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, Cowboysettling 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 workedin 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.
“River will help with that,” Walker replied, up to his elbows in dishwater. “Boy eats like he’s still growing.”
The fire had burned down to embers in the living room, casting a warm glow over the discarded napkins and empty pie plates. Cowboy circled three times before settling into his spot by the hearth, nose tucked under his tail. The house creaked and settled around them, familiar sounds that Walker had come to associate with home.
As he washed the last of the glasses, he noticed Johanna had stopped working. She stood by the window, looking out at the property. From here, they could see most of the cabins scattered across Valor Ridge, windows glowing yellow against the dark, Christmas lights twinkling along rooflines. Snow continued to fall, softening the edges of everything.
He dried his hands and joined her, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back against him, her body fitting against his as naturally as breathing.
“Do you remember that first Christmas?” she asked softly.
“Just us and Boone,” he said. “You made that apple pie that burned on the bottom.”
She laughed, the sound vibrating through her back into his chest. “The oven was temperamental.”
“I was terrified,” he admitted, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Of my pie?”
“Of failing you. Of this not working.”
She turned slightly, looking up at him. “You were so certain about the ranch, though. About what you wanted to build.”
“The ranch, yeah. But not about whether anyone would stay. Whether it would become what I hoped.” He tightened his arms around her. “You wanted to leave after New Year’s.”
“I did,” she said quietly. “I thought it would be too hard, being here with you, watching you build this dream.”
“You convinced me to stay.”
