Chapter 5
five
He pressed the brew button and leaned against the counter, listening to the coffee maker gurgle and hiss.
His mind kept circling back to last night, to the moment Johanna had stood so close he could smell the mint on her breath, to the way her eyes had darted to his mouth before she’d stepped away.
Five years, and she still had that effect on him.
Five years, and he still didn’t know what to do about it.
The back door creaked, and Walker straightened, reaching for a second mug from the cabinet. Johanna appeared in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a thick navy sweater beneath her coat, her dark hair pulled back in a loose braid, peppered with snowflakes. She looked more rested than he felt.
“Morning,” she said, hanging her jacket up next to his and rubbing her hands together against the chill. “Coffee smells good.”
“Almost ready.” He held up the empty mug. “Want some?”
“God, yes.” She moved toward the counter, close enough that the sleeve of her sweater brushed his arm. “Black is fine.”
Walker nodded and set the mug beside his own. They stood in silence, watching the coffee drip into the carafe, steam rising in lazy curls.
“Any sign of Boone this morning?” she asked.
“Not yet.” He opened a drawer, fishing out a Tootsie Pop from his stash. Cherry, his least favorite, but better than nothing. “He probably has a hangover after last night.”
Johanna raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”
He popped the candy into his mouth. “I know everything that happens on my ranch.”
“Uh-huh.” Doubt dripped from her tone. “Well, Mr. I-Know-Everything, do you know he had a breakthrough last night?”
The coffee maker beeped, and Walker poured two mugs, sliding one across the counter to her. “A breakthrough? That’s a pretty strong word for a man drinking alone in a barn at three in the morning.”
Johanna wrapped her hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth. “He talked to me. Really talked. About his mother, about what happened with that man he killed.” She took a cautious sip. “He’s carrying a lot of guilt.”
“Aren’t we all.”
“So I had an idea last night,” she continued, ignoring his sarcasm, and blew across the top of the steaming coffee. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, about therapy animals. Horses, dogs. I think Boone might benefit from that.”
Walker rolled the Tootsie Pop to the side of his cheek. “How so?”
“As I said, he’s carrying a lot of guilt, a lot of anger.” She chose her words carefully, and Walker could tell she was balancing what Boone had shared with her professional judgment. “He needs someone who doesn’t see his past when they look at him.”
Walker nodded slowly. “Had a buddy in my old unit. Shell-shocked as hell after Fallujah. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function. Got himself a rescue dog, some mangy mutt nobody wanted. That dog saved his life.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes brightened. “Animals don’t judge. They don’t care about your mistakes or your regrets. They just respond to how you treat them.”
“And Boone needs that.” It wasn’t a question. He could see it now, clear as day. The young man’s isolation, his brittle anger, the way he carried his shame like armor. “Something to ground him. Give him a purpose beyond just surviving day to day.”
“I think so.” She set her mug down, her fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the countertop. “A dog would be ideal. Something calm, older maybe. Not a puppy that needs constant training, but a companion that still needs care and structure.”
Walker moved to the window and stared out at the bunkhouse where Boone was probably still sleeping off his night in the barn. “Local shelter’s in Hamilton. About a forty-five-minute drive.”
“They might have what we’re looking for.” Johanna joined him at the window. “Something gentle but steady. A dog that needs a second chance as much as the man.”
The knot that had been in his chest since he’d called her started to loosen.
This was why he’d reached out to Johanna.
Not just because she was good at her job—which she was—and not because he’d desperately wanted to see her again—which he had—but because she saw solutions where he saw only problems.
“Could work,” he said, trying to sound noncommittal even as his mind raced ahead, thinking of logistics, schedules, supplies they’d need. “Boone’s good with his hands. Could build a kennel, maybe even help train other rescue dogs down the line.”
“One step at a time, Walker.” But she was smiling now, a real smile that sparkled in her eyes. “Let’s see if he connects with a dog first.”
“We could go today.” The words came out before he could second-guess them. “To the shelter. Check out what they have.”
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
He glanced at the date on the kitchen calendar, the day marked with a single red X. How had he lost track? Between setting up the tree last night and everything with Johanna, he’d completely forgotten.
