But she reached for his hand, her fingers were like ice as they slid through his, and he realized he couldn’t.
He moved closer, wrapped his arms around her, and simply held her. Nothing more. Just presence and warmth and the promise that she didn’t have to carry this alone anymore.
She fit against him like she belonged there, her head tucked beneath his chin, her breath warm against his chest even through his flannel. For a moment, she remained tense, as if expecting him to pull away. When he didn’t, she gave a soft, shuddering exhale and melted into him.
Anson didn’t know how long they stood there in the cold night with their breaths clouding together.
Didn’t care.
This—being what she needed, being steady when everything else was chaos—this he could do. This made sense in a way other things didn’t.
Finally, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes damp but no longer clouded by fear.
He saw the kiss coming. He could have stopped it. Would have, this morning. But tonight, with the memory of those voicemails still echoing in his head, with the knowledge that she’d been alone and afraid for so long, he couldn’t deny her this comfort. This connection.
When her lips met his, he let himself sink into the kiss like a man drowning. Her mouth was soft but insistent, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt as she rose on her toes to reach him better. He cradled her face between his palms, his scarred thumbs brushing across her cheeks.
This wasn’t like last night’s desperate collision on her porch. This was slower, a deliberate choice they were making together, eyes wide open.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat, part need, and part relief, and something inside him unspooled. He traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, his fingers threading through her hair, as he deepened the kiss. Her whole body trembled. Hertongue slid against his, tentative at first, then bolder. He wanted to devour her. Wanted to lift her up and carry her inside, show her with hands and mouth and body how much she mattered, how safe she was with him.
Instead, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath.
“Stay,” she whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “Please. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He swallowed hard, desire warring with the need to protect her, even from himself. “Maggie...”
“Just to sleep,” she added quickly. “The cabin doesn’t feel safe now.”
Nothing else she could have said or done would have moved him more. Not her desire, not her need, but her fear. He fucking hated that the sanctuary she’d sought at Valor Ridge had been violated by Landry’s voice. And he hated it more that he’d been so wrapped up in his own anxiety and self-consciousness that he hadn’t been by her side to prevent it.
He wasn’t making that mistake again. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Relief softened her features as she reached for his hand again, leading him up the steps. The cabin was dark as they entered, and she fumbled for the light switch. The warm glow revealed the whole space. It was just one room with a bed against one wall, a tiny kitchen along another, and a bathroom behind a pocket door. Nowhere to hide, which probably felt like both a blessing and a curse right now.
Maggie kicked off her boots and curled up on the bed, pulling a thick knit blanket over herself without bothering to change clothes. Anson settled into the chair across from her, close enough that she could see him, know he was there.
“Bramble and the kittens—” she started, concern creasing her brow.
“They’re fine for now,” he assured her. “Lila will check on them, and Bramble’s on guard duty.”
Her smile was faint but genuine, the first he’d seen since finding her earlier with that phone in her hand. “He’s a good boy.”
“The best. Now get some sleep. I’m right here.” He watched as exhaustion finally won and her eyes drifted closed. Watched as the fear drained from her face with each deepening breath. Watched as sleep claimed her at last, her fingers curled loosely in the blanket, dark hair spilling across the pillow.
In the quiet of her cabin, with her sleeping breaths the only sound, Anson finally let an uncomfortable truth settle in his chest: his biggest regret in life was setting the fire that killed Eddie Kowalski and scarred his arms, but even so, he’d happily burn the whole fucking world down before he’d let Landry hurt her.
Some men deserved the flames.
twenty
Maggie woke with a start, disoriented by unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. Then everything rushed back.
Landry’s voicemails.
Ghost and Naomi’s promises to help.
Asking Anson to stay.
