Boone hung the ornament carefully. “Stopped by to see my mom yesterday. Took her some groceries.”
Walker nodded, knowing better than to make a big deal of it. Leonora was doing better these days, stable on her meds since the hospital stay. Still talked to imaginary people in public and fed every stray in a five-mile radius, but she wasn’tin danger of hurting herself anymore. The town had adjusted, mostly. She was just Leonora now, the eccentric lady on Old Timber Road, not the cautionary tale she used to be.
“How’s she doing?”
“Good. Better.” Boone pulled out a small clay disk, crudely painted with paw prints. “Bishop’s first Christmas ornament,” he said, his voice softening. “Jo’s idea.”
“She’s good like that,” Walker agreed. “Remembering the important stuff.”
“Speaking of...” Boone reached into the box again and pulled out the carving of the three of them and Bishop. “You made this one, right? For Jo’s first Christmas here.”
The memory of that day was as sharp and clear as if it had just happened yesterday—standing with Johanna by her car, thinking she was leaving, offering the carving as a reminder of what could have been. Instead, she’d stayed. They’d built something together, something neither of them had dared name yet.
The sound of tires on gravel cut through his thoughts. Bishop’s ears perked up, and he was at the door in an instant, tail wagging in anticipation.
“Your woman’s home,” Boone said, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“She’s not—” Walker started, then stopped. They both knew better. “She’s bringing groceries for tomorrow. Said she wanted to make a real Christmas dinner this year.”
Boone snorted. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The door swung open, bringing a blast of cold air and Johanna, her arms full of grocery bags, her dark hair escaping from its braid, cheeks flushed from the cold. Bishop greeted her with a gentle nudge, careful not to upset her balance.
“Little help here,” she called, laughing as she tried to shut the door with her foot.
Walker strode over and took some of the bags while Boonegot the door. The brief brush of her cold fingers against his warm ones sent the same jolt through him it always did, even after a year of these casual touches. She smiled up at him, a quick, private thing that still made his heart stutter in his chest.
“Kitchen,” she directed, as if he needed telling. “Got everything for tomorrow, plus stuff for breakfast.”
Johanna started unpacking groceries, passing items to him without looking, trusting he’d be where she needed him to be. And he was. Potatoes in the cabinet by the sink. Butter in the dish on the counter, not the fridge. Coffee—the good kind she liked—on the shelf above the machine.
“Need the flour for those cookies I promised,” she said, reaching for a high shelf where her fingertips just barely brushed the container.
Walker moved behind her, not quite touching but close enough to feel her warmth, and reached up to get it. “These better be worth all the fuss.”
“They’re my grandmother’s recipe,” she countered, turning to face him, not stepping away from their almost-embrace. “Of course they’re worth it.”
“I’ll have to be the judge of that,” he murmured, still not stepping back.
“If you two are done with...” Boone made a vague gesture encompassing their entire dynamic, “whatever this is, I need to know where the garland went. The tree looks naked without it.”
Johanna’s laugh broke the moment, though her hand lingered on Walker’s arm for a beat longer than necessary. “Check the red box. I reorganized everything when we put it away last year.”
“Of course you did,” Boone muttered and headed back to the living room with Bishop faithfully on his heels.
“So,” she said and turned back to him. “Where is our new resident?”
“Where else? Out in the barn with the horses.” Jonah Reed had spent more time with the horses in the weeks since he arrived than with anyone else, save for Jo. But that was only because of his twice-weekly mandated therapy sessions.
The kid wasn’t a troublemaker. In fact, he was almost unbearably polite, which had Walker holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. “Should I be worried about him?”
“He’s still settling in. Give him time.” She unpacked a bag of chocolate chips and set it on the counter next to the flour. “I’m not concerned. Some men need more time than others to open up. Jonah’s just quiet.”
“Too quiet. I don’t trust it.” He rolled the Tootsie Pop to his other cheek. “Boone at least made noise. Slammed doors. Cursed. Threw things.”
“Not everyone processes trauma the same way.” She glanced toward the living room, where Boone was cursing softly as he untangled a string of lights. “Besides, I think Jonah’s as good for the horses as they are for him. Sunshine Serenade has been much calmer since he started working with her.”
Walker leaned against the counter and watched her sort through the groceries. He still couldn’t quite believe how seamlessly she’d integrated herself into his life, into the ranch. A year ago, she’d been about to drive away. Now she moved through his kitchen as if she owned it. Which, in many ways, she did.