Christmas Eve already. The year was slipping away faster than he could hold onto it.
“Is that a problem?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t. The idea had sparked something in him, a sense of purpose and direction he hadn’t felt in weeks.
“The shelter might be closed,” she pointed out. “Or short-staffed for the holiday.”
“Worth a shot.” He drained half his coffee in one long swallow. The bitter heat of it cleared his head. “If nothing else, we could put in an application, get the ball rolling.”
Johanna studied him over the rim of her mug, her dark eyes thoughtful. “You really think this could help him.”
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I do. Kid needs something in his life besides his mom’s illness and his own guilt.”
She nodded, and the softness in her expression made his chest tighten. “I had the exact same thought.”
There it was again—that understanding between them that had always come so easily. Even after all this time, after everything that had happened, they could still read each other like this.
“Let me call ahead, see if they’re open,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket.n”Better to know before we drive all that way.”
While she made the call, Walker filled two thermoses with coffee. He glanced again at the Christmas tree, with its crooked star and mismatched ornaments. Funny how something so imperfect could still look right in the half-light of morning.
Johanna lowered her phone. “Good news. They open at seven, and they’ll be there until noon today.”
“Then let’s go.” He handed her a thermos and grabbed his keys from the old ashtray he kept them in.
But still Johanna didn’t move. “But what about Boone? Shouldn’t we talk to him first?”
He didn’t even consider it. “No. He’d just say no. Better to bring the dog here, let them meet on neutral ground. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll find another solution.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? Choosing a dog for someone else?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But Boone needs a push. He’s stuck in his own head, and nothing I’ve tried has worked. This might.”
Johanna studied him, her gaze thoughtful. “You really care about him.”
“He reminds me of myself. After...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Johanna knew his history, knew about the court-martial, the prison time, the long road back to something resembling normal. “He deserves better than what life’s handed him.”
“Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”
Walker exhaled, surprised at the surge of anticipation he felt. It had been a long time since he’d had something to look forward to, something that felt like hope instead of just another day to get through.
“I’ll leave a note for Boone,” he said. “Tell him we’ll be back this afternoon.”
Johanna smiled again, and this time, he let himself smile back. For a moment, they weren’t exes with too much history between them. They weren’t a disgraced soldier and the woman who’d walked away. They were just two people trying to do something good, something that mattered.
“I’ll get my purse,” she said and grabbed her coat as she dashed out the back door.
Walker watched her go, the Tootsie Pop forgotten in his cheek. Maybe this was why he’d really called her, he thought. Not just for Boone, but for himself. Because when Johanna was around, the world seemed a little less dark, a little more full of possibilities.
He picked his coat from the hook and stepped onto the porch.
The cold hit him like a fist, sharp and clean, the kind of Montana December morning that froze the inside of your nose on the first breath.
A thick layer of snow had fallen all through the night, maybe three inches, enough to muffle the world and make everything look cleaner than it was.
His truck sat in the driveway, passenger side facing him, covered in a thin layer of white. He pulled on his coat and gloves and took three steps before he noticed it.
The truck listed to one side.
“Shit.”
He walked around to the driver’s side. The front tire was flat, completely deflated, rubber sagging against the rim.
He crouched beside it, pulled off his glove, and ran his hand along the tread. No obvious puncture, no nail sticking out, just flat.
The porch door opened behind him. Johanna appeared, coat buttoned, thermos in hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“Flat tire.” He stood, brushing snow off his knee. “Must’ve picked up a nail somewhere.”
She came down the steps, careful on the ice, and peered at the tire. “We can take my car.”
He eyed the Subaru. “Not a chance in hell. I’ll change the tire.”
She rolled her eyes. “God save me from cowboys and their fragile masculinity.”
“For the record, my masculinity is just fine,” he said, giving the tire one last look. “But that little Subaru isn’t going to make it up these roads if we get more snow. Which we will.”
She crossed her arms, leaning her weight on one hip. “It has four-wheel drive.”
“Good for it.” He moved to the back of the truck, lowered the tailgate. The spare was there, thank God, along with the jack and tire iron. “But we’re taking my truck.”