Chapter 23
twenty-three
“Ignore it,” Walker said.
The phone rang three times before going silent.
Then it started again.
“We can’t.” Johanna lifted her hand from Walker’s, the connection broken as he grumbled and stood to retrieve the phone.
Another crisis, another need, another interruption.
Christmas Eve at Valor Ridge wouldn’t be complete without something going wrong.
She rubbed her cold fingers together, already missing his warmth, and wondered if this was a sign. Three years of almost moments, and maybe that’s all they were ever meant to have.
“It’s Boone,” Walker said, returning to the living room with the phone pressed to his ear. His face tightened as he listened. “Slow down. Is she—” He paused, turned away. “How bad this time?” Another pause. “Stay there. I’ll come to you.”
Johanna stood. “What happened?”
Walker hung up and scrubbed a hand down his face. “His mom. She’s having an episode. He went to check on her and found the house torn apart. It appears she’s off her meds and stole a neighbor’s car.”
“Let me change, and I’ll go with you.”
Walker nodded, distracted as he scrolled through his contacts. “Hurry. Meet me at my truck.” He lifted the phone to his ear again and turned away. “Jonah, we have a situation…”
Johanna didn’t waste a second, heading straight out the door and into the biting cold.
The snow had picked up, fat flakes swirling in the yard lights as she jogged across the property toward her cabin.
Her breath came in white puffs, the temperature having dropped sharply in the hours she’d spent with River.
She fumbled with her key, fingers stiff with cold, and pushed into her dark cabin. Flipping on the light, she headed straight for her bedroom, stripping off her sweater as she went. She pulled a thermal Henley from her drawer, then grabbed her sturdier boots from the closet.
Something scratched against her window—probably a branch from the pine tree that grew too close to the east side of her cabin. She’d been meaning to trim it back, but there was always something more urgent to handle at Valor Ridge.
She changed quickly, mind racing through the possibilities. What had triggered Leonora this time? Had she wandered? Was she violent?
The scratching sound came again, harder this time. Johanna frowned, pausing as she laced her boots. That didn’t sound like a branch.
She stood and moved toward the window, squinting into the darkness. A shadow passed across the glass, too large to be wind-blown foliage.
“Hello?” she called, reaching for the rifle she kept propped in the corner.
The window exploded inward, glass shattering across her bedroom floor. Johanna stumbled back and raised the gun as a thin arm snaked through the broken pane, fumbling for the latch.
Leonora Goodwin-Callahan’s wild-eyed face appeared in the jagged frame. Her gray-streaked hair hung in stringy clumps around her gaunt features, her lips pulled back in a grimace.
“Where is he?” she demanded, voice raspy with fury. “Where’s my boy?”
“Leonora?” Johanna lowered the gun slightly, shock momentarily overriding caution. “What are you—”
The older woman shoved herself through the window with surprising strength, glass crunching beneath her mismatched slippers as she landed inside the cabin. Blood streaked her arms where the glass had cut her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re all keeping him from me,” she snarled, and the kitchen knife in her hand caught the light. “Walker Nash thinks I don’t know what he’s doing to my boy.
Johanna’s heart slammed against her ribs as she took in the situation. Leonora was having a full psychotic break.
“Leonora,” she said, keeping her voice level despite the fear coursing through her. “Boone isn’t here. He’s at your house, looking for you.”
“Lies!” The knife slashed through the air between them. “You’re all lying to protect Walker. He’s poisoning my son’s mind.”
Johanna calculated the distance to the door. Too far. Leonora stood between her and the only exit.
“I’m going to help you,” she said, setting the rifle carefully against the wall. Her conscience wouldn’t let her shoot a woman who was obviously not in control of her mind, so it was better to remove the gun from the equation. “You’re bleeding, Leonora. Let me look at those cuts.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Leonora’s eyes darted wildly around the room. “I know what you’re doing. All of you. Keeping my Boone here against his will.”
“Nobody’s keeping Boone against his will,” she said, trying to reach the rational part of Leonora’s mind that might still be functioning. “He’s a grown man. He makes his own choices.”
“He’s my boy!” Leonora shrieked, the knife trembling in her hand. “My little boy! And that monster Nash has him brainwashed, making him think his own mother is crazy!”
“I understand you’re worried about Boone,” Johanna said, inching sideways toward her cordless phone on the nightstand. “Why don’t we call him right now? You can hear his voice.”
“No phones!” Leonora lunged forward, knife leading. “You’ll just call Nash. Tell him I’m here.”
Johanna froze, hands raised. “Okay. No phone. What do you want to do, Leonora?”
“Take me to my son.” The knife wavered in Leonora’s trembling hand, but her eyes burned with feverish determination. “Take me to Boone now.”
“I can do that. But first, let’s tend to those cuts. You’re bleeding quite a bit.”
“Don’t care about blood.” Leonora’s gaze narrowed. “You think I’m stupid? You’ll try to drug me. Like the others.”
“No drugs,” Johanna promised. “Just bandages.”
