Maggie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ladies’ night?”
“Nessie, Naomi if we can pry her away from campaign planning, and me. Sometimes a few others from town. Mariah, Greta. We’d love to have you join us.”
“I’d… like that. Thank you.”
“Perfect! Seven o’clock.” Lila turned her attention to the horse, moving toward the temporary pen to begin her examination.
Anson stared down at the piece of oak in his hands, a strange hollowness in his chest. Ladies’ night. Maggie becoming part of Valor Ridge in ways that had nothing to do with him, building connections with people he’d known for years. It should have been a good thing—her finding community, making friends. Instead, it felt like watching something slip through his fingers before he’d even fully grasped it.
“Hey, Jonah!” Bear’s voice boomed from the barn entrance. “Walker needs you and River at the north pasture. Fence is down again, and Spitfire got out.”
Jonah sighed. “Third time this month. That alpaca is a menace.” He turned to Anson. “Sorry to bail on you. Can you and Maggie finish up here?”
“Yeah.” He ignored the sudden flutter in his stomach at the thought of being alone with her.
“Save some fun for us,” River called over his shoulder as he followed Jonah out.
Then they were gone, and the barn felt suddenly larger, quieter. Lila had moved to the far stall with the horse, her voice a low murmur as she worked, leaving the two of them alone with the half-completed door between them.
Maggie clapped her hands together. “Okay. Where were we?”
“Assembly.” He moved to the workbench where the pieces waited.
“We need to attach these hinges before assembling,” she said. “The alignment will be better if we do it while everything’s still flat.”
He nodded and handed her the power drill. Their fingers brushed again, and he pulled back too quickly, making her look up.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” He turned away, pretending to search for screws he’d already laid out in perfect rows. “Just want to get this right.”
They fell into a natural rhythm, working in tandem without needing many words. She anticipated what he needed before he asked, handing him tools at the exact moment his hand would reach for them. It was unsettling how well they functioned together.
He lined up the crossbeam at the height she’d suggested, holding it steady while she drilled pilot holes. The muscles in her forearms flexed with each movement, and he found himself watching her hands—capable, strong, slightly calloused from years of work. Not soft like he’d imagined a TV personality’s would be.
“You do this a lot,” he muttered, the observation slipping out before he could stop it.
She glanced up with amusement dancing in her eyes. “Build doors? Or work with grumpy blacksmiths?”
“Build. For real, not just for cameras.”
“The cameras came after the building, not before. I was swinging hammers long before anyone thought to film it.”
He wanted to ask more—about her show, her life before, how she’d learned her skills—but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he focused on holding the beam steady, letting the silence stretch between them.
“Anson,” she said after a while, her voice softer now. “You don’t need to worry about River.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“I see how you watch him when he’s around me.” She kept her gaze on her work, driving in another screw. “There’s nothing there. He’s just friendly.”
Was he that transparent?
Heat crawled up his neck. “Not worried.”
“No?” She set down the drill and looked at him directly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. “He’s better with people. Makes sense you’d... connect.”
