Another letter.
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream.
The letter was slightly damp, either from the snow and Bramble’s mouth, and she stared at it for a long time as a chill chased through her. If this was a flat-out rejection, she might never be warm again.
She took a fortifying breath and opened it.
Maggie,
I love you.
I’m in love with you.
Have been since your first letter.
I don’t know how to show you in person yet. But it’s true.
I love you.
Yours always,
Anson
The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She read it again. And again.
I love you.
The tears she’d been fighting finally won the battle, spilling hot down her cheeks.
“Oh, Anson.” She sank to the floor beside Bramble, who immediately shifted closer, resting his huge head on her shoulder. She stroked his fur absently, staring at the letter through blurred vision. “Why is this so hard for him, Bramble?”
The dog whined softly and nudged her hand with his cold nose.
“I know. He’s stubborn.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and stood. “But you know what? So am I.”
Enough of this dance. Enough waiting for him to be ready, to find the words, to believe he was worthy.
If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.
He loved her. That was all that mattered. Everything else—his scars, his past, his fear—they could work through together. But not if he kept running. Not if she kept letting him.
“Come on, Bramble.” She buttoned up the flannel and shoved her feet into her boots without bothering to lace them properly. “Take me to him.”
Bramble popped to his feet and wagged his tail hard enough to knock as if he’d been waiting for precisely this command. His tail swept once across the floor, then he all but galloped to the door, looking back at her expectantly.
Outside, the night air bit through the flannel and lashed against her bare legs, raising goosebumps all over. She didn’t care. The cold cleared her head, sharpening her focus, her determination. The moon hung low over the mountains, bright enough to light their path as Bramble led her toward the forge.
She could see it in the distance—windows glowing golden, smoke curling from the chimney into the star-studded sky. From inside came the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal, the sound of Anson working through his feelings the only way he knew how.
Bramble made it to the door first and scratched lightly.
She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and reached for the handle. Heat rushed to meet her as the door opened. Anson stood with his back to her, hammer raised mid-strike above a glowing piece of metal. His shoulders tensed at the sound of her entrance, but he didn’t turn.
“Go back to your cabin, Maggie. River’s going to stand guard tonight.”
“No.” She let the door fall closed behind her. Bramble plodded past her, circling into his bed by the far wall, but his amber eyes remained fixed on them both. “I’m not leaving.”
Anson shoved the molten metal into the quench bucket. It screamed as the heat ripped away in a blast of steam. “I need time.”
