One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. One moment of courage followed by another. Maggie nodded, squaring her shoulders as the truck rolled toward home.
twenty-two
“Spark, no!” Anson dropped his hammer and crossed to the kitten box in three fast strides, catching the tiny orange daredevil before he could reach the edge of the box and fall out. The kitten squirmed in his grasp, paws batting at air, indignant at having his escape plan foiled.
“You’re gonna be trouble.” He tucked Spark against his chest, where the kitten immediately began climbing his flannel like it was a tree.
Princess watched from her recovery bed, eyes tracking her wayward offspring with maternal concern. She was healing well, but Lila still insisted on keeping her separate from the kittens for at least one more day.
Bramble huffed, as if scolding Anson for his momentary lapse in attention.
“I’m sorry,” he told his wolfhound and set the kitten down, only to have Smoke immediately try the same escape route. “Nope. Not happening, buddy.”
These kittens were going to be the death of him. Three weeks old and already testing boundaries, seeking adventure, refusing to stay put where it was safe.
Reminded him of someone else he knew.
The thought of Maggie sent a wave of unease through him. She hadn’t been gone long, but he’d fought the urge to text, to check in, every second since he watched Johanna’s truck disappear down the drive.
Bramble lifted his massive head from his bed near the kitten box, ears perking at a sound outside. A truck door slammed, followed by the crunch of boots in snow.
Maggie.
Anson set Smoke down, crossed to the door, and yanked it open, intending to meet them in the driveway. But she already stood on the other side, her face paper-white beneath a new wool hat, Johanna’s hand steady on her elbow. The panic in her eyes hit him like a fist to the sternum.
“What happened?”
Jo guided her past him into the forge’s warmth. “Someone recognized her. Evan Miller at the hardware store. He was excited, wanted a selfie.”
“I said no.” Despite the heat of the forge, Maggie wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. “But when we got back to the ranch, Jo checked social media.”
“He posted anyway.” Jo pulled out her phone, opened an app, and handed it to Anson.
The screen showed a slightly blurry photo of Maggie examining work gloves, clearly taken without her knowledge. Below it, text screamed: MAGNOLIA ROWE FROM TV IS IN SOLACE, MONTANA!!! At Simms Hardware RIGHT NOW! #celebritysighting #magnoliabuilds #DIYqueen
Anson stared at the tiny numbers beneath the post. Three hundred likes. A hundred shares. The post tagged her location, her full name. It might as well have been a flashing neon arrow pointing straight to Valor Ridge.
Fuck.
“I should’ve been more careful, but I didn’t think anyone would recognize me here. I’m not exactly Taylor Swift.” Maggie sank onto his work stool, her face in her hands. “God, Landry will definitely see this. He monitors all my fan sites, social media mentions. He’ll know by tonight, if he doesn’t already.”
“I already spoke to Ghost and Naomi,” Jo said. “They’re monitoring Landry’s credit cards, phone activity. If he makes a move, they’ll know.”
Not good enough. They needed to kill this at the source—hundreds of people sharing Maggie’s location, each one a potential link back to Landry.
“I’ll fix it.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. “How?”
“Get the post deleted.” He handed Jo’s phone back to her, untied his leather apron, and grabbed his coat. “Then make sure he doesn’t post again.”
“Anson, you don’t have to?—”
“Yes. I do.”
“But…” Confusion colored her voice. “You don’t go to town.”
So she’d noticed that.
