Chapter 32
thirty-two
Walker stood on the porch beside Johanna, watching as the celebration began to scatter into the snowy night.
The yard glowed with Christmas lights strung along fence posts and cabin roofs, turning the freshly fallen snow into a canvas of blue, red, and green shadows.
He breathed in cold air that smelled like pine and woodsmoke, listening to the crunch of boots and the murmur of goodbyes as their makeshift family began to disperse back to their corners of Valor Ridge.
“This was good,” Johanna said quietly, her shoulder pressed against his arm. “One of our best.”
He nodded, watching as Ghost helped Naomi into his truck. The man who once refused to celebrate anything was now securing Naomi’s seatbelt, leaning in to say something that made her laugh.
“Never thought I’d see him like that,” Walker said.
“Sometimes the most guarded ones surprise you the most.” Johanna stepped forward to hug Mariah, who held a sleeping Tate on her shoulder. She was obviously slipping out while X was distracted, or else he’d be right here, trailing her like a lovesick puppy.
“Thank you for everything,” Mariah said. “This has been the best Christmas we’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re welcome any time. Text when you’re home.”
Jonah came out next, and Walker shook his hand, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help with dinner.”
“Anytime, boss.” Jonah zipped his coat up to his chin, glancing at the sky. “Storm’s picking up. You need anything before morning?”
“We’re good. See you at feeding time.”
Walker watched as Jonah trudged through the snow toward his cabin, head bent against the increasingly heavy flakes. Bear followed a few minutes later, raising a hand in silent farewell, his big frame silhouetted against the string lights as he disappeared toward the bunkhouse.
The yard emptied gradually, vehicles backing away with red taillights glowing through the swirling snow.
Each departure left the night a little quieter, a little more intimate.
Cowboy sat at attention by Walker’s feet, watching the procession with the serene patience of an old dog who had seen many Christmas nights come and go.
Maggie and Anson lingered awkwardly by the bottom step, neither quite ready to say goodnight. They stood just far enough apart to maintain propriety, but close enough that Walker could see the tension between them, the gravity pulling them toward each other.
“I should probably head back,” Maggie said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s getting colder.”
Anson nodded, his face unreadable in the shadow of the porch light. “I could walk you. To your cabin.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Her words came too quickly. “I mean, you don’t have to. It’s not far.”
“I don’t mind.” Anson’s voice was soft, almost lost under the whisper of falling snow.
Walker exchanged a glance with Johanna, both of them careful not to smile at the familiar dance playing out below them.
“Okay,” Maggie finally said. “That would be... nice.”
They started down the path together, walking close but not touching.
Twice, Anson’s hand came up slightly, as if to help her over a drift, then retreated to his side.
As they rounded the corner toward the guest cabins, both looked back, catching each other in the act.
Walker could almost feel the heat of their mutual embarrassment from where he stood.
“How long do you think before one of them breaks?” Johanna whispered, leaning into his side.
“My money’s on her,” Walker replied. “She’s braver than she looks.”
The sound of boots on the porch steps drew his attention. Lila stood there, car keys jingling in her gloved hand, cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes weren’t on them, but on Boone, who stood by the door still holding the carved frame Walker had given him.
“I should get going,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Early calls tomorrow.”
Boone nodded, shifting his weight. “Thanks for coming.”
Lila took a step forward, then hesitated.
Walker saw the calculation in her eyes, the weighing of risk and reward.
Then she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Boone.
He froze for a moment before his free arm came up to return the embrace, the frame held carefully away from their bodies.
“I’m glad you’re thinking about it,” she whispered. Walker wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been standing so close. “Another dog. Bishop would want you to be happy.”
Boone’s eyes closed, his throat working as he swallowed. He didn’t answer, just held her a moment longer before letting go.
“Merry Christmas, Boone,” Lila said, squeezing his forearm once before turning to the steps. “Night, you two.” She nodded to Walker and Johanna as she passed, pulling her hat lower over her ears.
They watched her climb into her SUV and back carefully down the drive.
Boone stood motionless, staring after her taillights long after they disappeared into the swirling snow.
