“Oh.” She took it, surprised by the weight of it in her palm. “I didn’t get you anything.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You gave me exactly what I wanted. Boone’s staying. So think of this more like a thank you than a Christmas gift.”
She swallowed hard against the unexpected lump in her throat. Walker was right; she’d accomplished what she came here to do. Boone was staying. He was connecting with Bishop. The foundations for something meaningful were taking root. Her job was done.
“Thank you.” She unwrapped it carefully, hyperaware of his gaze on her. Inside was a carved wooden ornament, a small pine tree with intricate details burned into its surface. At the base of the tree, three figures and a dog. “Oh, Walker. You made this?”
“Started that night we decorated the tree, then added the people and dog after we got Bishop.” He shrugged, as if it were nothing. “Thought you might want a souvenir. Something to remember...”
He trailed off, but she knew what he meant. Something to remember us by. This place. This week.
She clutched the ornament to her chest. “Thank you,” she said again. The words felt inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say.
Walker nodded, then turned to look back at the house. She followed his gaze.
Boone stood on the porch, Bishop seated by his side. Theyoung man’s posture had changed in just this week. Less hunched, less defensive. He lifted his hand in a half-wave when he saw them looking.
“He’s doing better,” she said.
“Thanks to you.”
“And Bishop. And you.” She smiled slightly. “He needed family more than he needed therapy.”
Walker made a noncommittal sound, but she could tell her words had landed. He was still looking at the ranch, at the corrals waiting for horses that didn’t exist yet, at the bunkhouse that stood empty save for Boone, at all the potential still unrealized.
“It could work,” she said softly. “It really could work.”
He turned to her, his eyes serious.
“Stay.” The word hung in the cold air between them. “Help me build this.”
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “Walker...”
“I’m not asking because of what we were before,” he clarified quickly. “Or... not just because of that. This place, what it could be for guys like Boone. You’ve seen it too, I know you have.”
She had. From the moment she’d watched Boone with Bishop, she’d seen the possibilities. More dogs. Horses. A place where broken men could heal by caring for something besides their own pain. But she’d pushed those thoughts away, telling herself it wasn’t her vision, wasn’t her responsibility.
“My practice,” she began, but the excuse felt hollow even to her own ears. “My patients...”
“You’re not happy there, Jo,” he said with his typical gruffness. “I saw it all over you the moment you stepped out of your car. Here, you could build something better than an office with beige walls and tissues on the table.”
The image struck her—her sterile office in Missoula versus this living, breathing place with its challenges and possibilities.
The idea of it was daunting.
“I failed him,” she said quietly. “Nick. I was supposed to help him, and I couldn’t.”
Walker didn’t flinch at her husband’s name. “I know.”
“What if I fail again? What if I can’t help these men? What if something happens and I lose—” She stopped, unwilling to finish the thought aloud.
Lose you. Lose this. Lose everything, all over again.
Walker moved in close enough that she could smell the woodsmoke on his clothes and see the tiny scar above his eyebrow where he’d been hit by shrapnel years ago. She used to trace that scar when they were in bed together.
“I’m scared, too,” he admitted, voice rough. “Scared I’ll screw this up like I have everything else. But I can’t do this without you, Jo. I’ve tried going it alone. It doesn’t work.”
She’d been running from this man for five years. Not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. Because after Nick died, the pain of staying near Walker, of being reminded of everything they’d lost, had been too much to bear.
