Chapter 14
fourteen
Whoever tried to wedge the window open hadn’t bothered with subtlety. Nor had they bothered with the proper tools. They’d used a kitchen knife or screwdriver, maybe, judging by the wide scrapes and the way the wood was chewed more than pried. Nothing methodical about it.
There was part of a muddy heel print on the sill, but it wasn’t enough to tell Walker anything about the intruder.
The tread was worn smooth, and he couldn’t even judge the shoe size.
He glanced at the window glass, now smeared with what looked like fingerprints and the faint, clumsy outline of a palm.
Not some pro. Not even a careful thief. A kid, probably.
Boone’s voice came from behind him, low and wary. “What do you think?”
Walker straightened, glancing inside. Jo was doing her thing, deep in conversation with Jonah.
He smiled at that. During the short time he’d been her patient, he’d loved watching her work.
It was the biggest reason he quickly found himself a different therapist: he’d been too distracted by her compassionate eyes, by the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking hard, by that sometimes sharp tongue, that animated face, and that big smile.
“Well?” Boone prompted.
Shit, he was staring at her again. He needed to stop that. He’d kept a careful distance this past year, but he’d underestimated how hard that would be working with her every day, sharing meals, and having her living in a cabin just steps from his back door.
He pulled his focus back to the barn window, running a hand through his hair. “Amateur job. No subtlety, no patience,” he said, gesturing to the damage. “Looks like they used something common, not proper tools. But they knew exactly what they were after.”
“Jo’s notes on me.” Boone’s jaw tightened, and his hand dropped to his dog’s head, unconsciously seeking comfort. Bishop leaned into the touch, giving a soft groan of approval as Boone scratched his ear.
The news that his therapy notes had been specifically targeted hadn’t been easy to hear. Walker had watched him process it that morning—the flash of vulnerability quickly buried under stoic resignation, like a man who’d grown used to having his privacy violated.
“Hank,” Boone said, the name like gravel in his mouth.
“Hm, yeah. Probably not the sheriff himself, but on his orders.”
“The fucker was looking for leverage,” Boone said, and squinted toward the door as it opened and Jonah stepped out. “He knows we’re expanding after New Year’s, bringing in more men. He’s looking for a way to shut us down before that happens, and he thinks I’m the weakest link.”
The same thought had crossed his mind. The sheriff had made his feelings about Valor Ridge clear from the start—no town wanted a “rehab ranch for criminals” in their backyard, especially when one of those “criminals” was the nephew Hank had written off years ago.
But this felt different. More desperate.
“Well, he’s sorely mistaken on that, son. We need better security,” he said, moving to the window again. “New locks today. Cameras by the end of the week. Maybe motion sensors on the perimeter.”
“I know a guy in Wyoming who does installation,” Boone offered, straightening up. “Ex-military. Doesn’t ask questions.”
“Make the call.” Walker rubbed the back of his neck, tension knotting the muscles there. “And we should consider a night watch rotation until everything’s in place.”
“I can take first shift tonight,” Boone said, no hesitation in his voice.
That was Boone all over. Always putting himself on the front line, always the first to volunteer for the hardest job.
A year ago, that impulse had been self-destructive, driven by guilt.
Now it was protective, channeled toward something that mattered.
Progress, though Walker still worried about how much the younger man took on his shoulders.
They continued their assessment, checking doors and windows throughout the converted barn, noting weak points.
The place had never been built with security in mind—it was a working ranch, not a fortress.
But things had changed. The safety of Johanna’s patients, of the men who trusted them, had been compromised.
It was a failure he didn’t plan to repeat.
He caught sight of Jonah crossing the yard toward the bunkhouse, shoulders hunched against the winter chill, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
“Man’s been keeping his distance all morning,” Boone noted, following Walker’s gaze.
“He’s still finding his footing. Hasn’t decided if he belongs here yet, but he’ll get there. Took you a while, too.”
Johanna emerged from her office in Jonah’s wake, arms wrapped around herself against the cold. She’d pulled her hair back in that no-nonsense braid she favored for work, but strands had already escaped, framing her face in the wind. Even from a distance, he could see the tension in her posture.
