“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.” She smiled, the small lines around her eyes crinkling. “Penny for your thoughts?”
He almost said something light, something easy. But thetruth pressed against his chest, demanding to be spoken. “A year ago today, I thought you were leaving.”
Her hands stilled on a bag of flour. “I remember.”
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her against him and remind her of all the ways they worked together. But something held him back—the same something that had kept them dancing around each other for a year now.
“Jo,” he started, not sure what he was going to say but needing to say something.
“Hey!” Boone’s voice cut through the moment. “Either of you know where the star went? Can’t find it in any of these boxes.”
Johanna’s eyes held his for one more heartbeat before she turned away. “Check the small box on the bottom shelf,” she called back. “The one with the red ribbon.”
Walker took a deep breath, the Tootsie Pop clicking against his teeth as he worked it around his mouth.
Damn Boone and his timing.
Or maybe it was for the best.
“Nope, not here,” Boone called.
Johanna sighed. “I’m sure he’s looking right at it.” She squeezed his arm and headed into the living room.
Walker watched her go, arm tingling where she’d touched it. He rolled the Tootsie Pop against the roof of his mouth and listened to the sounds of her voice mingling with Boone’s in the next room—the same easy rhythm he’d woken to for three hundred and sixty-some mornings now. Her coffee mug from breakfast still sat beside his in the sink. Her boots stood next to his by the door. Her calendar hung on the wall with both their handwriting marking the days. Yet every night, she walked to her cabin, leaving behind the scent of her shampoo and a silence he couldn’t quite fill.
“Jesus Christ,” Boone said from the doorway. “You two are killing me.Just tell her already.”
Walker turned, defensive heat rising in his neck. “Tell her what?”
Boone gave him a flat look, the one he reserved for when Walker was being particularly dense. “That you’re in love with her. We all see it. Hell, Bishop sees it, and he’s a dog.”
Bishop, hearing his name, wandered over and sat at Boone’s feet, looking up at Walker with what seemed like judgment in his brown eyes.
Walker ran a hand through his hair, buying time. “It’s not that simple.”
“Pretty sure it is,” Boone countered. “Three words. Eight letters.”
“We’ve got a good thing going,” Walker said. “The ranch, the therapy program. What if I mess it up?”
Boone’s expression softened. “What if you don’t?” He shook his head. “Look, a year ago you found me a dog because you thought I needed something to care about besides my own shit. Maybe you should take your own advice.”
Walker didn’t respond, just looked toward the hallway Johanna had disappeared down.
Boone sighed and turned back toward the tree. “Fine. Keep pining like a teenager. But you should know she’s got that same stupid look on her face when she watches you.”
“She’s been gone a while,” Walker said, his gaze fixed on the hallway.
Boone shrugged. “Probably rearranging the boxes to make them more organized. You know how she gets.”
Walker crunched down on what remained of his Tootsie Pop, the grape candy giving way to the chocolate center. He was about to respond when Johanna reappeared, her brow furrowed.
“The box with the silver garland and star is missing,” she said, brushing dust from her hands. “I’ve looked everywhere. It should be with the others, but it’s not there.”
“Maybe it got moved when we fixed the leak in the ceiling this summer?” Walker suggested, tossing the candy stick in the trash.
