head. “I think he does it out of obligation more than anything else.”
“That’s not what I heard.” She squeezed his hand. “I heard a father who misses his son. Who’s too proud or too scared to say it directly, but who wants to connect.” She thought of the warmth in Wendell’s voice when he talked about Anson having someone. “He’s happy you have me in your life.”
Anson looked at her sharply. “He said that?”
“Not in those exact words, but yes. And he didn’t sound like a man making obligatory calls, Anson.” She ran her free hand up his arm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “He sounded like a father who doesn’t know how to cross the gap that’s opened between you.”
“Some gaps can’t be bridged.”
“I don’t believe that.” She sat up straighter, conviction surging through her. “Not for a second. He’s reaching out. He’s trying. And I think you want that connection too, or you wouldn’t keep those calls so carefully marked in your calendar.” She’d noticed the small X on his forge calendar each month, always near the fifteenth. She’d always meant to ask him what it was for, but now she didn’t need to. It was for his dad.
Anson stared at her, something vulnerable breaking through his careful mask. “It’s not that simple.”
“No, it isn’t. But neither were we, and look at us. Look at how far we’ve come.” She cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers. “I’m going to fix this, too.”
“Mags—”
“Don’t argue. I’ve made up my mind.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. He looked down at her hand on his cheek, then reached for the small tube of gold paint still sitting on the nightstand from the night before. “Maybe not with gold paint,” he said, squeezing a tiny dab onto his finger and touching it to her nose.
She laughed, surprised. “You did not just put paint on my nose.”
His expression lightened, the tension ebbing from his shoulders. “Looks good on you.”
She lunged for the tube, but he held it out of reach, his other arm snaking around her waist. She struggled against him, laughing, both of them falling back against the tangled sheets. He rolled her beneath him, his towel coming loose in the process.
Bramble huffed from his spot by the door, a sound of pure canine exasperation.
“Not fair,” she gasped, going all hot and melty inside as his erection lengthened against her thigh. “You’re distracting me.”
