The kittens still slept, oblivious to his turmoil. He checked them by habit—Spark sprawled on his back, Ember and Smoke curled together like nested spoons. Fed, warm, safe. They had everything they needed.
What did Maggie need? Protection, certainly. Safety. But also honesty. And he hadn’t given her that. He’d kissed her like a drowning man reaching for air, then pulled away with excuses that weren’t the whole truth.
He wasn’t afraid of taking advantage. He was afraid of not being enough. Afraid she’d see all of him—not just the scarred hands and the stumbling words, but the deeper damage. The man who’d failed to protect the people who mattered. The man whose mistakes had cost lives.
He paced the length of the forge, tension coiling in his gut like a spring wound too tight. The memory of Maggie’s face as he’d walked away burned behind his eyes. She would hate him now. She should hate him.
But what if Landryhadfollowed her here? What if hehadhurt the cat?
Anson could picture how it all played out—the bastard creeping around the cabin, Princess sensing a threat and attacking to save her kittens, him stabbing her, then dumpingher in the woods so Maggie wouldn’t see the body and know he was there.
Except Princess had lived, against all odds.
And now the idea of Landry Whitaker sneaking around the ranch was buried like a hot coal in Anson’s chest, burning him from the inside out.
What if Maggie wasn’t safe, even at Valor Ridge?
“Fuck,” he muttered, running his hands over his face.
Bramble whined, sensing his distress.
He glanced at his watch. Nearly 2 a.m. The kittens would need feeding in another hour. He should try to sleep, but the thought of Maggie alone in that cabin, waiting for a man who might be watching from the shadows...
He couldn’t stay with her. Couldn’t risk getting any closer. But he could make sure she was safe.
He pulled his coat back on, grabbed his phone, and called Lila.
“This better be important,” she grumbled, clearly woken from sleep. “It’s two in the morning.”
“Need you to cover the kittens’ three a.m. feeding.”
“What? Why? Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just need to... check something.”
A beat of silence. “Maggie?”
He didn’t answer.
“Anson, what happened?”
“Nothing.” Everything. “Will you do it?”
She sighed. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have drunk all that wine tonight. All right. I’m on my way to kitten-sit.”
“Thanks.” He hung up before she could ask more questions.
Outside again, the cold seemed sharper, the darkness thicker. He crossed the footbridge and headed back to Maggie’s cabin. She’d gone inside—the porch was empty, the blankets abandoned on her chair.
He settled on the bottom step, back against the railing, body angled to see the approach from all directions. If anyone came near her cabin tonight—Landry or fucking bogeyman—they’d have to go through him first.
He couldn’t be what she wanted. Couldn’t be the man who held her, kissed her, loved her the way she deserved. But he could be this—the shield between her and danger. The watchdog. The protector.
It was all he was good for, in the end.
sixteen
He hadn’t changed his mind.
