Dammit.
She really didn’t know why she thought he would. She’d waited until paranoia forced her out of bed to flip the deadbolt.
But now it was time to feed the kittens, so she had no choice but to face him.
Maggie hesitated, her hand raised halfway to knock at the forge’s door. The morning chill bit through her borrowed hoodie—she really had to make time to go to town and shop for proper winter gear—but that wasn’t why she shivered.
She was excited to see Anson again, even if he probably didn’t want to see her.
And… okay, also nervous.
Last night’s kiss—could it even be called that when she’d been dry-humping his leg?
Oh, God.
Embarrassment burned in her cheeks even as his kiss still lingered on her lips. The memory of his hands in her hair, taking control… the taste of him… the stab hurt when he’d pulled away…
All of it tangled into a knot in her belly and kept her from knocking.
But she needed to face him. They had kittens to feed, and she also wanted to talk to him about doing that carpentry class at Haven House. She’d started to tell him last night, but he’d cut her off with that completely unexpected kiss. That glorious, mind-blowing kiss that had turned her inside out and left her aching and alone when he’d walked away.
She let her hand fall to her side, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. This wasn’t about her feelings. It wasn’t about his rejection. It was about three tiny lives that needed them both. And it was about the purpose she desperately needed in her life.
He wouldn’t like her going to Haven House. She knew that without a doubt. But she didn’t want to live in fear anymore, and didn’t want it to stop her from helping others who were just as scared and alone as she’d been when she’d driven here.
She knocked. Three quick raps against the wooden door, then silence. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited, counting the seconds. One, two, three...
The door swung open. Anson stood framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking most of the forge’s warm light.
God, he was big. All muscle. And Lila was right, he had very nice arms. It was a shame he was so self-conscious of his scars and always hid them under long sleeves.
His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his beard was flattened on one side. The dark circles under his eyes told her he’d slept as poorly as she had.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Morning kitten duty.”
He nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Heat enveloped her immediately, chasing away the morning chill, andshe breathed in the familiar scents—coal, metal, leather, and the earthiness that was uniquely Anson.
Bramble padded over from his bed by the workbench, his tail sweeping once across the floor in greeting. She bent to plant a kiss between his eyes. “There’s our hero boy.” She gave him an ear scratch that sent his back leg thumping. “Such a good protector. You did so good finding the kittens’ mama.” She straightened and glanced toward the corner, surprised to see a recovery area next door to the kittens’ home. “Princess is here?”
“Better.” Anson’s voice was rough, as if he hadn’t used it yet today. “Lila came by at dawn. Changed bandages. Got her to eat some.”
Maggie moved toward the small enclosure, where Princess Jellybean lay curled on a soft blanket. The calico’s eyes were open, tracking her movements with wary interest. The bandages around her middle stood out starkly against her multicolored fur.
“Hey, sweet girl. You gave us quite a scare.”
Princess blinked slowly at her, then turned her head toward the kitten box a few feet away. The three kittens were awake, tumbling over each other in their morning play. Spark, true to his name, had climbed halfway up the side of the box, tiny claws hooked into the wood Anson had so carefully crafted.
“She tried to get to them earlier,” Anson said from behind her. “But Lila says we need to wait. Make sure she’s healing before letting them near her. She probably won’t be able to nurse them again, so we’ll have to continue bottle feeding until they’re weaned.”
“Poor thing. She must be so confused.” The ache in Maggie’s chest had nothing to do with her own problems and everything to do with the mother cat separated from her babies. “Who would do this to her?”
“If I find them, I’ll make sure they understand what she’s feeling right now.”
She turned. He stood at the workbench, measuring formula into the tiny bottles with those scarred, steady hands. So careful. So gentle. The same hands that he had just promised to do violence with.
Her pulse kicked.
A week ago, she thought she knew this man better than anyone else in the world. But those letters had only been a sketch, an outline of the man who stood before her. The real Anson Sutter contained multitudes she was only beginning to understand.
