Chapter 15
fifteen
Walker tightened the last screw on the new window lock and gave it a firm tug to test its strength.
Better than before, though still not what he’d call secure.
They’d need to reinforce the entire frame, maybe install impact-resistant glass—whatever it took to keep Johanna’s office safe.
Through the window, he spotted Jonah across the yard, methodically splitting firewood, each swing of the axe precise and controlled.
The kid had been at it for hours, moving from one solitary task to another, keeping himself useful but separate.
He hadn’t said a word to anyone since Boone’s outburst.
Walker set down the screwdriver and watched Jonah work, the rhythmic thunk of steel biting into wood carrying across the cold air. The kid’s form was textbook—feet planted, core engaged, letting the weight of the axe do most of the work.
Thwack. The chunk of pine split in two clean pieces. Jonah reset the next log, stance squared off like he was preparing for inspection. Thwack. The pile beside him grew, neat and orderly. Not so much as a twig out of place.
Okay, enough. If the kid could’ve outworked his own brain, he’d have done it by now.
Walker grabbed his coat from the back of Johanna’s chair and his hat from the hook by the door, then stepped outside.
“Jonah,” he called as he crossed the yard. “Got a minute?”
Jonah all but snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Drop the ‘sir,’” Walker said, stopping a few feet away. “And take a break. You’ve been at it all day.”
“Almost done here,” he said, and although the ‘sir’ went unspoken this time, it was still there, tacked silently on the end. “Weather report says snow tonight. Figured we should have extra wood ready.”
“Good thinking. But that’s enough for today.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to finish.” He avoided eye contact, and his hands never stopped working, stacking, arranging. “Makes me feel useful.”
Walker understood the need to earn your place through work, to prove you deserved the space you occupied.
He’d spent years doing the same thing, stacking evidence of his worth like cordwood against the cold reality that some people would always see him as the sum of his worst decisions. People, including his own daughter.
He glanced at the pile Jonah had already built. Enough to last them a week, easy. The kid wasn’t working toward a goal anymore. He was just working.
“About this morning,” Walker began, choosing his words carefully. “Boone was out of line. You couldn’t have known about our history with Hank.”
“It’s fine.” Jonah placed another log on the stack. “He was right. I should have asked first.”
“No, he wasn’t. That’s not how we do things here.” He stepped closer, trying to break through the invisible barrier Jonah had erected. “Valor Ridge works because we communicate. That’s on all of us, including me. I should have briefed you properly when you first arrived.”
Jonah finally looked up, his expression carefully blank. “I appreciate that, but really, it’s fine. No harm done.”
But there was harm—Walker could see it in the way Jonah held himself, in the careful distance he maintained. The young man had already retreated behind walls that would be twice as hard to break down now.
“Listen,” Walker tried again. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? Johanna’s cooking. We can talk about—”
“I promised Sunny some extra grooming time,” Jonah cut in. “But thanks for the offer.”
The dismissal was clear, wrapped in respectful language but unmistakable. Walker recognized the tactic—he’d used it himself too many times. Keep busy. Stay polite. Maintain distance. Don’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again.
“Alright,” he conceded, knowing when to back off. “But the offer stands. Any time.”
Jonah nodded, already turning back to his task. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Walker watched him for a moment longer, then headed toward the barn. He’d give Jonah space today, but tomorrow they’d need to address this head-on. The kid was too valuable, too promising, to lose to isolation.
The barn was quiet and dim when he entered, the only sound the soft shuffling of horses in their stalls. The temperature inside was noticeably warmer than outside, the industrial heaters they’d installed over the summer keeping the animals comfortable against the cold.
Walker moved down the center aisle, checking water buckets. Dust Devil snorted and stomped as he passed.
“I know, boy.” He backtracked to give his horse some attention. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. We’ll go out for a ride as soon as this upcoming storm passes.”
He patted Dusty’s side, and in the stall next door, Sunny nickered softly. She moved to the front of the stall, ears pricked forward with interest. He went to her next and reached out to stroke her golden neck, her coat smooth and warm beneath his palm.
“Hey, girl. Looking for your boy, aren’t you?” The mare nudged his hand, searching for treats. “Sorry, fresh out. Jonah’s the one with the peppermints.”
Walker checked her water and hay, though he knew Jonah would have already seen to it. The kid never neglected the horses. If anything, he was overly attentive, spending hours on tasks that should take minutes, just to have an excuse to stay in the barn.
At least he was connecting with something living, even if it wasn’t human.
A soft noise from the back of the barn caught Walker’s attention.
He followed it, rounding the corner to the small tack room.
Johanna stood with her back to him, hanging bridles on their hooks, her dark braid falling down her spine.
She sensed his presence and turned, offering a tired smile that still managed to knock the air from his lungs.
“Hey,” she said. “I was just organizing. Needed something mindless after today.”
Walker leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her—strong hands capable of both fierceness and gentleness, dark eyes that saw through his defenses, the smudge of dust on her cheek he wanted to brush away with his thumb.
“How’s the office?” she asked.
