Chapter 11
eleven
The scraggly pine tree looked even worse than last year’s, if that was possible.
One side completely flat, needles already shedding onto the floor, and a definite lean to the left that would require some creative engineering with the stand.
Perfect. Walker grinned as he and Boone wrestled it through the front door, the scent of fresh pine filling the living room.
Some men bought perfect trees from lots.
The men of Valor Ridge cut down the most pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree they could find on their own land. It was tradition now.
“Easy,” Walker warned as they maneuvered it toward the corner. “You’re gonna take out the lamp.”
Boone laughed. An actual laugh, not the bitter snort that had been his default response a year ago. “Relax, old man. I’ve got it.” He adjusted his grip, guiding the top away from the furniture with surprising gentleness for a man his size.
Bishop trotted alongside them, tail wagging as he supervised the operation. The German Shepherd’s muzzle had a bit more gray than when they’d adopted him, but he moved with the same quiet dignity, watching his person with unwavering attention.
“There,” Boone said as they settled the tree into the stand. He knelt to tighten the screws, Bishop immediately sitting beside him, pressed against his leg. “Ugliest tree in Montana, secured for duty.”
“That’s the point,” Walker said, standing back to assess their handiwork. “Any fool can decorate a perfect tree.”
“Takes real talent to make this sad bastard look good,” Boone agreed, giving Bishop an absent scratch behind the ear. The dog leaned into his touch, back leg thumping the floor.
“Should’ve called him Thumper.” Walker watched them, a lump of emotion rising in his throat.
A year ago, Boone had been ready to drive away forever, convinced he didn’t deserve a place here or anywhere.
Now he moved through the ranch with the easy confidence of a man who knew exactly where he belonged.
The change was as striking as the contrast between last year’s empty house and this one, warm with life and purpose.
He cleared his throat and unwrapped a fresh Tootsie Pop. Grape this time, his second favorite. “Box of decorations is in the closet.”
Boone retrieved the cardboard box and set it on the coffee table with a thud. “Same sad collection as last year?”
“Plus a few new ones.” Walker popped the candy in his cheek, the familiar sweetness settling something in him. Some habits didn’t need changing.
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, hanging the mismatched ornaments from the thrift store. The wooden horse with the broken leg went near the top again.
Boone hung the ornament carefully. “Stopped by to see my mom yesterday. Took her some groceries.”
Walker nodded, knowing better than to make a big deal of it.
Leonora was doing better these days, stable on her meds since the hospital stay.
Still talked to imaginary people in public and fed every stray in a five-mile radius, but she wasn’t in danger of hurting herself anymore.
The town had adjusted, mostly. She was just Leonora now, the eccentric lady on Old Timber Road, not the cautionary tale she used to be.
“How’s she doing?”
“Good. Better.” Boone pulled out a small clay disk, crudely painted with paw prints. “Bishop’s first Christmas ornament,” he said, his voice softening. “Jo’s idea.”
“She’s good like that,” Walker agreed. “Remembering the important stuff.”
“Speaking of...” Boone reached into the box again and pulled out the carving of the three of them and Bishop. “You made this one, right? For Jo’s first Christmas here.”
The memory of that day was as sharp and clear as if it had just happened yesterday—standing with Johanna by her car, thinking she was leaving, offering the carving as a reminder of what could have been.
Instead, she’d stayed. They’d built something together, something neither of them had dared name yet.
The sound of tires on gravel cut through his thoughts. Bishop’s ears perked up, and he was at the door in an instant, tail wagging in anticipation.
“Your woman’s home,” Boone said, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“She’s not—” Walker started, then stopped. They both knew better. “She’s bringing groceries for tomorrow. Said she wanted to make a real Christmas dinner this year.”
Boone snorted. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The door swung open, bringing a blast of cold air and Johanna, her arms full of grocery bags, her dark hair escaping from its braid, cheeks flushed from the cold. Bishop greeted her with a gentle nudge, careful not to upset her balance.
“Little help here,” she called, laughing as she tried to shut the door with her foot.
Walker strode over and took some of the bags while Boone got the door.
The brief brush of her cold fingers against his warm ones sent the same jolt through him it always did, even after a year of these casual touches.
