She stared into her cocoa, watching the marshmallows dissolve into tiny white islands. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, River. This push-pull. It’s exhausting.”
“Then don’t.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out. “Walk away. Go back to Florida. Build fancy houses on TV.”
Walk away. Go back to her old life. The idea drilled deep into her chest, leaving her hollow.
“I don’t want to leave,” she admitted quietly. “But I can’t keep chasing someone who’s determined to outrun me.”
“If you don’t, he’ll stay alone in that forge forever, hammering metal and talking to his dog.” River shrugged. “And I have no doubt you’ll move on eventually. Find some nice, normal guy who doesn’t have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.”
She doubted that. Anson had been a big part of her life for too long. He was too deep under her skin, and when she tried to picture life without him in it, she couldn’t.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Not easy, but simple.” He finished his cocoa, set the mug down with a definitive click, and stood. “Now, I’ll be standing guard out on the porch if you need me.”
“You don’t have to stay outside in the cold.”
He gave her a flat look and picked up his hat. “Why do you think Anson called me, when he’s been jealous of our friendship from day one? Why not call Jax or Ghost, who are both happily off the market? Or Boone, who lives like a monk? Or Walker or Jo or any of the women here?”
“Well… he trusts you.”
“He does. And he doesn’t. He thinks I have no self-control when it comes to beautiful women, and… well, yeah, he’s mostly right.”
The realization hit all at once, and she popped to her feet as outrage sang through her. “Oh my God. He’s trying to push me away by pushing me toward you!”
“Bingo. The man’s got more defense mechanisms than the Pentagon. And this is just the latest one.” He strode to the door, but paused before opening it and glanced back. “For what it’s worth, you’re gorgeous, and in another life, I might have tried something. But I’m not about to be a pawn in Anson’s self-destruction game.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, anger building beneath her hurt and exhaustion. “That stubborn, ridiculous man.”
“Now you’re getting it.” River grinned and shoved his hat onto his head. “So what are you going to do about it?”
twenty-eight
“Hey, I’m looking for the world’s most emotionally constipated farrier. See him around?”
At River’s voice, Anson nearly hit his own thumb with the hammer instead of the nail in Troubadour’s hoof. The stallion snorted, tossing his head in annoyance.
“Over here, working through his issues with horseshoes,” X called, then soothed a hand over his horse’s muzzle. “You’re okay, amigo. You need new shoes.”
Anson kept his eyes on the hoof in front of him, ignoring both men for the work.
“There he is.” River leaned against the stall door, arms crossed. “The man who sent me to freeze my ass off on a porch all night while he hid in his cave like a wounded bear.”
“Wasn’t hiding,” he muttered, driving the nail with more force than he should have. Troubadour shifted his weight, and X murmured something soothing in Spanish.
“Sure. And I’m not the best-looking guy on this ranch.” River’s tone was light, but there was an edge beneath it.
“Second best-looking,” X corrected.
“I wasn’t hiding. I was working.” He moved to the next nail, refusing to look up. If he met River’s eyes, he’d see the judgment there. The disappointment.
“At three in the morning?” River snorted. “That’s dedication, brother. Or complete bullshit. I’m leaning toward bullshit.”
X glanced between them. “Whoa, what’d I miss?”
“Nothing much. Just Anson being a complete ass to a sweet, brilliant, gorgeous woman who, for some godforsaken reason, is in love with him.”
Heat crawled up his neck, and the collar of his flannel suddenly felt too tight. “Shut up, River.”
