Chapter 16
sixteen
Boone’s stomach dropped when he saw the scene playing out in the driveway under the big cottonwood tree. Everything was the same—the idling truck, duffel bag visible through the window, exhaust puffing white in the falling snow. Even the timing felt deliberate: Christmas Eve.
Apparently, the universe had a sense of humor.
Jonah stood beside the truck with an ice scraper in hand. Walker and Johanna flanked him like they were trying to talk him down from a ledge. The kid’s jaw was set, his spine rigid as he cleared the last of the ice from the windshield.
“Shit,” he muttered.
The two dogs in the backseat sat up. Bishop calmly, the Cattle Dog puppy like a spring. He glanced back at the pup he’d picked up on a whim after visiting with his mom. His Christmas gift for Walker. “How am I going to hide you?”
The puppy barked. Bishop whined softly from the backseat.
Boone sighed, grabbed his hat from the passenger seat, and slid out of the truck.
“Just stay,” he murmured to the dogs as he closed the door, hoping the Cattle Dog puppy would actually listen. Fat chance. The thing had the attention span of a gnat and twice the energy.
He approached the trio slowly, snow crunching beneath his boots. Jonah’s shoulders tensed further with each step Boone took. The kid’s face was a careful blank, but his knuckles were white around the ice scraper.
“What’s going on?” he asked, though he already knew.
Walker turned, his expression grim. “Jonah’s leaving.”
“In this weather?” Boone glanced at the darkening sky, the snow falling heavier now. “Storm’s coming in fast.”
“I’ll beat it if I leave now.” Jonah tossed the scraper onto the passenger seat through the open window. “Already said my goodbyes.”
Walker shot Boone a look that spoke volumes—a silent plea to fix what he’d broken this morning. Boone suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t good at this part. Fixing things with words had never been his strong suit.
“Look,” he started, then stopped, uncertain how to continue. Jonah was already moving toward the driver’s side door. “Wait.”
He paused, his hand on the door handle. “What?”
Boone moved to the passenger side of the truck and pulled open the door. “Get in.”
Jonah blinked, confusion momentarily breaking through his mask. “What?”
“Get in.” Boone met his gaze over the hood. “Five minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”
Jonah glanced at Walker and Johanna, who stood back watching the exchange. Johanna gave an encouraging nod and then pulled a scowling Walker toward the house.
The woman was an angel. He’d called her with his idea of getting Walker a dog for Christmas, and she must have spotted the puppy in his cab.
Boone waited until they were in the house, then climbed into the passenger seat.
After a tense moment, Jonah exhaled and pulled open the driver’s side door.
He slid into the seat, keeping his eyes forward, shoulders stiff.
The scent of cigarettes, coffee, and cheap aftershave filled the cab, reminding Boone of his own truck a year ago, when he’d been the one with one foot out the door.
“So talk,” Jonah said, his voice flat.
Boone reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Jonah, who hesitated before accepting. They lit up in silence, smoke curling between them.
“I got Walker a puppy,” he said on an exhale.
Jonah whipped around to stare at him like he had lost his mind. “What?”
He nodded toward his truck. “It’s either going to be the best Christmas present ever or a complete disaster. Sure you don’t want to stick around for it?”
Jonah stared at him for a long moment, and Boone saw the flicker of interest beneath his carefully neutral expression. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs, then exhaled slowly through his nose.
“You got Walker a puppy,” he repeated flatly. “That’s what you came to tell me? That’s your big play to make me stay?”
Boone shrugged. “No. Just making conversation.”
The cab filled with silence and cigarette smoke. Outside, the snow fell harder, fat flakes sticking to the windshield where Jonah had just cleared it. Already a thin layer was building up again. The temperature was dropping fast; Boone could feel it seeping through the glass.
“Look,” Boone said finally. “I was an asshole this morning.”
“You were honest,” Jonah countered, tapping ash into the cupholder. “I was out of line calling the sheriff.”
“You didn’t know.” He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with apologies but knowing this one was necessary. “I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that. You were trying to do the right thing.”
Jonah’s jaw worked, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not cut out for this place.”
A bark from Boone’s truck made them both turn. The Cattle Dog puppy had its front paws up on the window, its tongue lolling out as it fogged up the glass with excited pants. Bishop sat stoically beside it, dignified even with the puppy bouncing around like a furry pinball.
“That the puppy?” Jonah asked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite his attempt to maintain his stony expression.
“Yeah. My mom’s neighbor had a sign up at the end of their driveway, so I stopped. It seemed like the thing to do since Walker gave me Bishop last Christmas.”
Another bark, higher-pitched and demanding attention.
“Think he’ll like it?” Jonah asked.
Boone took a drag of his cigarette, considering. “Fifty-fifty. Either way, the dog belongs to the ranch now. Same as you.”
For a moment, they sat in silence, watching the snow fall. It was coming down harder now, the flakes swirling in the glow of the truck’s headlights. Visibility was getting worse by the minute.
“You know,” Boone said, looking out at the snow-covered yard, at the ranch that had become home, “I sat in this exact spot last Christmas. Engine running. Truck packed.” He gestured to the duffel on the seat between them. “Ready to bail.”
Jonah glanced at him, wary but curious. “Walker’s mentioned that before.”
“Did he tell you why I almost left?”
“No.”
“I was convinced I didn’t belong here. That Walker and Johanna were wasting their time. That I was too broken to stay.” He took a final drag and crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray, hating that he already wanted another one. He really needed to quit. “Sound familiar?”
Jonah’s jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed. His cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers. “It’s different.”
“Yeah? How?”
“You...” Jonah stared at the steering wheel like it held answers. “You were dealing with real trauma. The bar fight, prison, your mom. I’m just...” He trailed off, searching for the words. “I’m just taking up space. No mission. No purpose.”
