A rusty, unfamiliar sound escaped Boone’s throat. How long had it been since he’d laughed like that? Years, probably.
“Yeah, me too, buddy. Don’t tell Walker, but I don’t think I was ever actually going to leave last night.” He straightened and looked back at the house, the barn, the bunkhouse…
And allowed himself to think the word he’d been avoiding since he’d arrived here.
Home.
This could be home. Not just a place to crash, not just a stop on the way to somewhere else or back to prison. But a place where he belonged, where he was expected, where someone cared enough about him to leave out coffee in the morning.
The thought was terrifying. Exhilarating. Impossible to fully believe.
But as Bishop nudged against his leg, the knot of tension he’d carried for so long he’d forgotten it was there began to loosen, just slightly, just enough to let him take a full breath for what felt like the first time in years.
Maybe he could do this. Maybe, with this dog at his side and those people waiting back at the house, he could build something here that wouldn’t fall apart the moment he touched it.
Bishop looked up at him, those intelligent brown eyes seeing more than Boone was comfortable admitting.
“Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”
ten
Johanna folded the last sweater and tucked it into her duffel bag, her fingers lingering on the soft wool. Outside the cabin window, weak winter sunlight glinted off the snow, casting long blue shadows across the yard. She’d been avoiding packing for three days now, making excuses. One more session with Boone. One more meeting with Walker about ranch plans.
But now it was December 31st, and she’d run out of reasons to postpone the inevitable. Time to go back to her real life, her practice, her empty apartment in Missoula with its spotless counters and silent rooms.
She zipped the bag closed and surveyed the cabin. A week ago, it had felt alien and cold. Now, little traces of her presence were everywhere: the mug she’d claimed as hers sitting beside the small coffeemaker, the stack of books on the nightstand, the throw blanket she’d arranged just so on the single armchair. The cabin smelled like her shampoo and the vanilla candle she’d burned to cover the musty scent that had greeted her arrival.
Her phone buzzed on the bed. A text from her office manager:
Happy New Year! Office ready for your return on the 2nd. Calendar already filling up.
Reality calling.
She pushed her phone into her pocket without replying and grabbed her bag. She crossed to the door, pulled it open, and?—
Walker stood on the small porch, hand raised to knock.
“Oh.” She took a half-step back. She didn’t know why she was surprised to see him, but she was. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. His breath clouded in front of him, the tip of his nose reddened from the chill. “Uh, wanted to see if you need help with your bags?”
“Just have this one.” She held up the duffel. “Only packed for a week.” Less, actually, but she didn’t want to tell him that.
“Right.” He nodded and stepped back to let her pass. They walked together across the yard, their boots crunching through the fresh layer of snow that had fallen overnight. The main house glowed warm in the distance, smoke curling from the chimney. Boone’s truck was parked beside it, no longer packed for escape.
“Roads are clear,” Walker said, breaking the silence. “Checked the forecast. Should be good driving all the way to Missoula.”
“Good.” A single syllable that conveyed nothing of the knot tightening in her chest.
Her Subaru sat in the driveway, a thin layer of snow already dusting the windshield. Walker brushed it away with his sleeve while she put the duffel in the back.
“I added antifreeze to your radiator yesterday,” he said, not looking at her. “Checked your tires too.”
“Thanks.” She closed the hatchback and tried not to flinch at the finality of the sound. “I appreciate it.”
Then they just stood awkwardly beside the car, neither making a move to end this awkward dance. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The cold seeped through her boots.
“I got you something,” Walker said suddenly. He pulled a small package from his coat pocket, wrapped in brown paper and twine. “For Christmas. It’s not much.”
