“Sarah, you don’t need to?—”
“I want to.” She was already hurrying toward the door. “It’s in my car. I’ll be right back!”
Before she could protest further, Sarah was gone. She shook her head and, smiling at the enthusiasm, turned back to the keepsake box on the table.
It really was exquisite work.
She ran her fingers along the smooth edges, admiring the precision of the joinery. The lid fit perfectly, with no gaps or wobbles—the mark of a true craftsperson. She lifted it carefully, examining the interior. Sarah had lined it with velvet, dark bluelike a midnight sky, and included the hidden compartment she’d been so excited about.
Maggie started to close the lid, but stopped. There was something carved on the underside—M & L forever.
Her blood turned to ice.
M & L.
Maggie and Landry.
Her fingers went numb, and she dropped the box. The carving on the tree at Landry’s campsite—the one Ghost had photographed as evidence—had said the same thing.
The exact same thing, in the exact same style.
forty-one
“Of course Die Hard is a Christmas movie!”
At River’s indignant exclamation, Anson snorted and pushed the awl through the leather, feeling the satisfying resistance before the point broke through to the other side. He pulled the waxed thread tight, the familiar rhythm of his hands doing what they knew best while the chaos of the bunkhouse swirled around him. For once, he didn’t mind the noise. In fact, he was coming to prefer it when Maggie was at Haven House. It was too quiet in the cabin or forge without her there.
River was sprawled out on part of the leather sectional, using his dog as a footrest. Goose didn’t seem to mind. The Golden lay on his back with all four paws in the air, his head hanging off the side of the couch, tongue spilling out of his mouth, blissfully asleep.
“It takes place on Christmas Eve.” River paused the movie and motioned to Bruce Willis, who was crawling through the duct on the screen. “There’s Christmas music. Ho-ho-ho, motherfucker.”
X snorted and slid down further into the cushions. For once, Kavik was silent, curled into a tight donut on the cushion besidehim while he absently stroked the husky’s fur. “By that logic, Gremlins is a Christmas movie.”
“It absolutely fucking is!”
“You’re both wrong,” Jonah said from the armchair. “A Christmas movie has to be about Christmas, not just set during it.”
“Says who?” River threw a balled-up sock in Jonah’s direction. It landed on Bear instead, who sat at the end of the sectional with his nose in a book, ignoring everyone. Without looking up, he picked up the sock and tossed it back.
Anson bit back a smile when he saw the cover of the book. Lonesome Dove. He’d been trying to get Bear to read that for years.
River wasn’t quick enough, and the sock hit him square in the face. “Disrespect. That’s what this is.”
“Respect is earned,” Bear rumbled, turning a page with surprising delicacy for fingers that size.
Boone leaned against the kitchen counter, tablet in hand, occasionally looking up to glare at River when the volume of his argument rose too high. The second-in-command never fully relaxed, but there was an ease to him today that hadn’t been there a month ago.
“Knight to queen’s bishop five,” Ghost said quietly from the corner, his pale eyes never leaving the chessboard.
Jax stared at the pieces like they might rearrange themselves if he glared hard enough. “You’re not supposed to announce your move before you make it.”
“Just being polite.” Ghost moved the knight precisely. “Checkmate in three.”
“Bullshit.”
“Want me to walk you through it?”
Jax raked his fingers through his hair. “No. Fuck you very much.”
