Walker nodded, unsurprised. “Thought you might say that.” He moved closer, examining the nearly completed box—no, home. “This is good work. Too good for temporary.”
The observation hit too close to the thought Anson had been avoiding. Nothing about this visit felt temporary anymore. Not the kittens. Not Maggie. Not the slow thaw he felt each time she entered his space.
“What did she say?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. “About leaving.”
Walker leaned against the workbench, careful not to disturb the orderly arrangement of tools. “Nothing specific. But that Airstream’s meant for traveling. And from what Johanna’s gathered, she’s got a job to get back to. TV people usually do.”
TV people. The reminder of who she was—Magnolia Rowe, with her millions of viewers and camera-ready smile—threatened to rebuild the wall he’d spent three days carefully dismantling.
“Has she—” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Has she said anything. About. Me.”
The question sounded pathetic to his own ears. Like a teenage boy asking if the pretty girl mentioned him. But Walker didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
“Not to me, but Jo says she asks about you. Wants to understand.”
Anson nodded once, focusing on the next piece of wood, the next joint, the next task that made sense when nothing else did.
“You know, there’s an easier way to find out what she’s thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“Talk to her.”
His shoulders tightened. “I talk to her.” About the kittens. About feeding schedules. About the temperature in the forge and whether the makeshift bed was warm enough. Safe topics.
“You know what I mean,” Walker said. His tone wasn’t accusatory, just matter-of-fact. “Instead of building elaborate homes for kittens, you could tell her how you feel. Give her a reason to stay.”
Anson set down the clamp harder than necessary. “This is easier.”
“Is it?”
No. Yes. He didn’t know anymore. “Wood, metal, leather make sense,” he said, gesturing to the half-assembled structure.“You shape them, they stay shaped. People...” He trailed off, unable to explain how every conversation with Maggie felt like navigating a minefield he’d laid himself.
Walker was quiet for a long moment. “I get it. Words were never my strong suit either. Lost my daughter because of it. Nearly lost Jo, too.” He picked up the thermos, twisted the cap off, and poured coffee into it. Steam curled up, carrying the rich scent through the workshop. “Talking about the hard stuff scared the hell out of me, but I’ve also learned the things worth having are the things that scare the hell out of us.”
Anson accepted the offered cup and stared down at the dark liquid. “What if I can’t? Be what she needs.”
“Son, you’re the only one who thinks she needs anything more than what you are.” Walker set the thermos down and headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the latch. “Those kittens didn’t need a perfect home. They just needed someone to care enough to try.” He nodded toward the structure taking shape on the workbench. “Maggie’s the same.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Anson alone with the quiet scratch of sandpaper and the soft breathing of the kittens. He worked steadily through the morning, fitting the last pieces together, sanding the edges smooth, rubbing the beeswax mixture into the wood until it glowed with a soft luster. The wool lining fit perfectly, creating a nest that retained the heating pad’s warmth without overheating.
He carefully transferred the kittens, one by one, into their new home. Spark blinked up at him with blue-gray eyes that would eventually change color, tiny paws kneading the air. Ember and Smoke curled together, still spending more time sleeping than awake, but looking stronger than they had yesterday.
“There you go,” he murmured. “Safe now.”
Bramble rose from his bed, stretching his massive frame before padding to the door. The wolfhound scratched once, looking back at Anson expectantly.
“Need to go out?”
Another scratch, more insistent this time.
He wiped his hands on a rag and crossed to the door, pulling it open. Instead of rushing outside to pee, Bramble simply sat, tail thumping against the threshold.
“What?”
The morning had warmed, fall sunshine spilling across the yard in a stream of gold between the forge and the cabin where Maggie stayed. No sign of her, though.
“What are you waiting for?”
