Maggie’s last letter sat in his workshop, folded into thirds and tucked between the pages of his favorite book. He’d read it a dozen times, memorizing the way her handwriting slanted left when she was tired, the way she’d crossed out “breaking” andreplaced it with “cracking” when she wrote about her life falling apart.
Something in her life had broken. Something bad enough that she needed to start over. And she’d thought of him. Of Valor Ridge.
I’m coming to Montana. Please don’t tell me not to.
So he hadn’t. He’d written back, telling her to come. But he had no idea when that would be. Could be next month. Could be next year.
He was halfway through Red’s back hoof when Jax’s phone buzzed.
Jax dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s Nessie.” He answered: “Hey, sweetness. What’s up?” Then he glanced at Anson. “Uh-huh. He’s right here working on Red’s hooves. I’ll put you on speaker.” He pulled the phone from his ear and tapped the speaker icon. “Okay, he can hear you.”
“I saw her!” Nessie all but screeched. “Maggie. She was just here. She came into the bakery asking for directions to the ranch.”
The rasp slipped from Anson’s grip and clattered to the ground. His heart stopped, then kicked hard against his ribs like Red did when he was feeling feisty. The gelding’s ears swiveled, reading the sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his system. He released Red’s leg and stepped back.
Bramble lifted his head, concern in his golden eyes.
“She’s here?” The words came out rough, barely recognizable as his own voice. “In Solace?”
River popped up over the divider separating the stalls, eyes bright with mischief. “Is she eighty with a snaggletooth?”
Nessie laughed. “No, I’d guess she’s about my age, and she’s... well, she’s beautiful.”
Beautiful. The word hit him like a punch. He couldn’t breathe. The barn felt too small, the air too thin.
Maggie.
Here.
Not next month or next year.
Today.
Right now.
“How long ago did she leave?” Jax asked.
“Five minutes. Maybe less. She should be there in about twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes.
Anson stared at the phone in Jax’s hand, trying to make his brain work. Twenty minutes and Maggie would be at Valor Ridge. The woman who’d written him letters when he had nobody. The woman who knew everything about his past.
And he had no idea what he was going to say to her.
“Thanks for the heads up, Ness,” Jax said into the phone. “We’ll be ready when she gets here.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Jax ended the call and looked at Anson. “You good?”
“No.” He bent and picked up the rasp, gripping it too hard. His hands were shaking. He stared at the scars crisscrossing his knuckles, the twisted skin on his forearms where the fire had eaten through his jacket and kept burning. He’d written to Maggie about these scars. About setting the fire to that warehouse. About dragging Eddie Kowalski through the flames and finding out the man had died three days later when the police charged him with arson and manslaughter.
But he hadn’t told her the whole sordid story.
And writing about his scars and having her see them were two different things.
River clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Sut, looks like you’re finally gonna meet your girl.”
