What if he had? Would she have pressed against him, opened for him? Would she have made those little gasping sounds he sometimes heard when she stretched after sitting too long with the kittens?
His hand moved faster, grip tightening as he approached the edge. Heat built at the base of his spine, muscles tensing.
He thought of her lips, her neck, the curve of her breast beneath her work shirt. Thought of her straddling him on thisvery cot, her dark hair falling around them like a curtain as she took him inside her.
If you come to my door tonight, I’ll be waiting.
“Maggie,” he breathed, the name torn from him without conscious thought.
His hips bucked up into his fist. Once. Twice. His orgasm hit with unexpected force, pleasure spiking sharp and hot as he spilled over his fingers, his abdomen, soaking his shirt.
For one suspended moment, there was only the pulsing aftershocks and the ragged sound of his breathing in the quiet forge.
Then reality crashed back.
What the fuck had he done?
Shame flooded him, dousing the lingering pleasure like ice water. He’d used her letter—her honest, trusting words—to get off like some desperate teenager. Had fantasized about her while jerking off in his workshop with her kittens sleeping a few feet away.
Disgust rose in his throat. He grabbed a shop rag from beside the cot, wiping his hand, his stomach. He changed his shirt with jerky movements. The evidence was gone, but not the knowledge of what he’d done.
Her letter lay beside him, creased where he’d gripped it too hard. The paper that had touched her hands, carried her thoughts, her trust in him.
He couldn’t keep it. Not after this. Not with the stain of his weakness marking every word.
He crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it into the metal trash bin beside his workbench. As soon as the paper hit the metal, his chest seized with regret.
He couldn’t do it.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered, fishing the letter out and carefully smoothing the crumpled page against his thigh. Hisfingers traced over the indentations her pen had made, feeling each curve and line like braille.
Anson moved to his workbench and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay a wooden box, hand-carved with simple geometric patterns—one of his first projects at Valor Ridge. He lifted the lid, revealing dozens of carefully folded letters, each one preserved in chronological order. Six years of Maggie’s thoughts, her life, pieces of herself she’d trusted him with when no one else would.
He added tonight’s letter to the collection, placing it gently atop the others before closing the lid.
thirteen
What the hell had possessed her to say yes to this?
Maggie clutched the plastic grocery store cookie container and stared at Nessie’s cabin door like it might bite. Five minutes now she’d been standing here, listening to the laughter inside, fighting the urge to turn around and bolt back to her cabin. The women were already settled, already comfortable, already a unit. And here she was, an outsider with sad store-bought cookies, trying to crash their circle.
And, God, why had she brought these stale cookies? Why hadn’t she made something? Anything but these pathetic store-bought chocolate chip cookies that she’d picked up days ago on her way to Valor Ridge. They screamed, “I didn’t care enough to try.” Especially since Nessie owned a bakery.
She should leave.
One quick text to Lila—headache, exhausted, whatever—and she could escape. Lila would understand. She’d invited Maggie so nicely that morning while checking on the kittens, and Maggie had said yes before her brain caught up with her mouth.
She tugged at her flannel, second-guessing her outfit for the hundredth time. She’d changed three times before coming over. What exactly did one wear to meet their pen pal’s found family?
The door swung open.
Maggie froze, caught with her hand halfway to her hair.
Nessie stood framed in warm light, dark waves of hair tumbling around her shoulders, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafting around her. Her smile was immediate and genuine.
“Finally! I thought I heard someone out here.” Before Maggie could respond, Nessie pulled her into a hug. “I’ve been waiting to properly meet the woman who’s been making Anson crazy.”
She stiffened, caught off guard by both the embrace and the comment. She’d met Nessie briefly that first day in town, stopping at the bakery for directions to Valor Ridge, but she hadn’t expected to be welcomed like an old friend.
