“Well, you made it,” she said. “And from a professional standpoint, I’d say you’re doing remarkably well.”
Boone almost smiled at that. “Yeah? That going in your report?”
“Absolutely. ‘Subject demonstrates improved capacity for attachment, as evidenced by relationship with canine companion. Recommended treatment: continued integration into ranch activities, with emphasis on responsibility and purpose.’”
This time Boone did smile, just a quick upward quirk of his lips. “Thanks for the psychobabble, Doc.”
“Anytime.”
Walker checked his watch again. “Two minutes.”
He reached beside his chair and pulled up a small cooler Johanna hadn’t noticed before. From it, he produced a bottle of sparkling cider and three plastic champagne flutes.
“Best I could do on short notice,” he explained, twisting the cap off the bottle.
“It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it.
Walker filled each flute with the bubbling cider and passed them around. Bishop watched the proceedings with interest, his head tilted to one side.
“Should we toast?” Boone asked, looking uncertain.
“To Valor Ridge,” Walker suggested, raising his glass. “And new beginnings.”
“To second chances,” Johanna added.
They clinked their plastic glasses together. No fireworks exploded overhead. No crowds cheered. Just the three of them, raising their glasses in the cold night air, marking the moment with nothing more than their presence.
part two
9 years ago
JONAH
eleven
The scraggly pine tree looked even worse than last year’s, if that was possible. One side completely flat, needles already shedding onto the floor, and a definite lean to the left that would require some creative engineering with the stand. Perfect. Walker grinned as he and Boone wrestled it through the front door, the scent of fresh pine filling the living room. Some men bought perfect trees from lots. The men of Valor Ridge cut down the most pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree they could find on their own land. It was tradition now.
“Easy,” Walker warned as they maneuvered it toward the corner. “You’re gonna take out the lamp.”
Boone laughed. An actual laugh, not the bitter snort that had been his default response a year ago. “Relax, old man. I’ve got it.” He adjusted his grip, guiding the top away from the furniture with surprising gentleness for a man his size.
Bishop trotted alongside them, tail wagging as he supervised the operation. The German Shepherd’s muzzle had a bit more gray than when they’d adopted him, but he moved with the same quiet dignity, watching his person with unwavering attention.
“There,” Boone said as they settled the tree into the stand. He knelt to tighten the screws, Bishop immediately sitting beside him, pressed against his leg. “Ugliest tree in Montana, secured for duty.”
“That’s the point,” Walker said, standing back to assess their handiwork. “Any fool can decorate a perfect tree.”
“Takes real talent to make this sad bastard look good,” Boone agreed, giving Bishop an absent scratch behind the ear. The dog leaned into his touch, back leg thumping the floor.
“Should’ve called him Thumper.” Walker watched them, a lump of emotion rising in his throat. A year ago, Boone had been ready to drive away forever, convinced he didn’t deserve a place here or anywhere. Now he moved through the ranch with the easy confidence of a man who knew exactly where he belonged. The change was as striking as the contrast between last year’s empty house and this one, warm with life and purpose.
He cleared his throat and unwrapped a fresh Tootsie Pop. Grape this time, his second favorite. “Box of decorations is in the closet.”
Boone retrieved the cardboard box and set it on the coffee table with a thud. “Same sad collection as last year?”
“Plus a few new ones.” Walker popped the candy in his cheek, the familiar sweetness settling something in him. Some habits didn’t need changing.
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, hanging the mismatched ornaments from the thrift store. The wooden horse with the broken leg went near the top again.
