“Absolutely,” Maggie admitted. “You’re very good.”
X’s smile turned genuine for a moment, less showman and more man. “Thanks. Not a lot of chances for fancy riding in Atlanta, where I grew up. Making up for lost time.”
Something shifted in Maggie’s understanding of him – the performer’s mask slipping to reveal the boy who’d dreamed of horses he couldn’t afford to ride.
“We should keep moving,” Jonah said, checking his watch. “Lots to see.”
They waved goodbye to X, who was already setting up his phone to record another trick, Kavik barking encouragement while Troubadour preened.
“That’s our resident heartbreaker,” Jonah explained as they walked toward a small outbuilding at the edge of the property. “Though these days, he’s got eyes for only one woman. Local florist named Mariah. She’s immune to his charm, which is driving him crazy.”
“Sounds like a classic rom-com setup.”
“Oh, it is. Complete with grand gestures that backfire spectacularly.”
Their next stop was a small cabin with blackout curtains covering the windows. Jonah knocked with the rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut,” and the door swung open to reveal a lean, wiryman with ice-gray eyes that seemed to register everything in an instant.
“Ghost,” Jonah said. “This is Maggie. Maggie, this is Owen Booker, but we call him Ghost for reasons that become obvious if you ever try to find him when he doesn’t want to be found.”
Ghost nodded once. “The letter writer.”
A woman appeared in the doorway behind him—striking, with long black hair and dark eyes. “Don’t mind him. Social skills aren’t part of his CIA training. Naomi Lefthand,” she said, extending her hand. “Tribal police and future sheriff of this county.”
Maggie shook the offered hand. “Future sheriff?”
“Running against the incumbent,” Jonah explained. “Hank Goodwin.”
“The same Goodwin who arrested half the men at this ranch on bullshit charges,” Naomi added, gesturing to a stack of campaign materials on a desk behind her. “Man’s been running this county like his personal kingdom for too long.”
“Anson mentioned you both in his letters.” Maggie looked at Ghost. “You have the blue mug.”
Ghost’s expression shifted slightly—surprise, maybe. “He told you about that?”
“About fixing your mug with kintsugi? Yes.” She smiled. “He was really proud of how it turned out.”
Ghost’s eyes shifted to the mug sitting beside his laptop. The blue ceramic shone with gold-filled cracks that caught the light, making the damage beautiful rather than broken. “It’s...” He paused, seeming to search for words. “Important.”
“That’s high praise coming from him,” Naomi said with a small smile. “Most things barely register as ‘adequate.’”
“We’re in the middle of something,” Ghost said abruptly.
Jonah held up his hands and took a step back. “Far be it from me to keep you from your super-secret operations.”
As they walked away, Maggie glanced back. Ghost had already returned to whatever he was doing, but Naomi watched them go, her dark eyes lingering on Maggie with an intensity that felt like assessment.
“Are they always that... intense?” Maggie asked once they were out of earshot.
Jonah laughed. “Ghost? Yes. He’s basically a human security system with PTSD. Naomi’s usually more approachable, but they’re working on her campaign strategy. Election is next year, and Hank Goodwin fights dirty.”
“Anson mentioned him in his letters. Said he has a personal vendetta against Walker and the ranch?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
As they continued their tour, meeting Jax at the kennels with his scarred dog Echo, and Boone working with a skittish rescue horse, Maggie’s understanding of Anson slowly shifted. Each person they met knew something about her—little things she’d written to Anson about, things he’d apparently shared with the men who were his family now.
Their final stop was the main house, where Nessie was working in the kitchen while her son Oliver colored at the table. The boy looked up when they entered, his eyes widening.
“Are you Anson’s letter lady?” he asked, excitement making his words run together. “River said you can build a whole house with just trash stuff.”