For a moment, Leonora seemed to consider it. Then her face hardened again. “No. We go now. To Walker’s house.”
Johanna’s mind raced. Walker would still be at the house, preparing to leave. If she could get Leonora there, Walker and Jonah could help subdue her before she hurt herself or someone else.
“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “We can go to Walker’s. That’s where Boone is staying.”
Leonora’s lips curved in a terrible smile. “I knew it. I knew that man had my boy.” She motioned to the window with the blade. “Go.”
“We should go out the front door,” Johanna said, gesturing toward the hallway. “You don’t want to get more scraped up going through the window.”
“You first.” Leonora jabbed the knife toward her. “No tricks.”
Johanna moved carefully toward the door, feeling glass crunch beneath her boots. She kept her movements slow, telegraphed, nothing that might startle the agitated woman behind her.
“Keep walking,” Leonora hissed, following close enough that Johanna could smell the sour odor of unwashed skin and clothes. “Straight to Nash’s house.”
They moved into the hallway, Johanna in front, the knife point pressing against her lower back. She calculated her options, searching for a way to alert Walker without setting Leonora off.
“It’s snowing,” she said as they reached the front door. “I need my coat.”
“No time,” Leonora snapped, pressing the knife harder. “Move.”
The door opened to swirling snow and biting cold. Johanna stepped out onto her porch, shivering as the wind cut through her Henley. The main house was visible about a hundred yards away, its windows glowing warm against the darkness.
“Start walking,” Leonora ordered, shifting the knife to Johanna’s side. “And if you try to run, I’ll gut you like a fish. I know how. My husband taught me.”
She meant it.
Johanna exhaled long and slow and stepped off the porch into ankle-deep snow, the cold instantly seeping through her boots. Her phone was still inside. No way to call for help. No way to warn Walker.
“Leonora, you don’t need the knife,” she tried again. “I’m taking you to Boone.”
“Shut up and walk.”
They trudged through the snow, Johanna in front, Leonora close behind. The wind picked up, driving icy flakes against their faces. Johanna’s fingers were already going numb, and she shoved them into her pockets to preserve what warmth she could.
The distance to Walker’s house seemed to stretch endlessly. She strained to see if he was already in his truck in the driveway. No. There was still snow on the windshield. He hadn’t left the house yet.
“Almost there,” she said, hoping her voice carried back to Leonora through the wind.
“I know where his house is,” Leonora snarled. “I’ve been watching. For years.”
God. Leonora had been stalking the ranch, watching them, planning this confrontation. How many other times had she been out here, unseen in the darkness?
And suddenly, all the accidents and bad luck they’d been having around here made a lot more sense. It had all seemed so random, too random to be planned acts of sabotage. But that’s because they were the acts of a psychotic mind, acts that only made sense to Leonora.
They reached the edge of Walker’s yard. Light spilled from the windows, casting yellow rectangles across the pristine snow. Inside, she could make out movement—Walker pulling on his coat, Jonah saying something to him.
“There,” Leonora said, her breath hot against Johanna’s ear. “Now you’re going to get my boy.”
“Okay. I’ll go right in, and I’ll bring him out to you.”
“No!” The knife pressed harder, and Johanna felt a sharp sting as it broke skin. “Together. Now.”
They climbed the porch steps, snow crunching beneath their feet. Johanna raised her hand to knock, but Leonora shoved her roughly against the door.
“Tell Nash to bring out my son now!”
Johanna swallowed hard and knocked. “Walker? It’s me.”
The door swung open, and Walker stood framed in the light, his expression shifting from hurried to confused as he took in the scene before him.
Before he could speak, Leonora yanked Johanna back against her chest, the knife now pressed to her throat.
“Where’s my son?” she demanded, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Where’s Boone? I know you have him, Walker Nash!”
Walker went completely still. His eyes flicked to the knife at Johanna’s throat, then back to Leonora’s face.
Behind him, Jonah muttered, “What the fuck?”
“Leonora,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Why don’t you come inside? It’s cold out here.”
“Don’t patronize me!” She pressed the knife harder, and Johanna felt a warm trickle down her neck. Blood. “Bring me my son right now, or I start cutting!”
Walker’s eyes met Johanna’s, a silent question passing between them. She gave a tiny nod—yes, Leonora was serious. Yes, she would use the knife.
“Okay, Leonora,” Walker said, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Let’s all just take a breath. Boone isn’t here right now.”
“Liar!” The knife trembled against Johanna’s skin. “You’re keeping him prisoner! My boy would never stay away from me unless you were forcing him!”
He took out his phone, movements slow and deliberate. “I’m going to call him right now. You can talk to him yourself.”
Leonora’s breathing quickened, her grip on Johanna tightening. “Put it on speaker. No tricks.”
Walker nodded and dialed, holding the phone where she could see it. Three rings, then Boone’s voice came through, tight with worry.
“Walker? Did you find her?”
“We found your mom,” Walker said, his eyes never leaving the knife at Johanna’s throat. “She’s here at the ranch.”