Something had shifted in his face, a crack in the armor he’d maintained for so long.
When he finally looked up, he caught Walker watching.
For once, he didn’t hide his expression, didn’t rebuild the wall.
He simply nodded once, clutching the frame a little tighter, and retreated inside.
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Johanna murmured.
“Took me long enough,” Walker replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
The door opened again, and Jax stepped out with Nessie and Oliver.
The boy was fast asleep against his father’s shoulder, small face tucked into Jax’s neck, exhausted from the excitement and emotion of the day.
Nessie carried their coats and a bag of leftovers, her new engagement ring catching the Christmas lights as she moved.
“Thanks for having us,” she said, kissing Johanna’s cheek. “For everything.”
“You’re family,” Johanna replied, smoothing Oliver’s hair from his forehead. “That’s what family does.”
Jax shifted Oliver’s weight, then reached out his free hand to Walker. But instead of shaking it, he pulled Walker into a one-armed hug, his grip tight.
“Thanks,” he said, voice rough. “For bringing me here. For giving me this life.”
Walker felt the words in his chest, tight and warm. “I just got you here, son. You did all the hard work.”
Jax stepped back, eyes bright in the porch light. “Still. I wouldn’t have had the chance without you.” He glanced at Johanna. “Both of you. Even if I was horrible at therapy.”
She smiled back at him and stepped in for a hug. “You weren’t the worst.”
“That distinction goes to River,” Walker muttered as Jax and Nessie continued down the steps and across the driveway toward their cabin, which earned him a smack to his chest from Johanna.
“Be nice.”
“What? It’s true. River was a pain in my ass for months when he got here.”
As if conjured by his name, River peeked out from the door, once again bundled in what appeared to be every coat he owned. “Hey, I’m still a pain in the ass, thank you very much. Is that demon drumstick out here anywhere?”
Walker huffed a laugh at River’s appearance. The kid was practically waddling with all those layers, but he had good reason to fear the rooster. General Mayhem had drawn blood more than once.
“He’s probably patrolling the perimeter. Plotting his next attack.”
River shuddered dramatically. “That bird is Satan with feathers. I swear he waits for me.”
“Because you antagonize him,” Johanna said, but her smile took the sting from her words.
“My existence antagonizes him!” After one last glance around the yard, he stepped fully onto the porch.
“Anyway, just wanted to say thanks for tonight. For everything.” His voice softened, the humor falling away to reveal something more genuine.
“Best Christmas I can remember. Night, boss.” He saluted lazily.
“Night, Doc. Try not to freeze out here.”
They watched him go, Goose bounding through the snow beside him, occasionally disappearing into a drift only to emerge with a joyful bark. The Golden’s enthusiasm hadn’t dimmed since his morning showdown with General Mayhem.
Then it was just the two of them on the porch, Cowboy settling at their feet with a contented sigh.
Walker kept his arm around Johanna, feeling the solid warmth of her against his side.
The night had turned hushed and intimate, just the soft hiss of falling snow and the distant glow of windows from the scattered cabins.
One by one, lights came on across the ranch as their family settled in for the night.
Lila’s taillights were the last to disappear down the long drive, swallowed by the darkness beyond the property line.
The snow was falling harder now, erasing the tracks and tire marks that had crisscrossed the yard during the day’s celebration.
By morning, the ground would be pristine again, unmarked except for the paths they’d make together.
He steered her inside and closed the front door behind them, shutting out the cold and the snow.
The house felt different now, quieter but still holding the warmth of celebration.
Plates stacked on the dining table, empty glasses clustered on the coffee table, gift wrap crumpled near the tree.
Evidence of life, of family. He hung his coat on the hook by the door and rolled up his sleeves, ready to restore order to the chaos.
Johanna moved to the table, gathering silverware with the quiet efficiency that came from years of practice.
They worked in comfortable silence, a rhythm established over eight Christmases of cleanup.
Walker stacked plates while she scraped leftovers into containers.
He filled the sink with hot soapy water while she organized the refrigerator to accommodate the extras.
“We’ll be eating turkey for days,” she said, closing the refrigerator door with her hip.