And “making Anson crazy” could mean so many things. None seemed particularly promising, given their rocky start.
Nessie stepped back, still smiling. “Sorry. I’m a hugger. If you don’t like hugs, just tell me, and I’ll abstain. Oh! Come in before you freeze! You’ll need a better coat for the winters here.” She frowned. “Wait, is that River’s hoodie?”
“Um, yeah. He loaned it to me.” She glanced down at the oversized sweatshirt beneath her flannel. “I was freezing. I didn’t pack for Montana weather.”
“That’s on brand for River. He’d give away his own skin if someone looked cold. He’s a good man. Annoying, sometimes. But a good man.” Nessie laughed and reached for the cookie container. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just some store-bought cookies. Nothing special.” Heat crept up her neck. “I should have brought something better. Especially to a baker’s house.”
“Are you kidding? Cookies I don’t have to bake are my favorite.” Nessie took the container and ushered her inside with a hand on her back. “Come in, come in. Jax took Oliver and Echo for boys’ night at the bunkhouse. Even though Echo’s a girl,Oliver declared she doesn’t count as a real girl because she’s a dog, so she gets to join the boys’ night.”
Was Anson at the bunkhouse for boys’ night, too?
She hadn’t seen him since their almost-kiss in the barn yesterday. Since the letters they’d exchanged. Since Bramble had delivered her response. Anson hadn’t come to her door as she’d hoped, and she’d spent all day wondering if she’d pushed too far, said too much.
The cabin opened into a single room with a small kitchen tucked in one corner. Mismatched furniture crowded the space—a worn blue couch with faded cushions, armchairs that didn’t match, a coffee table cluttered with books and toys. The walls were covered with photos and drawings clearly done by a child. The kind of clutter that said people actually lived here, not the staged perfection of homes on her TV show.
Four women looked up as she entered.
“Everyone, this is Maggie,” Nessie announced, leading her toward the group. “Maggie, you already know Lila?—”
Lila waved from an overstuffed armchair, wine glass in hand. “We’ve met, but now you get wine drunk me.”
“And that’s Greta in the corner.”
Greta didn’t get up from her perch on the window seat, but her nod was friendly enough. She wore her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, along with cargo pants and a faded tee that read SEARCH AND RESCUE. Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose, which crinkled adorably when she smiled. “Good to see you again.”
Right. Greta had been at the bakery, too, when Maggie stopped for directions. Had listened to her awkward conversation with Nessie with barely concealed amusement.
“Uh, thanks. You, too.”
“And this is Naomi Lefthand,” Nessie continued. “Our future sheriff.”
“We met a couple days ago,” Naomi said. “Hi again, Maggie.”
She hadn’t noticed it in the dim light of the Hub, but Naomi was a strikingly beautiful woman with the kind of high cheekbones that other women paid a fortune for, and pin-straight black hair that fell nearly to her tailbone.
Maggie felt frumpy next to her, even though they were dressed practically the same way in leggings and an oversized hoodie. “Hi.”
“And I’m Mariah,” called a voice from the kitchen. A woman with auburn hair came around the counter, carrying what looked like a professionally arranged charcuterie board. “Sorry I was hiding back there. Finishing this masterpiece.”
Her Southern accent was warm and thick, reminding Maggie of slow, hot summer afternoons.
If Naomi made Maggie feel frumpy, she was downright grungy next to Mariah. The woman looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread, red hair gleaming in the warm light, reminding Maggie of autumn leaves. Her makeup was perfect, and even her casual outfit—silky blouse under a long cardigan and jeans—was effortlessly elegant.
She set the charcuterie board on the coffee table, then turned and offered a sun-bright smile before also pulling Maggie into a hug. “Welcome, honey. I’ve heard so much about you.”
So much hugging around here.
For a girl who grew up in the foster system, all this freely given love and casual touching was both novel and unnerving.
“I’m still so sorry about the cookies,” she blurted when Mariah released her, earning confused looks from everyone.
“What’s wrong with the cookies?” Nessie asked, already opening the container.
“They’re... store-bought and probably stale. I got them days ago, before I arrived. I should have made something.”
Mariah laughed. “Honey, if we all had to bake to get through the door, Greta would never be allowed inside.”
