“It’s not about one mistake,” Jonah said, turning back to his truck. “It’s about knowing when to?—”
The crunch of tires on gravel cut him off. Walker turned to see Boone’s truck pulling into the yard, snow already gathering on its hood and windshield. Jonah’s spine stiffened, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact.
Boone killed the engine and stepped out, his expression shifting from tired to confused as he took in the scene—Jonah with his duffel bag, the idling truck, Walker and Johanna standing in the falling snow like they were trying to form a human barricade.
“What’s going on?” Boone asked, striding toward them.
Walker watched Jonah’s face harden, his jaw setting into a stubborn line. Whatever progress they’d been making had just evaporated.
sixteen
Boone’s stomach dropped when he saw the scene playing out in the driveway under the big cottonwood tree. Everything was the same—the idling truck, duffel bag visible through the window, exhaust puffing white in the falling snow. Even the timing felt deliberate: Christmas Eve.
Apparently, the universe had a sense of humor.
Jonah stood beside the truck with an ice scraper in hand. Walker and Johanna flanked him like they were trying to talk him down from a ledge. The kid’s jaw was set, his spine rigid as he cleared the last of the ice from the windshield.
“Shit,” he muttered.
The two dogs in the backseat sat up. Bishop calmly, the Cattle Dog puppy like a spring. He glanced back at the pup he’d picked up on a whim after visiting with his mom. His Christmas gift for Walker. “How am I going to hide you?”
The puppy barked. Bishop whined softly from the backseat.
Boone sighed, grabbed his hat from the passenger seat, and slid out of the truck.
“Just stay,” he murmured to the dogs as he closed thedoor, hoping the Cattle Dog puppy would actually listen. Fat chance. The thing had the attention span of a gnat and twice the energy.
He approached the trio slowly, snow crunching beneath his boots. Jonah’s shoulders tensed further with each step Boone took. The kid’s face was a careful blank, but his knuckles were white around the ice scraper.
“What’s going on?” he asked, though he already knew.
Walker turned, his expression grim. “Jonah’s leaving.”
“In this weather?” Boone glanced at the darkening sky, the snow falling heavier now. “Storm’s coming in fast.”
“I’ll beat it if I leave now.” Jonah tossed the scraper onto the passenger seat through the open window. “Already said my goodbyes.”
Walker shot Boone a look that spoke volumes—a silent plea to fix what he’d broken this morning. Boone suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t good at this part. Fixing things with words had never been his strong suit.
“Look,” he started, then stopped, uncertain how to continue. Jonah was already moving toward the driver’s side door. “Wait.”
He paused, his hand on the door handle. “What?”
Boone moved to the passenger side of the truck and pulled open the door. “Get in.”
Jonah blinked, confusion momentarily breaking through his mask. “What?”
“Get in.” Boone met his gaze over the hood. “Five minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”
Jonah glanced at Walker and Johanna, who stood back watching the exchange. Johanna gave an encouraging nod and then pulled a scowling Walker toward the house.
The woman was an angel. He’d called her with his idea of getting Walker a dog for Christmas, and she must have spotted the puppy in his cab.
Boone waited until they were in the house, then climbed into the passenger seat.
After a tense moment, Jonah exhaled and pulled open the driver’s side door. He slid into the seat, keeping his eyes forward, shoulders stiff. The scent of cigarettes, coffee, and cheap aftershave filled the cab, reminding Boone of his own truck a year ago, when he’d been the one with one foot out the door.
“So talk,” Jonah said, his voice flat.
