Chapter 29 #2
They watched as Mariah stepped out of the SUV, elegant even in winter boots and a practical coat. She circled to the trunk, popping it open to reveal several neatly wrapped packages. Tate emerged more slowly, reluctantly marking his page before setting the book aside.
X appeared from around the side of the house like he’d been waiting, materializing exactly when needed. His jacket was unzipped despite the cold, his easy grin already in place.
“Need a hand with those packages, gorgeous?” he called, striding toward Mariah with that distinctive swagger.
Mariah barely glanced at him. “We’re fine, thank you.”
X’s smile didn’t falter, but Walker saw the slight tightening around his eyes. He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Just offering to help, darlin’.”
“And I’m declining,” Mariah replied, her voice crisp as the winter air. She handed a couple of packages to Tate, then grabbed the rest herself.
X fell into step beside them anyway, keeping a respectful distance but clearly not giving up so easily. “How’s business at the flower shop, Ms. Duval?”
“Busy,” she said, not breaking stride.
“I bet. Everyone wants something pretty this time of year.”
Walker chuckled, shaking his head at X’s persistence.
The man had been orbiting Mariah for months now, drawn to her cool exterior like a moth to flame.
Mariah kept her walls high, especially around her son, but Walker had caught the occasional unguarded glance when X wasn’t looking.
There was something there, buried deep beneath her careful control.
“Tate!” Oliver’s voice rang out from inside the house, followed by the thunder of small feet. The door burst open, and Oliver charged down the steps, nearly colliding with Mariah in his haste to reach his friend.
Tate’s solemn expression broke into a grin. “Hey! I brought the new Cosmos Chronicles book. It just came out!”
Oliver’s eyes went wide. “No way! Mom said it wasn’t out until next month!”
“Special preorder,” Tate said, his voice lifting with excitement. “I stayed up until midnight to start it.”
The boys headed inside, their heads already bent together over the book, the rest of the world forgotten. X stood watching them go, something soft in his expression that he quickly covered when he realized Walker was looking.
A commotion from the direction of the bunkhouse drew Walker’s attention. River emerged, bundled in what looked like three separate coats layered on top of each other. He was already speaking loudly, words carrying across the yard.
“...and that’s why fruitcake should be classified as a weapon of mass destruction, not a Christmas tradition,” he declared to no one in particular.
A distinctive squawk replied, followed by the flapping of wings. General Mayhem stalked across River’s path, his black feathers puffed up to make him look twice his already considerable size. The rooster stopped directly in front of River, wings spread, head bobbing in clear challenge.
“Well, well, well,” River said, crossing his arms. “If it isn’t Colonel KFC himself, here to ruin my day.”
The rooster squawked again, louder this time.
“It’s General to you, son,” Walker called, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
River threw him an exaggerated salute. “Sir, yes sir. General Pain-in-My-Ass, sir.” He scowled and made a shooing motion at the rooster. “You can’t hurt me today, demon. I have layers. One of which is Kevlar.”
General Mayhem took a step closer, his yellow eyes fixed on River with what could only be described as personal loathing.
“Don’t tempt him with a good time,” Johanna said, struggling to keep a straight face.
The rooster lunged forward, and River leapt back with a yelp that was several octaves higher than his normal speaking voice. This minor victory appeared to satisfy General Mayhem, who strutted in a small circle, head high with triumph.
A yellow blur shot across the yard, barking joyfully. Goose, River’s dumb as a rock golden retriever, had apparently decided that a large, angry rooster was the perfect playmate. The dog circled General Mayhem, tail wagging furiously, completely oblivious to the danger.
“Goose, no!” River shouted, but it was too late.
General Mayhem’s feathers flared to twice their size, and he charged the dog with a battle cry that echoed across the ranch. Goose, interpreting this as an invitation to play, barked even more enthusiastically and ran in circles around the rooster.
“Oh God,” River groaned. “He’s going to get killed.”
From the goat pen, excited bleating added to the chaos. Rip and Ruckus had climbed to the top of their little goat houses, watching the show with apparent glee. Rip stamped his hooves on the roof, making a rhythmic thumping that sounded suspiciously like applause.
Kavik, X’s husky, decided this was the perfect moment to join in.
He threw his head back and let out a long, mournful howl that seemed to encourage General Mayhem further.
The rooster charged, the dog dodged, the goats bleated, and the husky sang, creating a symphony of animal chaos that echoed across the ranch.
In the midst of it all, Spitfire the alpaca stood in her paddock, neck stretched tall, watching the scene unfold with an expression of complete disdain.
She turned her head slowly, met Walker’s eyes across the yard, and let out a snort that somehow managed to convey her utter contempt for the entire situation.
Walker couldn’t help it. He laughed, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. He slipped an arm around Johanna’s waist, pulling her close against the cold.
“Think we’ll make it through the day without bloodshed?” he asked, watching as River tried to corral his oblivious dog while simultaneously avoiding the rooster’s wrath.
Johanna leaned into him, her smile warming him more than the coffee ever could. “Between River and the rooster? Not a chance.”
They stood together, watching as their found family arrived and settled in.
Ten years ago, Walker had stood on this same porch, looking out over an empty, snow-covered ranch with nothing but a half-formed dream and a mountain of guilt.
Just him and Boone that first Christmas, two broken men trying to build something from the ashes of their mistakes.
Now look at them.
Eight men, as he’d once planned. Each carrying their own wounds, their own stories of failure and redemption.
But it had become so much more than that.
The women who had found their way to Valor Ridge, bringing softness and strength in equal measure.
The children, racing through the halls of a house that had once been silent except for his own footsteps.
The animals, from dignified Dust Devil to ridiculous Goose, making the ranch feel alive and whole.
And Johanna. Always Johanna. The woman he never thought he could have, now warm against his side, her hand finding his as they watched their family gather.
“We should probably save River before the General pecks him to death,” she said, but made no move to leave the porch.
Walker squeezed her hand. “He’ll survive. Besides, it’s karma.”
As if on cue, General Mayhem let out another battle cry and charged. River scrambled backward, slipped on the snow, and landed flat on his back. Goose, thinking this was a new game, promptly sat on River’s chest and licked his face.
“You sure about that?” Johanna laughed.
Walker pulled her closer, watching as X jogged over to help River up, as Kavik continued to howl, as the goats stomped their approval from their perch, as Spitfire turned away from the whole situation as if it were beneath her notice.
“No,” he admitted, smiling as he looked out over the chaotic, beautiful life they’d built together. “I’m not sure of anything except that I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.”