Now, standing in the snow with his gift clutched in her hand, she found herself cataloging details she’d miss: the way morning light hit the barn’s weathered boards, Boone’s rare half-smile when Bishop nudged his palm, the smell of Walker’s coffee brewing before dawn. Her chest tightened as her gaze swept across the empty corrals, seeing not what was, but what could be.
“I’d need my own space.” The words tumbled out before she’d fully decided to say them. “Not just the cabin, but an office.”
Walker blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “We could convert part of the barn. Make you a proper office.”
“And I’d want to bring in a horse trainer. For the equine therapy program.”
He nodded, that smile growing more confident. “I’d planned on it.”
“And we’d need proper facilities. A real clinic space, not just improvised rooms.”
“We’ll build it. Whatever you need.”
“Okay,” she said, making up her mind. “I’ll stay.”
When she left her cabin just before midnight, she found Walker and Boone sitting in mismatched chairs on the porch of the main house, a small table between them bearing three mugs and a thermos. Bishop lay at Boone’s feet, head resting on his boots. The dog’s ears perked up when she approached, and he thumped his tail twice in greeting. Stars crowded the black sky above, so bright and numerous they didn’t look real after years of city living. The porch lights were off, but lanterns hung from the eaves cast a warm glow over the wooden boards.
“Made it just in time.” Walker stood and pulled over another chair for her, its legs scraping against the wooden boards.
“Thanks.” She settled in, accepting the mug he offered. Steam rose from the hot cider, scented with cinnamon and cloves. She wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for its warmth. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Could go inside,” Boone suggested, though he made no move to do so.
“No,” she said. “This is perfect.”
And it was. The cold air, the vast star-filled sky, the quiet of the ranch stretching out around them. No television blaring the Times Square countdown, no forced party atmosphere. Just the three of them, Bishop, and the expectantsilence of a year about to turn.
Boone looked different tonight. His hair was freshly cut, likely his own doing, as evidenced by the slightly uneven edges. He wore his new jacket buttoned all the way up against the cold, and though his expression was still guarded, there wasn’t as much ice in his eyes now. Bishop’s influence, perhaps. Or maybe just the knowledge that he didn’t have to run anymore.
“Did you contact your office?” Walker asked her, his voice low.
She nodded. “Called this afternoon. They weren’t thrilled, but they’ll manage.”
“And your apartment?”
“Sublet starts next week. I’ll need to go back to pack up what I want to keep.”
Boone looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re staying? For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” she said, watching his reaction.
His face revealed nothing at first, then he gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Bishop likes you.”
She smiled. “High praise.”
“Highest there is,” Boone said, scratching the dog’s ears. Bishop leaned into the touch, eyes half-closed in pure bliss.
They fell silent, sipping their cider, watching their breath fog in the cold air. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Reflective. The kind of silence that comes at the threshold of something new.
“You know what this means,” Walker said eventually. “More work for all of us. More dogs. Horses, eventually. More men like you, Boone.”
“Men like me,” Boone repeated softly. “Lost causes, you mean.”
“No.” Walker’s voice was firm. “Men who deserve a second chance. Men who can build something here, same as we are.”
Boone nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on some distant pointbeyond the yard. “Never thought I’d make it to another year,” he admitted. “After prison, I mean. Figured I’d end up back inside or...” He didn’t finish the thought.
A lump rose in Johanna’s throat, and she took a sip of cider to ease it. She’d heard variations of this confession too many times in her career, from veterans whose hopelessness had taken them to the darkest places. The fact that Boone could speak it aloud now, here, was significant.