“You think I felt useful?” Boone asked, letting out a harsh laugh.
“Man, I was a wreck. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t talk about what happened without wanting to put my fist through a wall.
Hated everyone, especially myself. Didn’t think I deserved any of this.
The ranch. Walker. The second chance. Bishop. None of it.”
“But you still stayed?”
“Yeah. I stayed.” Boone looked at him steadily. “Walker didn’t give up on me when I had nothing. I’m not giving up on you.”
Something shifted in Jonah’s expression, a crack in the careful facade. He turned toward Boone fully, eyes searching his face like he was looking for the trick, the catch, the lie. “You had a reason to stay. Your mom’s here, you have family ties here.”
“The Goodwins?” He snorted. “Those family ties were cut a long time ago.”
“So, what? Are you going to tell me my reason now? Why should I stay?”
He wished he had the perfect answer, the magic words that would make everything click into place for Jonah. But he only had the truth.
“I don’t know. It’s different for everybody.
I did stay for Mom, at first. And for Walker.
And myself, because I needed to be here even when I didn’t want to admit it.
Then Bishop was my reason. And then it became something bigger.
The ranch. The work. Finding a place where my past didn’t define me.
Finding a way to repent for my sins. Finding a purpose.
” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“You can’t find any of that on the road, Jonah, and I can’t promise you’ll find all of it here, but you might.
Stay through Christmas. Just one more day. See what happens.”
Jonah’s hands tightened on the wheel until Boone thought he might snap it in two. The truck’s engine kept rumbling, ready to carry him away from Valor Ridge. His expression gave nothing away, but a war clearly raged beneath the surface, the pull between running and staying, between fear and hope.
Boone stayed silent and let him work through it. He knew how hard the decision could be.
Then Jonah reached down and turned the key. The engine went silent.
Relief flooded through Boone, so strong he had to work to keep it off his face. He didn’t want Jonah to think he was being patronizing or smug. This wasn’t about winning an argument. It was about giving someone the same chance he’d been given.
“Help me get the puppy settled into the bunkhouse,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Then let’s go have dinner. Jo always makes too much food for just Walker and me.”
Jonah nodded, a small, tight movement, but didn’t say anything.
They climbed out together, but Jonah paused and stood for a moment beside his truck, looking back at his duffel bag inside. He hadn’t committed to staying, not fully, but he wasn’t leaving yet either.
“One night,” Boone said as they started toward his truck. “See how you feel after Christmas dinner.”
Jonah nodded, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as they trudged through the thickening snow. The puppy was practically vibrating with excitement now, bouncing from window to window inside the truck cab.
“He’s going to be a handful,” Jonah said, a hint of amusement breaking through his carefully neutral expression.
“That’s what I was thinking. Walker’s going to—”
A sharp crack split the air.
Boone froze, the sound registering as a gunshot for a half-second before his brain caught up. His head snapped around toward the source—the massive cottonwood tree that Jonah’s truck was parked beneath.
The ancient trunk was tilting, moving in slow motion as decades of growth surrendered to gravity and the weight of the new snow. Branches groaned, ice cracked, and a sound like thunder rolled through the winter air.
“Run!” Boone shouted, grabbing Jonah’s arm and yanking him backward.
They sprinted away from the falling tree, boots slipping in the fresh snow. The massive cottonwood crashed down with a deafening roar, landing squarely atop Jonah’s truck. Metal crunched and glass shattered as the full weight of the ancient tree crushed the cab like it was made of paper.
Boone’s ears rang with the impact. He stared at the wreckage, his heart hammering against his ribs. The truck was completely flattened, the duffel bag and everything else inside buried beneath splintered wood and twisted metal.
“Holy shit,” Jonah whispered beside him, his face pale with shock.
Frantic barking erupted from Boone’s truck. Bishop and the puppy were going crazy, their silhouettes visible through the snow-dusted windows as they leaped and pawed at the glass.
“You okay?” Boone asked, scanning Jonah for injuries.
“Yeah.” Jonah couldn’t tear his eyes away from his demolished truck. “If we’d been inside...”
The thought settled cold in Boone’s stomach. Five seconds. Maybe less. That’s all the difference there had been between them standing here, alive and whole, or being crushed beneath tons of wood and snow.
The front door of the house slammed open, and Walker burst onto the porch with Johanna right behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Walker shouted, already moving toward them through the falling snow. Johanna was right on his heels.
“Tree came down,” Boone called back. “We’re fine.”
Walker’s pace didn’t slow as he crossed the yard, his face tight with concern. He reached them and immediately grabbed Jonah’s shoulder, then Boone’s, as if needing to physically verify they were unharmed.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, taking in the crushed truck. “That was too damn close.” Then his gaze zeroed in on Boone’s truck, where the puppy was practically climbing the windows now. “Is that a… puppy?”
Boone looked between Walker’s surprised face and the crushed truck, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in his throat. The timing was too perfect, too absurd, like some cosmic joke played by a universe with a twisted sense of humor.
“Merry Christmas?” he offered with a helpless shrug.
Jonah stared at him for one stunned moment before bursting into laughter—deep, genuine belly laughs that bent him double.
The sound was startling, coming from the usually reserved Marine, but infectious.
Walker joined in next, his gruff chuckles growing louder as he shook his head at the ridiculous scene before them.
Johanna’s laughter followed, bright and clear in the snowy evening.
Boone couldn’t help himself. He laughed until his sides hurt, until tears froze on his cheeks in the cold air. The four of them stood there in the falling snow, surrounded by destruction and barking dogs, laughing like lunatics.
“Well, if I needed a sign,” Jonah gasped, wiping at his eyes, “you can get much clearer. I guess I’m staying.”