Heat rose in her cheeks, pride bristling. “I don’t need a babysitter, Anson.”
“Not a babysitter. Backup. There’s a difference.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then paused, really looking at him. This wasn’t possessiveness or control. There was raw, genuine fear in the tightness around his eyes, the slight tremble in his hands as he stroked Smoke’s tiny head.
Fear for her.
But he wasn’t trying to stop her. He wasn’t telling her not to go, not to teach, not to do this thing that mattered to her. He was trying to find a way to make it work safely.
“When are you going?” he asked.
“This afternoon. Nessie and Naomi will meet me there.”
He nodded. “I’ll ask Boone to take you.”
“Why not you?”
His gaze dropped back to the kitten. “No. Boone’s bigger than me. Scarier. Better deterrent, and he notices things others don’t.”
Of course it couldn’t be him. Anson rarely left the ranch—she knew that now, though she didn’t understand why. Yet he was still offering solutions, making calls, working out logistics. For her.
“Okay,” she agreed softly. “I won’t go alone.”
The tension visibly drained from his shoulders. He returned Smoke to the nest box, where the kitten immediately curled against Spark, both sleepy and milk drunk.
Maggie set Ember beside her brothers, then crossed to where Anson stood. Before she could second-guess herself, she reached up and cupped his face between her palms.
“Thank you for understanding why this matters.”
He went still beneath her touch, then slowly leaned into it, eyes closing briefly. “I get it. You need to build things. Fix things.” His voice was rough with emotion. “It’s who you are.”
Her heart squeezed. He did understand. Had always understood, from those first letters years ago. This was the manwho saw her, really saw her, beneath the television personality and careful public image. Maybe that was why she’d been so careful not to mention the show to him in her letters. She hadn’t wanted to be defined by her celebrity. She’d wanted him to see her—just her.
“I’m not trying to be reckless,” she said softly, thumbs brushing over his bearded cheeks. “I just... I need a purpose beyond hiding. The women at Haven House are rebuilding their lives from the ground up, and I know something about that.”
He reached out a tentative hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Yeah. You do.”
The awkwardness from their kiss hadn’t disappeared, but something had shifted between them. A bridge forming, tentative but real.
“I’ll talk to Boone now,” he said, stepping back just enough to break the contact, though his eyes lingered on her face. “Set things up.”
“Thank you.” She dropped her hands, already missing the warmth of him.
Bramble pushed between them, breaking the moment with typical canine timing. He nudged Anson’s hand with his nose, then padded to the door with clear intent.
“Someone needs out,” Anson said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“I’ll let him out,” Maggie said, following Bramble to the door. The cool morning air rushed in as she opened it, a stark contrast to the forge’s warmth.
Bramble bounded out, immediately veering toward a cluster of trees at the edge of the yard. She watched him go, grateful for the momentary reprieve. Being near Anson was like standing too close to a fire—comforting and dangerous all at once.
“You should eat,” Anson said from behind her. “Before you go to town.”
She turned to find him watching her, his expression unreadable. “I will. I need to shower first, though.”
“Jo makes pancakes on Tuesdays. Walker’s recipe. Worth trying.”
The invitation, casual as it was, made her smile. “Is that where you’ll be?”
