The sound came again. Scratching at the door, followed by a low whine.
She threw back the quilt and padded to the door in her sock feet, pulse still racing. Through the window, she could make out a massive shape on her porch.
Bramble.
She opened the door, and the wolfhound stepped back, tail swishing once. Something white lay on the weathered boards at his feet.
A folded piece of paper.
“Did you bring me something?” She crouched down, and Bramble pushed his grizzled muzzle into her palm, breath warm against her skin. She picked up the note with her free hand, recognizing Anson’s handwriting on the outside immediately. Her name, written in those precise, military-straight letters.
She took a deep breath and unfolded the letter.
Maggie,
I’m sorry. I know I was awful today. I practiced what I’d say for a week, and when you were standing right there, every word disappeared. You’re real, and I don’t know how to be real with someone. The man in the letters is easier. I can think about what I want to say, howI want to say it. I can be who I wish I was instead of who I am—someone scarred and broken and tongue-tied. Someone who panics when a beautiful woman drives two thousand miles to meet him. I’m glad you came. Even if I couldn’t say it to your face. Even if I stood there like an idiot and made you regret the drive. I’m glad you’re here. I just don’t know how to show you.
Yours,
Anson
Thiswas the Anson she knew.
“Thank you,” she told Bramble and closed the door.
She sank to the couch and read the note again, then again, then grabbed her backpack and searched for her project notebook.
She flipped to a free page and wrote quickly, folded the paper, pulled on her jacket, and stepped back out into the cool night. Only then did she hesitate.
Should she deliver the note now or wait until morning?
A low, questioning whine drew her attention to the shadows near her porch. Bramble materialized from the darkness, tail swishing once in greeting.
“Hey there, buddy. You’re still here?”
The wolfhound pressed his bristly face into her palm. His golden eyes studied her with the same gentle intelligence she’d noticed earlier. He nosed at the folded paper in her hand.
“Are you his delivery boy? Is that how this works?”
Bramble huffed, his breath warm against her wrist. He sat back on his haunches, watching her expectantly.
She held out the note. “For Anson.”
Bramble carefully took the paper between his teeth and rose, shaking himself before padding away across the gravel drive, toward the pole barn.
Anson’s forge.
She straightened and saw his silhouette backlit in the doorway as he waited for his dog to return. She raised a hand. After a long second, he returned the wave. She watched until Bramble delivered the note and they both disappeared behind the forge’s heavy door, then she returned to her cabin, smiling to herself.
Maybe she hadn’t made such a terrible mistake after all.
The warmth of the cabin enveloped her as she closed the door, but the smile lingered on her face. She leaned against the door for a moment, still seeing Anson’s silhouette in her mind’s eye—the way he’d stood waiting, the hesitant wave. Small gestures that somehow meant everything.
She pushed off the door and crossed the small room to the table where her laptop sat. She might as well check her emails while she was still awake. Taryn had mentioned something about HDN sending contract details for her hiatus, and she’d been too distracted to look for it earlier.
She logged in, and the Wi-Fi was sluggish but working. Her inbox loaded slowly. Five messages, then fifteen, then thirty. Her stomach clenched as she scrolled through them.
Dozens of emails from all different addresses, but she knew without a doubt they were all from Landry.
