“And the mom? Does she live here, too?”
“No. She’s got a place in town. He checks on her most days, makes sure she’s eating and taking her meds.”
Johanna bit her lip, trying to imagine Walker Nash playing house father to an ex-con. It seemed impossible, and yet... There was something right about it, too. Walker had always been a protector. A fixer of broken things.
“So what am I doing here, Walker?” The question cameout harsher than she’d intended. “You’ve got this all figured out.”
His eyes found hers, and there was that intensity again—the look that had always made her feel like she was the only person in the world. “Because I got the broad strokes figured out, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to help him. You do.”
Walker Nash, admitting he didn’t know something? The world must be ending.
She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her heart squeezed at the vulnerability in his voice. “You said he’s angry.”
“Yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s like he’s... waiting for something. Permission, maybe. To live again.” Walker moved to the woodstove, opened it, and tossed another log in. Sparks scattered like fireflies. “I thought I could do this on my own, but?—”
“But you called me.” She finished for him
He turned to face her, firelight casting half his face in shadow. “I called you because you’re the best, Jo. Always have been. And because I know if anyone can get through to him, it’s you.” A faint smile tipped up for the corner of his hard mouth. “After all, you got through to me.”
The compliment shouldn’t have warmed her the way it did. She’d built a career on understanding troubled men, but Walker had always been her blind spot. The one she couldn’t quite figure out. Or maybe the one she understood too well.
“I can’t stay long,” she said. While she no longer worked with the VA, she had her small private practice to consider. “I have clients.”
“I know.” He nodded, rolling the lollipop stick between his fingers. “Just... meet him. Talk to him. Tell me if I’m in over my head.”
She glanced away from him as something cracked insideher chest. Damn him. Damn his honesty and the way he never pushed. He just stated what he needed and waited, as if her answer actually mattered. As if she mattered.
“I can stay until New Year’s,” she heard herself say, the words escaping before she could think better of it. “That gives us just over a week. But I can’t promise anything beyond basic assessment and recommendations.”
Walker’s eyes widened slightly—the closest he ever came to showing surprise. He nodded once, a sharp dip of his chin. “That’s more than I expected.”
“Don’t get excited. I’m not moving in,” she said, gesturing at the half-finished walls. “I’ll stay at the Mountain View Motel in town.”
“No need. There’s a cabin out back. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean. Got its own bathroom and everything.” He paused, studying her face. “Unless you’d rather be in town.”
Johanna considered it. A motel would give her distance, space to breathe. But it would also mean driving up and down this icy road twice a day. And if this Boone was as volatile as Walker suggested, she needed to be close enough to observe him in his natural environment.
“The cabin’s fine,” she said finally.
He nodded, and now that he had her agreement, he didn’t seem to know what else to say. “You hungry?”
She shook her head. “No. If you could show me to the cabin…?”
He hesitated. “Right. Yeah.” Without another word, he turned and walked across the kitchen, pushing out through the back door.
She closed her eyes and exhaled the breath caught in her lungs.
Oh, God. Had she just agreed to share space with Walker Nash for an entire week?
two
The cabin was cleaner than the main house. No half-ripped out walls, no dust, and the one narrow bed was made up with hospital corners. She unpacked her suitcase, which didn’t take long—she’d only planned to stay a night or two, at most—then spent some time online getting to know her newest patient.
Boone Callahan. Twenty-eight years old.
Walker had been right about the world not doing much for this kid. His mom had been disowned by her wealthy family for chasing the rodeo and marrying a bull rider. Then his dad had died of an aneurysm when Boone was only twelve. According to reports, Boone had been alone with his father on the back forty of their ranch when it happened—his dad suddenly clutching his head, falling from his horse, and dying within minutes. The boy had somehow managed to get his father’s body draped over the saddle and rode for hours to reach help, the report noting that rigor mortis had already set in by the time they arrived.
How horrifying that must have been for little Boone. No wonder the man now had issues with abandonment.