“Secure for now. New locks are in. Boone’s contact in Wyoming is coming after Christmas with a camera system.” He straightened, moving into the small room. “How are you holding up?”
She sighed and hung the last of the bridles. “Angry. Violated. Worried about Boone and how he’s reacting to having his privacy violated. But mostly concerned about Jonah. I saw him earlier, looking like he was trying to make himself invisible.”
“I just spoke to him. Don’t think I helped the situation.
” He picked up a bridle she’d missed and moved past her to hang it with the others.
He turned to her and realized how close they were, almost chest to chest in the small room.
He inhaled the coconut of her shampoo mixed with the leather of the tack room.
She was close enough that he could see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes, the tiny scar above her left eyebrow from a childhood fall she’d told him about once, years ago.
“Walker,” she whispered.
His name on her lips did something to him. Always had, from the very first time she’d said it. Made him feel like he mattered, like he was more than his mistakes. Made him feel like the man he was trying to become rather than the man he’d been.
“Jo,” he answered, the single syllable carrying everything he couldn’t say.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then came back up to meet his gaze. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with a year’s worth of careful distance and careful touches. Her breath hitched, and he watched the pulse at her throat quicken.
He reached out, slowly, deliberately, and brushed that smudge of dust from her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his calloused finger, and she leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly.
“We should...” she started, but didn’t finish, didn’t step away.
His hand lingered, cupping her cheek now. “Should what?” he asked, his voice rough with wanting.
“I don’t know anymore,” she admitted, and he felt the tremble in her breath against his wrist.
He leaned down, drawn by something beyond thought or reason, something more powerful than gravity. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, her eyes fluttering closed as she tilted her face up to meet him. The space between them narrowed to nothing, their breath mingling in the cool air of the tack room.
The rumble of a diesel engine firing to life outside shattered the moment.
Johanna jerked back, eyes wide. Walker’s hand fell away from her face as they both turned toward the sound.
“That’s—” she started.
“Jonah’s truck,” he finished, already moving toward the door. She was right on his heels.
“Where’s he going? It’s supposed to storm.”
A fine, misty snow had begun to fall while they were inside, and the temperature had dropped sharply as the storm front approached. Walker’s breath clouded in front of him as he moved.
Jonah’s battered Silverado was parked beneath the big cottonwood, its engine running, exhaust billowing white in the cold air. Jonah stood beside it, methodically scraping snow and ice from the windshield. A duffel bag was on the seat, visible through the passenger window.
“Dammit,” Walker muttered, quickening his pace with Johanna right behind him.
“Jonah,” she called, her voice carrying across the yard. “What are you doing?”
He straightened, the scraper still in his gloved hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve both done for me, but it’s time for me to move on.”
Walker stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk without shouting but far enough to give Jonah space. “Where will you go?”
“I’ve got a buddy from my unit in Spokane. He’s got a couch I can crash on until I figure out my next move.” His jaw was set, his decision made. “Already cleared it with my parole officer.”
“That’s a four-hour drive,” Johanna said, stepping forward. “And it’s supposed to storm tonight.”
“I’ve driven through worse.”
“What happened with Hank—”
“It’s not just that.” Jonah’s gaze shifted to the barn where Sunshine’s stall was visible through the open door.
The mare was leaning out of her stall, staring in their direction, and a flash of something like pain crossed his face before he masked it.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I don’t fit here.”
“That’s bullshit,” Walker said, the words escaping before he could soften them. “You fit just fine. With the horses, with the work.”
“And what about Sunny?” Johanna asked.
Jonah turned back to his truck, scraping the last bit of ice from the windshield. “Sunny deserves someone who’s staying. Someone who can give her consistency.”
Walker caught the slight tremor in his voice when he mentioned the mare. The kid was attached, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise. “She’s bonded with you. You’re willing to break her heart like that?”
His shoulders tensed. “She’ll be fine.”
“Son,” Walker said, the word slipping out before he could stop it, “running doesn’t solve anything. Trust me on that.”
Jonah finally turned to face them fully, snowflakes catching in his auburn hair and on the shoulders of his jacket.
His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes—those gave him away.
They were the eyes of a man who’d already made up his mind but was still fighting to convince himself he was right.
“I’m not running,” he said, but his gaze slid away. “I’m being realistic. I tried to help, and I made things worse. Story of my life.”
“You made a mistake,” Johanna said. “We all do. That doesn’t mean you don’t belong here.”
“It’s not about one mistake,” Jonah said, turning back to his truck. “It’s about knowing when to—”
The crunch of tires on gravel cut him off. Walker turned to see Boone’s truck pulling into the yard, snow already gathering on its hood and windshield. Jonah’s spine stiffened, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact.
Boone killed the engine and stepped out, his expression shifting from tired to confused as he took in the scene—Jonah with his duffel bag, the idling truck, Walker and Johanna standing in the falling snow like they were trying to form a human barricade.
“What’s going on?” Boone asked, striding toward them.
Walker watched Jonah’s face harden, his jaw setting into a stubborn line. Whatever progress they’d been making had just evaporated.