“Popular tonight?”
“Just the guys giving me shit. Standard bunkhouse protocol.” He set the phone face down. “So... can I ask about you? WhyValor Ridge? I mean, besides the obvious appeal of our resident blacksmith’s sparkling personality.”
She hesitated, the bite of pasta halfway to her mouth. It was a reasonable question, but she’d been dodging it all day.
How much should she tell him?
“I needed a change,” she said finally, setting down her fork. “My life in Tampa got... complicated.”
“Complicated like ex-boyfriend complicated? Or complicated like witness protection complicated?”
“Somewhere in between. And Anson offered a place to stay while I figure things out.”
He studied her face, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing more than she wanted to reveal. But he just nodded.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here. Whatever the reason.”
Another buzz. He checked his phone and laughed. “Jesus, these guys.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just X being X. And apparently everyone’s got opinions about...” He gestured vaguely between the cabin and the forge. “Well, everything.”
She smiled despite herself. “Are they all watching this like it’s reality TV?”
“Pretty much. We don’t get a lot of excitement out here.” He drained the last of his tea. “I should get back to the bunkhouse before they get any more boneheaded ideas.”
“About love triangles?”
“Among other things.” River grinned and picked up the phone, then his hat. “These guys have active imaginations and way too much time on their hands.”
Maggie walked him to the door, oddly reluctant to see him go. “Thanks for bringing dinner, and for the conversation.”
“Anytime. Seriously. We don’t get many visitors out here, especially not TV stars.”
“Just Maggie,” she reminded.
“Right.” He winked. “Just Maggie.”
The night air blasted her face as she pulled open the door, crisp and cold in a way Tampa’s never was. She remembered Anson’s first winter in Montana, and how cold he’d said it was. She’d sent him that red scarf to help keep him warm, but she hadn’t brought anything like that with her. She shivered against the chill.
“You should invest in a proper coat,” River advised, nodding toward her thin sweater. “This isn’t Florida weather. It gets serious up here.”
“I’ll go shopping tomorrow,” she promised.
His phone buzzed one more time as he stepped onto the porch. He checked it and grinned. “They’re relentless.” He typed back quickly, then pocketed it and put his hat back on, tipping the brim toward her dramatically like an Old West cowboy. “Good night, Just Maggie. I’ll see you tomorrow for that bathroom consultation.”
“Night, River.”
She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted. The pasta sat half-eaten on the table, but she didn’t have the energy to finish it. She shuffled to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
The bed looked impossibly inviting. She crawled under the patchwork quilt, pulling it up to her chin. Through the window, she could see the edge of the pole barn, the glow from Anson’s forge casting long shadows across the gravel. He was still out there, working. Or hiding. Or both.
She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.
A sharp sound jolted her awake. Not quite a knock, more like something scraping against wood. She bolted upright, heart hammering, disoriented in the darkness. For one panicked moment, she thought Landry had found her. Then she remembered. Montana. Valor Ridge. Safe.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Nearly midnight. She’d been asleep for hours.