“I’ll handle those calls,” Boone said quietly, giving Walker’s shoulder a brief squeeze before heading toward the bunkhouse, Bishop materializing from somewhere to trot alongside him.
Walker closed the distance to Johanna, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms right there in the open yard.
“How was the session with Jonah?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Johanna said, a frown creasing her forehead. “He’s still holding back. I tried a different approach today—more direct—but...” She gestured vaguely with one hand.
“Still no progress?”
“A little, maybe.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that still made his chest tighten. “He feels useless and helpless, and there was real pain there, Walker. He needs a purpose.”
“Like Bishop was for Boone,” Walker murmured, remembering how the dog had transformed the angry young man who’d almost driven away.
“Exactly.” Her eyes lit up, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to reach for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “I suggested he might help with the equine program expansion. Someone with his logistics background could be invaluable in setting that up.”
It was a solid idea, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it. The kid had organizational skills that neither he nor Boone possessed, and a clear affinity for the horses. “Smart thinking. I’ll talk to him about it later, see if—”
He broke off mid-sentence at the crunch of tires on gravel and turned toward the sound.
A tan sheriff’s department SUV rolled up the driveway.
“What the hell?” he muttered and nudged Johanna behind him.
The SUV stopped, and Sheriff Hank Goodwin unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, adjusting his hat against a gust of wind.
“Good morning, Walker, Johanna,” Hank called and tipped his hat toward her, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture or in his smile. “Got a report of a break-in out here. Thought I should check it out personally.”
“You heard wrong, Hank. We didn’t call anything in, so you can just get right back in your car and clear out.”
Behind him, Johanna sucked in a sharp breath, which told him she knew who had made the report. Dammit.
“One of your men called it in,” Hank continued, his gaze sweeping over the property with undisguised disdain.
As if on cue, the bunkhouse door opened, and Jonah stepped out, stopping short at the sight of the sheriff. Even from a distance, Walker could read the confusion on the young man’s face, followed by the dawning realization that he’d made a serious miscalculation.
Walker exhaled and ran a hand over his face. “Shit,” he said, keeping his voice soft for Johanna’s ears alone. “The kid called it in, didn’t he?”
“He wouldn’t have known about Hank,” she murmured. “We never briefed him on the history.”
“No, we didn’t.” And that was on him. He wouldn’t make that mistake with future residents. He straightened his shoulders and strode forward to meet Hank halfway.
“I’ve got this handled, Hank,” Walker said, keeping his voice neutral despite the anger building in his chest. “There was no need for you to come all the way out here.”
Hank’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, Walker, we can’t have crimes going unreported in my county.
Especially not at an establishment with your.
.. particular clientele.” His gaze slid past Walker to where Jonah stood frozen by the bunkhouse.
“That the one who called it in? Said someone was lurking around the barn before dawn, trying to break in.”
He forced himself to take a breath, to keep his temper in check. Hank wanted to provoke him into doing something stupid.
“As I said, it’s handled. Just some kids, looks like. Nothing was taken.”
Hank pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open with exaggerated care. “According to the report, someone broke into Johanna’s office and disturbed confidential files. That’s a serious matter, Walker. Could be a felony, depending.”
Behind him, Walker heard Johanna approach, her footsteps crunching softly on the frozen ground. He wanted to tell her to stay back, to let him handle this, but he knew better. Jo had never been one to hide behind anyone.
“Sheriff Goodwin,” she said, cool and professional.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, patient files are protected under HIPAA, so whoever broke into my office would have committed a federal crime.
” She paused, and her next words came out sharp enough to draw blood.
“Of course, if a person hired someone else to do it, that would make you an accessory.”
Hank’s gaze shifted to Walker, satisfaction gleaming in his pale eyes. “Got yourself a firecracker here, Nash. Always did have a thing for women who don’t know their place.”
Rage boiled hot in his chest and crawled up his neck. He opened his mouth to respond, but Johanna set a restraining hand on his arm and beat him to it.