Bramble licked her nose, then plodded back to Anson’s side, settling at his feet with a heavy sigh.
The last thing she saw before closing the door was Anson still standing with his back to her, head bowed, knuckles white against the bench—a man drowning on dry land, too stubborn or too scared to reach for the lifeline she kept throwing him.
twenty-seven
River was waiting on her porch steps. He looked up when he heard the crunch of her boots in the snow, and his eyes popped wide before he dropped his gaze to the tips of his boots.
“Uh, Mags, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
If she weren’t so drained, she’d point out that she was, in fact, dressed. Granted, her sleep shorts and Anson’s flannel were more appropriate for a winter night in Florida than Montana, but still. All the important bits were covered, but River was acting like she’d flashed the pope or something.
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Anson called me.”
“He… what?”
River shrugged. “Said he couldn’t stay but he didn’t want you alone tonight.”
Right. Anson had told her that when she first barged into the forge. She’d forgotten.
“Sorry to keep you waiting in the cold.” She edged by him and fumbled the key in the lock. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He lifted his gaze from his boots to give her a critical once-over, and his expression softened. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She tried to shake her head, tried to make a joke out of it, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Her eyes burned, and she was so goddamn tired of crying.
“Okay, let’s get you in where it’s warm.” He took the key from her and easily unlocked the door, pushing it open. As soon as they were inside, he opened his arms. “Come here, Just Maggie.”
She went into his arms because she didn’t know what else to do. The hug was different than the ones she’d shared with Anson. River was all wiry strength and nervous energy, his arms loose around her shoulders rather than enveloping. But there was genuine comfort in the embrace, and she found herself leaning into it, her forehead dropping to his chest.
“It should be him here,” she whispered, the words muffled against his jacket.
“I know.” River brushed away a tear with his thumb, his touch gentle and brotherly. “Want me to go kick his ass for you? I’ve been dying for an excuse.”
She laughed through her tears, watery and thin. “Thank you, but I plan to do it myself after I get back from Haven House tomorrow.”
“Atta girl.” He ruffled her hair, then stepped back and pulled off his hat, coat, and boots. “Now you need to warm up. You want coffee, or are we drinking something harder?”
“Hot chocolate,” she said, “with marshmallows.”
“A woman of impeccable taste. For the record, Anson’s an idiot.” He started hunting for the cocoa in the small kitchenette. “You wanna tell me about it?”
“Maybe.” She exchanged her boots for her slippers and grabbed a throw from the couch, wrapping it around herself. Then she dropped into one of the chairs at the tiny dining table and buried her face in her hands. “Probably not.”
“Fair.” He filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and leaned against the counter. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Like what?”
River looked up at the ceiling like he was looking for the right words. “Like he wants something so bad it’s killing him, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. It’s the first time I’ve seen him act like he actually gives a damn about his own happiness. Usually, he’s all about everyone else.”
She hugged the throw tighter around herself. “He doesn’t seem to think he deserves anything good. Especially not...” She trailed off, unsure how much to share.
“You?” River finished for her, eyebrows raised. “Pretty sure that’s exactly the problem. Man’s carrying enough guilt to sink a battleship.” The kettle whistled, and he turned to pour the water into two mugs. “Not that I don’t understand the feeling.”
He stirred in the cocoa mix and set one of the mugs in front of her. Then he added extra marshmallows, because of course he did.
She wrapped her hands around the mug. “You’re a good man, River.”
