Walker watched as Bishop moved to greet her with the same careful approach, the same gentle press of his head against her hand. No excitement, no nervousness. Just quiet acceptance.
“I think he’s perfect.”
Johanna smiled, running her hand along Bishop’s scarred muzzle. “He reminds me of someone.”
Walker raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“You.” Her eyes met his over the dog’s head. “Steady. Calm. Watchful. A gentle heart under a gruff exterior.”
The comparison caught him off guard. He looked away, focusing on Bishop instead of the warmth spreading through his chest at her words. “Think Boone will connect with him?”
“I do.” She stood, brushing snow from her knees. “Bishop’s been through something. So has Boone. Sometimes that’s enough of a connection to start with.”
Walker nodded, watching as Bishop explored the yard, checking each corner before returning to stand between them. The dog didn’t demand anything, just seemed content to be in their presence.
When he looked up again, he found Johanna watching him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She nodded once, a silent confirmation of what they both already knew.
This was the one.
He turned to the door, where the shelter worker stood just inside. “What do I have to do to take this dog home today?”
Forty-five minutes and a stack of paperwork later, Bishop was loaded into the back seat of Walker’s truck, sitting regally on an old blanket the shelter had provided. The dog seemed perfectly at ease, as if he understood exactly what was happening and approved of the arrangement.
The snow fell harder as they drove, blanketing the fields and forests in white. The road ahead disappeared into a swirlof flakes that caught the headlights like tiny stars. Inside the truck, with the heater rumbling and Bishop’s occasional contented sigh from the back seat, Walker felt a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in years.
He glanced over at Johanna, who was looking out at the snow-covered landscape, her profile outlined against the white world outside. She was smiling, just slightly, as she held Bishop’s adoption papers in her lap. The sight of her there, in his truck, helping him try to save someone else, filled him with a sudden, overwhelming need to tell her everything he’d kept bottled up for the past five years.
“Jo,” he started, his voice rough. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say...”
She turned to him, her expression open, waiting.
He took a deep breath, ready to finally lay his cards on the table, when the bunkhouse came into view. And there, engine running, exhaust clouding in the cold air, sat Boone’s truck, loaded up with what looked like everything he owned.
Walker’s heart sank as he pulled into the driveway. Behind him, Bishop stood up, alert, sensing the tension that had suddenly filled the cab.
“What’s going on?” Johanna asked, but Walker already knew.
Boone was leaving.
six
Boone’s skull felt like it was splitting in two. He pried one eye open, immediately regretting it as the weak morning light jabbed through the bunkhouse window. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, tasting like he’d licked the bottom of an ashtray. The whiskey bottle from last night sat empty on the floor beside his bed, a silent accusation.
He pushed himself upright, the room tilting as his feet hit the cold floor. A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes in time with his heartbeat. Christmas Eve morning, and he was hungover. Again. He’d managed three weeks sober at Valor Ridge until last night.
The clock on the nightstand read 7:47 a.m., and Walker hadn’t barged in to wake him up for chores yet. Thank God for small mercies. He couldn’t face the man right now, not after everything he’d spilled to Dr. Perrin in the barn. The memory of his loose tongue made him wince more than the hangover. He’d told her about Crystal, about Vince, about his mother. Things he never talked about.
He staggered down the hall to the bathroom and waited tosee if his stomach was going to revolt. When it didn’t, he splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection. Bloodshot eyes, stubble darker than usual against his pale skin. He looked like hell warmed over.
I say I don’t deserve forgiveness.
The words from last night echoed in his ears. He’d said them to push her away, but they were the truest words he’d spoken. He didn’t deserve this place. Didn’t deserve Walker’s belief in him. Didn’t deserve Dr. Perrin’s understanding eyes as she’d sat with him in that cold barn, listening to him spill his guts.
Back in his room, he rummaged through his duffel bag for a clean shirt. His hands shook slightly as he pulled on a fresh Henley. Four years sober in prison, and it had taken just a month of freedom to fall back into the bottle. His father’s ghost laughed somewhere in the back of his mind.
A pounding at the door made him flinch, the sound reverberating through his tender skull. He froze, hoping whoever it was would go away.
The pounding came again, harder this time. “Sheriff! Open up!”
