More rattling, harder this time. Then a fist pounded the door.
“Magnolia! I know you’re in there. Open the fucking door!”
She froze, the blood turning to ice in her veins. That voice. She’d know it anywhere, had heard it in her nightmares for months.
Landry.
“I have a restraining order,” she shouted, fumbling with the buttons on the flannel. “You’re not supposed to be within five hundred feet of me.”
“Just open the goddamn door.” His voice sounded strange—higher, more frantic than she remembered. “We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She moved backward, putting the bed between her and the door. Her toolbelt hung on a nearby chair, and she grabbed her hammer, curling her fingers tight around the familiar grip. “Leave now, or I’m calling the sheriff.”
“I just want five fucking minutes!”
The pounding intensified, and cold sweat trickled down her spine. The door shuddered on its hinges.
“I swear to God, Maggie, if you don’t open this door…”
Something slammed against the wood—his shoulder, his foot, she couldn’t tell. The impact made her jump, and she clutched the hammer tighter.
Where the hell was Anson?
Where was anyone?
The cabin was too far from the main house for anyone to hear her shouts. The nearest building was the forge, empty except for the kittens and Bramble.
She was alone.
CRACK!
The door frame splintered as Landry smashed into it again. One more blow would do it.
She darted for the bathroom—the only other room in the cabin, the only place with a lock—but she wasn’t fast enough. The door gave way with a crash, and Landry lurched into the cabin.
He looked terrible. His once-handsome face was gaunt, his eyes too bright, skin sheened with sweat despite the bitter cold outside. His sandy hair stuck up in unwashed spikes, and he twitched like someone had hooked him up to a low electrical current. He’d lost weight—a lot of it—since she’d last seen him. But worse than his appearance was the frantic energy that rolled off him in waves. Whatever he was on, it was something hard.
“There you are.” His gaze fixed on her, and his mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Took me long enough to find you.”
“You need to leave.” She raised the hammer, hating how her hand shook. “Right now, Landry.”
He stepped farther into the cabin, not even glancing at the hammer. “Jesus, Maggie, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
“About what?” If she kept him talking, someone would come looking for her. Anson wouldn’t stay away long.
“The show.” He raked a shaking hand through his hair. “They’re moving it here. To Montana. For you.”
“How do you even know that?”
“Taryn called. Said Harris told her the news.” He laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. “Did you know they fired her? All because of that restraining order bullshit. We both lost everything because of you.”
“Because of me?” Fury surged through her, momentarily eclipsing her fear. “You destroyed our partnership with your addiction. You threw away our relationship. You broke into my house, messed with my head, stalked me across half the country!”
“I never fucking stalked you. It was all in your head.” He took another step closer. “I loved you. I still love you! We were so good together, Maggie. The ratings were amazing. The fans loved us.”
“There is no us, Landry. Not anymore.” She kept the hammer raised. “I’ve moved on.”
His gaze flicked around the cabin, taking in the rumpled bed, the clothes scattered on the floor, then he focused on her bare legs and the hastily buttoned flannel. His pupils were huge, black nearly swallowing the blue. “This is what you left me for? Some backwards ranch hick in the middle of nowhere?”
