Page 9 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER NINE

Stone

M onday morning, I came back from making rounds on the farm to find a small, bright pink box containing two donuts inside a paper shopping bag. Next to it sat another box, this one white, holding a collection of dog biscuits I recognized as the ones Ethan Carter sold at Joe.

Unfamiliar but not unwelcome, a little laugh of wonder jumped out before I could stop it. I glanced around like I might catch her spying on me as I retrieved the items, but no sign of honey-blonde hair or glacier-blue eyes.

Pity.

Bear’s collar tags clinked behind the door.

“I’m coming, buddy. Be right there,” I said, pushing it open and edging past him. He must’ve smelled the treats or maybe he’d even caught a whiff of evidence Dove had been here, because he pranced around in a swirl like an untrained puppy .

“Simmer down, man. She brought you something, too.” Granted, he might’ve even recognized the small white box since I’d brought them home often enough after forays into town. “Let’s see what flavors Ethan has for you.”

I opened the box and held it out for Bear. “Just one, okay?”

Mournful eyes ticked up to mine, then back down to the box. Up again, then back down. Ever so carefully, he dipped his muzzle into the box and edged out a single treat between his teeth. He watched me, waiting, old enough not to shake with energy but anticipation clearly buzzing around him.

I dipped my chin, and in half a heartbeat, he’d swallowed the treat.

“Good work. Now how about breakfast?”

After a few minutes, I dipped out a cup of food and slid a fried egg on top.

He settled into his breakfast with his bushy tail arching high with pleasure while I washed my hands and retrieved a plate.

My chest fluttered as I lifted the lid, choosing a plain glazed donut and setting it on the plate.

After a prayer of thanks, I took a big bite, and while I chewed, I did what I’d wanted to do since I saw the envelope under the boxes.

The back flap hadn’t been secured with adhesive, so I lifted it and slipped the small card out. A charming swirl of feminine letters spelled out thank you in bright yellow with a little blue bird perched atop the k. And inside…

Dear Mr. Forrester,

Well, that got off to a weird start, didn’t it?

Would I call you Mr. Forrester when I suspect, despite your substantial beard’s best efforts to conceal your face, we are peers?

I think I’ll call you Dorian, if you don’t mind.

Though if you do, it’d probably be awkward to tell me so, in which case, maybe I’ll just say “hey, you!” next time I see you and we’ll go from there.

Anyway, this is a small note of appreciation. Thank you for your kind support the other day and for being an excellent landlord thus far. And thank you for the adorable peach pie. It was orgasmic.

And, well, I regret the word choice there, but here we are, this far into a letter and I’ve got to get to work, so I can’t start over. Let’s just call it delicious and leave it at that.

But mostly, I wanted to say if you ever need anything, I’m right next door. You know where to find me. (And I wish you would.)

Sincerely,

Dove L. Jensen, Esquire

PS. I am not actually an esquire but once I tossed in the middle initial it just felt weird, so let’s pretend you didn’t see that, or chalk it up to my recent mood-reading stint with historical romances.

By the time I’d read the letter a third time, Bear had curled up on his bed in the living room and I’d been smiling consistently enough to make my cheeks a little sore.

Dove’s writing read just like she spoke—stream of consciousness and with a funny lilt to her words that felt both bolder than I ever expected and completely endearing. She was smart and funny and self-deprecating in the most charming way I’d ever experienced.

I didn’t often instantly like people I hardly knew, but I liked her. I enjoyed being around her, and that was a supremely odd thing to think considering our longest interaction had been when she was grieving and I sat silently by .

And yet.

Her presence next door felt like the difference between coming back to a darkened home and coming back to a porch with the light left on. Even if no one was there, it felt good knowing someone had thought of it.

It was one of many reasons Dr. Corrigan was supportive of the move to become a landlord. No more being an island on my own. I could still seek solace in the farm and in my house, but I wasn’t isolated. There was value in that.

And it was a small step toward… more.

Dove and I didn’t interact, and yet here we were… doing just that.

I’d had an extra pie after Kenny, Cookie, and Beast came over for tea the other day, and I’d thought she could use a little something.

She hadn’t given me much to go on in terms of understanding why she was so upset, but everyone could use pie, right?

A little something sweet didn’t make anything materially better, but it didn’t usually make anything worse.

And now, she’d brought me donuts. She would’ve had to drive to town, get them, and then bring them back. And she’d thought of Bear.

The letter was easily the best part. And though it’d been years since I’d handwritten much of anything except notes on recipes, later while taking Bear out and adjusting a sprinkler in the apple orchard and checking the eastern field for something Connor had mentioned, I thought about what I might say.

Then I worked on something to give her since she’d mentioned she’d be at work. I wasn’t certain what time she got home, but usually by six, her little sedan rolled up to the side of the cabin. I could make something for dinner and dessert, but that might be overstepping .

Would she want a meal? Not tonight, but sometime?

Maybe I could ask her.

Probably way too much, though.

Once the hand pies were in the oven, I sat down to pen a response.