“You’re giving up your bed for them.”
Anson shrugged, not looking up from his task. “They need it more.”
Bramble appeared in the doorway, padding silently into the small room. He circled once, then settled on the floor near the kittens’ box, his golden eyes fixed on the tiny bundles with fierce protectiveness.
“He’s appointing himself guardian,” Anson said, and for the first time since she’d arrived at Valor Ridge, a genuine smile broke across his face. Small, just a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth, but real.
“He saved them,” Maggie said. “Kept them warm until we could get them out.”
“He’s good with small things.”
Silence settled between them, comfortable at first, then stretching too thin. She searched for something more to say, not wanting to lose this moment of connection. Her gaze drifted to the milk crate nightstand, where a worn paperback sat with a scrap of leather marking a page.
“Lonesome Dove.” She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Working on your eighth time through?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Helps me sleep.”
She picked it up, feeling the soft, worn edges of the pages beneath her fingers. The spine was cracked in multiple places, the cover faded from handling. “What is it about this one?”
“Just like it.” Another slight shrug. “It’s good. You read it. Your Vietnam beach read.” His eyes met hers briefly, then darted away. “You said you cried.”
“I did.” After his repeated mentions in his letters, she’d taken it on vacation with her earlier this year. “And I did like it, but not enough to read it eight times.”
A soft mew from the box pulled their attention back to the kittens. The orange one—Spark—was trying to climb over his siblings, tiny paws scrambling for purchase.
Anson’s eyes shifted from the kittens back to her face. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the show.”
The question caught her off guard. She’d been so focused on the kittens, on this small moment of connection, that she’d almost forgotten how he’d reacted to last night’s revelation.
“I just… never thought it was important.”
“Not important.” His jaw tightened. “Millions of people know your face.”
“And?” Heat crept up her neck. “Does that change who I am? The person who wrote those letters?”
He didn’t answer, just stared at the floor, his shoulders rigid. Bramble sensed the tension and whined softly, ears flattening against his head.
“Look, I’m still me. The show is just my job. It’s not?—”
“It changes things.” He cut her off, voice rough. “You’re... public. Recognizable.”
Understanding dawned. “You’re worried I’ll bring attention here. To you.”
His silence was answer enough.
“But that’s why I came here,” she said quietly. “To escape attention. Not to bring it.”
His shoulders tensed further, his jaw working as though chewing on words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.
She was suddenly cold despite the heat in the air. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together.
“Anson?” Lila’s voice echoed through the forge as the door creaked open.
Maggie jumped, startled by the interruption, and quickly wiped at her eyes. She hadn’t even realized they were damp.
Lila appeared in the doorway of Anson’s living space. Her practical work clothes were rumpled, and she carried hermedical kit. She knelt beside the box of kittens. “How are our babies doing?”
“Settling,” Anson answered.