She smiled up at him, a quick, private thing that still made his heart stutter in his chest.
“Kitchen,” she directed, as if he needed telling. “Got everything for tomorrow, plus stuff for breakfast.”
Johanna started unpacking groceries, passing items to him without looking, trusting he’d be where she needed him to be. And he was. Potatoes in the cabinet by the sink. Butter in the dish on the counter, not the fridge. Coffee—the good kind she liked—on the shelf above the machine.
“Need the flour for those cookies I promised,” she said, reaching for a high shelf where her fingertips just barely brushed the container.
Walker moved behind her, not quite touching but close enough to feel her warmth, and reached up to get it. “These better be worth all the fuss.”
“They’re my grandmother’s recipe,” she countered, turning to face him, not stepping away from their almost-embrace. “Of course they’re worth it.”
“I’ll have to be the judge of that,” he murmured, still not stepping back.
“If you two are done with...” Boone made a vague gesture encompassing their entire dynamic, “whatever this is, I need to know where the garland went. The tree looks naked without it.”
Johanna’s laugh broke the moment, though her hand lingered on Walker’s arm for a beat longer than necessary. “Check the red box. I reorganized everything when we put it away last year.”
“Of course you did,” Boone muttered and headed back to the living room with Bishop faithfully on his heels.
“So,” she said and turned back to him. “Where is our new resident?”
“Where else? Out in the barn with the horses.” Jonah Reed had spent more time with the horses in the weeks since he arrived than with anyone else, save for Jo. But that was only because of his twice-weekly mandated therapy sessions.
The kid wasn’t a troublemaker. In fact, he was almost unbearably polite, which had Walker holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. “Should I be worried about him?”
“He’s still settling in. Give him time.” She unpacked a bag of chocolate chips and set it on the counter next to the flour. “I’m not concerned. Some men need more time than others to open up. Jonah’s just quiet.”
“Too quiet. I don’t trust it.” He rolled the Tootsie Pop to his other cheek. “Boone at least made noise. Slammed doors. Cursed. Threw things.”
“Not everyone processes trauma the same way.” She glanced toward the living room, where Boone was cursing softly as he untangled a string of lights. “Besides, I think Jonah’s as good for the horses as they are for him. Sunshine Serenade has been much calmer since he started working with her.”
Walker leaned against the counter and watched her sort through the groceries.
He still couldn’t quite believe how seamlessly she’d integrated herself into his life, into the ranch.
A year ago, she’d been about to drive away.
Now she moved through his kitchen as if she owned it. Which, in many ways, she did.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.” She smiled, the small lines around her eyes crinkling. “Penny for your thoughts?”
He almost said something light, something easy. But the truth pressed against his chest, demanding to be spoken. “A year ago today, I thought you were leaving.”
Her hands stilled on a bag of flour. “I remember.”
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her against him and remind her of all the ways they worked together. But something held him back—the same something that had kept them dancing around each other for a year now.
“Jo,” he started, not sure what he was going to say but needing to say something.
“Hey!” Boone’s voice cut through the moment. “Either of you know where the star went? Can’t find it in any of these boxes.”
Johanna’s eyes held his for one more heartbeat before she turned away. “Check the small box on the bottom shelf,” she called back. “The one with the red ribbon.”
Walker took a deep breath, the Tootsie Pop clicking against his teeth as he worked it around his mouth.
Damn Boone and his timing.
Or maybe it was for the best.
“Nope, not here,” Boone called.
Johanna sighed. “I’m sure he’s looking right at it.” She squeezed his arm and headed into the living room.
Walker watched her go, arm tingling where she’d touched it.
He rolled the Tootsie Pop against the roof of his mouth and listened to the sounds of her voice mingling with Boone’s in the next room—the same easy rhythm he’d woken to for three hundred and sixty-some mornings now.
Her coffee mug from breakfast still sat beside his in the sink.
Her boots stood next to his by the door.
Her calendar hung on the wall with both their handwriting marking the days.
Yet every night, she walked to her cabin, leaving behind the scent of her shampoo and a silence he couldn’t quite fill.
“Jesus Christ,” Boone said from the doorway. “You two are killing me. Just tell her already.”