“Bear,” Boone said quietly. That was it. Just his name. But it was enough.
Bear eased back, but only to give Lila access. His hand remained under Greta’s head, cradling it off the cold concrete. His other hand curled into a fist so tight the knuckles went white.
“He...” Greta coughed. “He carjacked me on the road outside the gate. Made me tell him...” Her eyes found Anson’s, wide with panic. “Maggie’s cabin. I’m sorry. I tried?—”
The world narrowed to a pinpoint. “Landry?”
“He said he just wanted to talk to her.” Greta clutched at Bear’s forearm as bloody tears streaked from her eyes. “But he had a gun. I’m sorry, Anson. I didn’t?—”
Landry knew where Maggie was.
Right now.
And she was alone.
He ran, bursting through the barn doors into the cold.
“Anson!” Boone shouted behind him. “Wait—we need a plan!”
Fuck plans. Fuck waiting. Fuck everything except getting to Maggie before Landry did.
thirty-eight
Maggie rolled over in the warm nest of blankets, her body still humming from Anson’s touches. She stretched lazily, savoring the pleasant soreness between her thighs—evidence of a Christmas Eve well spent. Anson would be back soon from the barn, and they could pick up exactly where they’d left off.
She reached for her phone, checking the time—barely ten minutes had passed since Boone had dragged Anson away to deal with Rook’s thrown shoe. Not long enough for him to finish, but she didn’t mind the anticipation. The waiting was delicious, knowing what would happen when he returned. Knowing that something fundamental had shifted between them.
She was staying in Montana.
He was letting her in.
They were finally, finally moving forward together.
A branch scraped against the side of the cabin, and she turned toward the sound, then scoffed at her own jumpiness. So much for being the fearless DIY queen. After years of Landry’s threats, she’d grown hypervigilant. But Landry was still in Billings. Ghost had confirmed it just yesterday.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Nessie:
Don’t think I didn’t notice you two skipping breakfast. Saved you cinnamon rolls. Also, your ass better be at dinner or I’m sending River to drag you both there.
Maggie grinned and texted back.
We’ll be there. Promise.
Footsteps crunched on the porch steps. Heavy, purposeful. She tucked her phone away and pulled Anson’s flannel shirt closed, not bothering to button it.
“That was quick,” she called out. “Did Rook cooperate for once?”
The footsteps stopped.
“Anson?”
No response.
She sat up straighter, a strange prickle working its way up her spine. Something wasn’t right. Anson would have answered.
The doorknob rattled.
“Hello?” She slid from the bed. “Who’s there?”
