“The hell it is.” Bear snagged a paramedic. “His hands are already scarred from a previous fire. He needs treatment.”
Maggie was there suddenly, eyes wide as she saw his hands. “Anson, oh my God.”
“I’m okay,” he insisted, but the words sounded weak even to his own ears. The adrenaline was wearing off, and his knees felt suddenly rubbery.
“No, you’re not.” She slipped her arm around his waist, supporting him as he swayed. “You’re going to the hospital.”
“Not without you.”
“I’m coming with you,” Maggie assured him. “We’ll go together.”
forty-four
“Stop looking at them like that,” Anson murmured, his voice rough from smoke inhalation. “They’ll heal.”
Maggie forced herself to look away from the thick bandages wrapped around his hands that made them look twice their normal size. His fingers peeked out from beneath the gauze, red and raw and trembling slightly despite the painkillers. The doctors had been clear—he’d re-injured old wounds, and the damage might be permanent this time.
But he was alive.
They both were.
She meet his gaze. “The doctor said you might lose some mobility. That you might not be able to?—”
“To what? Braid your hair?” The corner of his mouth lifted in that crooked almost-smile she’d come to love. “I’ll manage.”
But would he? His hands were everything. His work, his identity, his therapy. The thought of him not being able to shape leather or bend metal made her throat tighten. She’d rather lose her own hands than watch him lose his.
Behind her, the Valor Ridge family had claimed every available surface in the small hospital room. River and X sprawled in the two visitor chairs, passing a thermos of coffeebetween them. Jonah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, keeping a quiet vigil that the nurses didn’t seem to mind. Walker stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, murmuring updates to Johanna. Ghost had positioned himself by the door like a sentry, Naomi’s hand tucked into his.
Bear had disappeared to check on Hollis’s condition down the hall, where Knox hadn’t left her side since they arrived.
The gathered men maintained a low hum of conversation, their voices deliberately pitched not to carry. They’d come in shifts, leaving the ranch in pairs to make the drive to the hospital. Not once had Anson been alone. Not once had Maggie.
“I mean it,” Anson said, softer now, for her ears only. “Don’t worry about my hands.”
She touched his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his beard where tiny patches had been singed away. “I’m going to worry about every part of you. Get used to it.”
“Magnolia.”
The way he said her name—like it was precious, like it belonged in his mouth—made her chest ache. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “You scared me today.”
“Look who’s talking.” His bandaged hand lifted to cup the back of her neck. “I wasn’t the one trying to drag Landry’s sorry ass out of a burning building.”
“I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“I would have.”
She pulled back slightly. “No, you wouldn’t. That’s not who you are.”
Before he could argue, a sharp knock at the door made everyone turn. Ghost straightened from his casual slouch, shifting into a more alert stance as Marshal Corbin Brandt entered the room.
Brandt looked exactly as she remembered from their first meeting at the sheriff’s office—tall, immaculately dressed despite the late hour, with a face that revealed nothing and electric blue eyes that saw everything. Tonight, those eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and a faint dusting of ash darkened one sleeve of his otherwise pristine suit.
“Marshal,” Walker greeted, stepping forward to shake Brandt’s hand. “Any news?”
“Some.” Brandt’s gaze swept the room before landing on Maggie. “Miss Rowe. Mr. Sutter. Glad to see you both conscious.”
Anson just nodded, his expression instantly guarded in a way it hadn’t been moments before.
