A pause. “You can.”
“Not everything,” she said quietly, thinking of her failed attempts to make the police take her stalker seriously, of the restraining order that kept getting “lost” in the system. “Some things are beyond fixing.”
His eyes met hers fully this time, holding steady. “Maybe. But you try anyway. That’s what matters.”
The simple observation—so Anson in its directness—warmed her more than the forge’s heat ever could.
He cleared his throat. “Been meaning to ask. We’re rebuilding a stall door in the rehab barn tomorrow. Old one’srotted through. Dangerous for the horses.” He traced a finger along the grain of the workbench. “Could use another pair of hands. Someone who knows what they’re doing. If you want.”
This wasn’t just any project. This was Anson asking her to work alongside him, to share the skill that defined her, to be part of something he cared about.
She had to clear away a lump of emotion before answering. “I’d love to.”
Relief visibly washed over him. “Good. That’s...good.”
Spark mewed loudly from the kitten house, his tiny voice surprisingly forceful for something so small.
“Someone’s hungry,” she laughed, moving toward the box.
They fell into their familiar routine. Spark climbed the side of the box, trying to escape before breakfast was even ready. Anson scooped him up with one broad palm, cradling the kitten against his chest.
“Always in a hurry,” he murmured, his beard brushing the top of Spark’s tiny head.
“Wonder where he gets that from,” Maggie teased, handing Anson a bottle.
His mouth quirked in what was definitely the beginning of a smile. “Not me. I’m patient.”
“You waited six years to meet me. I’d say that qualifies as patient.”
Anson went still. When he looked up, there was something new in his eyes—a warmth that hadn’t been there before, a heat that had nothing to do with the forge.
“Worth the wait,” he said, so quietly she almost missed it.
They fed the kittens in comfortable silence, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they worked. The wordless understanding between them felt stronger now, reinforced by the tour, by the invitation to work together tomorrow, by the growing sense that whatever this was between them, itwas changing—evolving into something neither of them had expected.
When the feeding finished, Anson reached for the tiny collar he’d been working on. “Want to see if it fits him yet?”
Spark squirmed in Maggie’s hands as Anson carefully slipped the collar around the kitten’s neck. It was still too big, but not by much.
“Another week, maybe,” he said, removing it. “He’ll grow into it.”
Just like how she was growing into this place, this new life. Her old one seemed worlds away…
And she didn’t relish the thought of going back to it.
eleven
He didn’t know why he invited her because he couldn’t fucking concentrate with her here.
Anson had to measure the oak plank twice before marking the cut line with his pencil. Behind him, River’s laugh mingled with Maggie’s, the sound scraping against something raw inside his chest.
“You sure that’s long enough?” Jonah asked, leaning over his shoulder to examine the mark.
“It’s fine,” he bit out.
Jonah’s eyes widened slightly, and he backed up, raising his hands. “If you say so, master craftsman.”
Fuck. He should apologize. He swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead and opened his mouth, but River’s singing drifted across the barn—some Top 40 hit butchered beyond recognition, with improvised lyrics about barn doors and horseshit—and he ground his teeth instead. Maggie laughed again, the sound bright against the weathered wood and dust around them.
