He glanced at the pile Jonah had already built. Enough to last them a week, easy. The kid wasn’t working toward a goal anymore. He was just working.
“About this morning,” Walker began, choosing his words carefully. “Boone was out of line. You couldn’t have known about our history with Hank.”
“It’s fine.” Jonah placed another log on the stack. “He was right. I should have asked first.”
“No, he wasn’t. That’s not how we do things here.” He stepped closer, trying to break through the invisible barrier Jonah had erected. “Valor Ridge works because we communicate. That’s on all of us, including me. I should have briefed you properly when you first arrived.”
Jonah finally looked up, his expression carefully blank. “I appreciate that, but really, it’s fine. No harm done.”
But there was harm—Walker could see it in the way Jonah held himself, in the careful distance he maintained. The young man had already retreated behind walls that would be twice as hard to break down now.
“Listen,” Walker tried again. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? Johanna’s cooking. We can talk about?—”
“I promised Sunny some extra grooming time,” Jonah cut in. “But thanks for the offer.”
The dismissal was clear, wrapped in respectful language but unmistakable. Walker recognized the tactic—he’d used it himself too many times.Keep busy. Stay polite. Maintain distance. Don’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again.
“Alright,” he conceded, knowing when to back off. “But the offer stands. Any time.”
Jonah nodded, already turning back to his task. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Walker watched him for a moment longer, then headed toward the barn. He’d give Jonah space today, but tomorrow they’d need to address this head-on. The kid was too valuable, too promising, to lose to isolation.
The barn was quiet and dim when he entered, the only sound the soft shuffling of horses in their stalls. The temperature inside was noticeably warmer than outside, the industrial heaters they’d installed over the summer keeping the animals comfortable against the cold.
Walker moved down the center aisle, checking water buckets. Dust Devil snorted and stomped as he passed.
“I know, boy.” He backtracked to give his horse some attention. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. We’ll go out for a ride as soon as this upcoming storm passes.”
He patted Dusty’s side, and in the stall next door, Sunny nickered softly. She moved to the front of the stall, earspricked forward with interest. He went to her next and reached out to stroke her golden neck, her coat smooth and warm beneath his palm.
“Hey, girl. Looking for your boy, aren’t you?” The mare nudged his hand, searching for treats. “Sorry, fresh out. Jonah’s the one with the peppermints.”
Walker checked her water and hay, though he knew Jonah would have already seen to it. The kid never neglected the horses. If anything, he was overly attentive, spending hours on tasks that should take minutes, just to have an excuse to stay in the barn.
At least he was connecting with something living, even if it wasn’t human.
A soft noise from the back of the barn caught Walker’s attention. He followed it, rounding the corner to the small tack room. Johanna stood with her back to him, hanging bridles on their hooks, her dark braid falling down her spine. She sensed his presence and turned, offering a tired smile that still managed to knock the air from his lungs.
“Hey,” she said. “I was just organizing. Needed something mindless after today.”
Walker leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her—strong hands capable of both fierceness and gentleness, dark eyes that saw through his defenses, the smudge of dust on her cheek he wanted to brush away with his thumb.
“How’s the office?” she asked.
“Secure for now. New locks are in. Boone’s contact in Wyoming is coming after Christmas with a camera system.” He straightened, moving into the small room. “How are you holding up?”
She sighed and hung the last of the bridles. “Angry. Violated. Worried about Boone and how he’s reacting to having his privacy violated. But mostly concerned aboutJonah. I saw him earlier, looking like he was trying to make himself invisible.”
“I just spoke to him. Don’t think I helped the situation.” He picked up a bridle she’d missed and moved past her to hang it with the others. He turned to her and realized how close they were, almost chest to chest in the small room. He inhaled the coconut of her shampoo mixed with the leather of the tack room. She was close enough that he could see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes, the tiny scar above her left eyebrow from a childhood fall she’d told him about once, years ago.
“Walker,” she whispered.
His name on her lips did something to him. Always had, from the very first time she’d said it. Made him feel like he mattered, like he was more than his mistakes. Made him feel like the man he was trying to become rather than the man he’d been.
“Jo,” he answered, the single syllable carrying everything he couldn’t say.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then came back up to meet his gaze. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with a year’s worth of careful distance and careful touches. Her breath hitched, and he watched the pulse at her throat quicken.
