Not for the first time, she wondered if that veteran was him. Was he in crisis? He didn’t appear to be.
Lonely, maybe.
And, yes, now that she was closer, she could still see some of that old burn of anger in his blue eyes. But he also seemed… calmer, somehow. More settled, like he’d finally found peace with his demons.
She hoped that was true. This man deserved peace more than most.
Walker nodded once. “Yeah, there is.” He stepped aside and held out an arm, indicating the house. “It’s cold.”
She didn’t move right away. She watched him for a second, trying to see the angry, wounded, unbearably beautiful man she’d known before, but there was only this new version—older, quieter, standing on the edge of an empty ranch like the last man left in Montana. He looked tired. Had he slept at all since he called her, or had he just sat here, staring at the road, waiting for a car that might not come?
That almost hadn’t come.
Inside, the place was a work in progress. The floors were unfinished pine, and in places the walls were ripped down to the studs. The air smelled of burnt coffee and smoke from the woodstove. There were no pictures on the walls that were still standing, only a paper calendar thumbtacked by the old landline phone in the kitchen, each day crossed off in thick black marker. One mug sat in the sink, stained to hell. The counters were cluttered with paperwork—VA forms, printouts from legal aid, a tangle of Post-it notes stuck everywhere.
She didn’t take off her coat.
Walker noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything. “Sorry, it’s a mess. The place.” He unwrapped his Tootsie Pop and popped it into his cheek. “Still figuring out how to run it.”
“It’s fine,” she said, even though it wasn’t. Nothing about this was fine.
He cleared his throat. “You look good, Jo.”
She almost laughed. She was months away from her fortieth birthday, and every day there seemed to be new lines in her face. And don’t get her started on the bags under her eyes—they were heavy enough that airlines should charge her extra to fly. No amount of good grooming could hide the fact that she’d spent her life working twelve-hour days and sleeping fitfully when she slept at all.
“Liar.”
He held her gaze. “I don’t lie.”
They stood there, the gulf between them filled by all the things they wouldn’t talk about. It had been five years. He shouldn’t still have this effect on her. He’d been her favorite disaster, right up until she left him twisting in the wind. She wondered if he hated her for it.
Or worse, if he didn’t care.
She didn’t trust herself to stand here staring at him—she might do something stupid, like climb him like a tree and taste that Tootsie pop off his lips—so she turned away and wandered through the kitchen, dragging her finger through the layer of dust on top of the microwave.
The man had apparently never heard of a Swiffer.
She winced and brushed her hand off on her jeans. “So where’s your resident?”
Walker leaned back against the counter, drawing her gaze down his long body. No man should look that good in jeans and those same old cowboy boots he’d had all those years ago, but damn if Walker Nash hadn’t somehow grown more attractive with age. The way those jeans hugged his thighs made her mouth go dry. His forearms, exposed where he’d rolled up his sleeves, were all corded muscle and sun-darkened skin. She remembered what it felt like to have those arms wrapped around her, those big hands skimming up her sides.
“Boone’s in town with his mom right now,” Walker said, snapping her back to the present.
Right. The veteran in crisis.
She shook off the memory and refocused on the conversation. “He has family in town? That’s good. That means he already has a built-in support network.”
Thankfully, Walker showed no sign of knowing where her mind had gone just now. He took the lollipop from his mouth and snorted with disgust. “Boone’s family is full of liars andassholes. His mom is the only one who’s worth a damn, but she’s not well—was never quite right in the head again after his father died. He’s her only caretaker, and he’s in rough shape himself. Still young, but already so angry at the world. Don’t blame him for that, though. The world ain’t done much for the kid. He did his time in the military and was back home for barely a month before he landed in prison for voluntary manslaughter.”
“You didn’t tell me that part on the phone.” She watched his jaw move as he switched the lollipop to his other cheek.
“Didn’t want to scare you off. But yeah, he got into a fight at the local dive bar. Saw a guy roughing up a woman, and something in him snapped. He’d been drinking. Got in between them. They fought. The other man died.” Walker shrugged, but the casualness didn’t match the worry in his eyes. “The woman then accused him of murder, and he paid for it. I think Boone’s been punishing himself for it ever since.”
Prison, manslaughter, anger issues… this was a lot more than she’d been prepared for. But this was what she did, wasn’t it? She worked with broken men. She’d built her entire career on it.
“And he’s staying here? With you?”
“That’s the plan.” Walker gestured at the unfinished walls. “Gonna fix this place up together. Give him something to focus on besides the past.”
