“How many residents are you planning to take in?”
“Room enough for eight men, eventually. Maybe more if I renovate some of the guest cabins on the property.” Walker hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “But I wanted to getit right before—” He stopped. “Before I tried with a full house.”
So for now, there was only Boone. The loneliness of it struck her—this big empty space waiting to be filled, and just the two of them rattling around in it. The isolation must be overwhelming.
Walker opened the door without knocking. Inside was a cozy living room with a TV, fireplace, and two leather sectionals. There was even a pool table by the big windows that overlooked the back pasture. A hall off the living room led to several small, private rooms.
“Boone?” Walker called. “You in here?”
No answer. The bunkhouse was silent except for the soft popping of the fire someone had started in the hearth. Walker’s jaw tightened, but he pushed through the living room toward the kitchen.
Boone was at the table, arms crossed, glowering at a can of chili. He looked up once, saw them, and went back to glaring at the food.
Johanna knew from her research that he was young, not even thirty yet, but it was a world-weary kind of young. He had a big frame, gym-cut shoulders, dark hair that needed a trim months ago, a jaw shadowed by a thick layer of beard scruff. His knuckles were bandaged, indicating a recent fight.
But his eyes were what caught her—a beautiful navy blue as cold and volatile as the deep ocean.
Walker nodded at him. “Boone, this is Dr. Perrin.”
Boone grunted. Not quite a greeting, but not a challenge, either. He uncrossed his arms and pushed the can to the center of the table.
“She’s here to help with the adjustment,” Walker said. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”
Boone’s eyes cut to hers, then away. “Whatever.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Boone,” she said softly. “Walker’s told me some of what you’ve been going through, and I’d love to help if I can.”
He shrugged, shoulders tight under his Army hoodie. He traced a ring of rust on the table with his thumb. The silence stretched, unbroken except for the pop of the wood in the stove.
Walker cleared his throat. “Dr. Perrin’s got experience with?—”
“I don’t care who she is or what she’s got experience with,” Boone muttered. “I’m not talking to her.”
Walker’s lips flattened, but he didn’t give up. “She ran the therapy program at the VA in Missoula and volunteered with Frontier Veterans Services. Helped a lot of guys.”
Boone huffed. “Don’t need help. Just need a place to sleep.”
He stood, chair scraping loudly against the floor. Six-four, maybe, with hands that looked like they’d rather break something than shake it. He moved to the counter and started opening drawers at random. His whole body radiated a low-level warning, like a guard dog behind a chain link fence.
Walker held the silence a beat, then tried again. “We’re going to set up a group dinner tonight. Gets dark too early out here. Company helps.”
Boone didn’t answer. He found a spoon, snapped the can open, and ate straight from the tin.
Walker gave up and headed for the door.
After one last glance back at Boone, Johanna followed. Outside, it was even colder, the wind rising out of the west.
“I can’t get through to him,” Walker admitted, voice low. “That’s why I called.”
Yes, she could see that. And his file had already painted a bleak picture. She zipped her jacket, eyes on the horizon. “What do you expect me to do? He’s not going to trust me.”
“He won’t trust anyone.”
She looked at him, searching for some sign that this was a lost cause. “Why are you doing this, Walker? For real.”
He shrugged. “Somebody has to.”
“Why you?”
