Something shifted in Jonah’s expression, a crack in the careful facade. He turned toward Boone fully, eyes searching his face like he was looking for the trick, the catch, the lie. “You had a reason to stay. Your mom’s here, you have family ties here.”
“The Goodwins?” He snorted. “Those family ties were cut a long time ago.”
“So, what? Are you going to tell me my reason now? Why should I stay?”
He wished he had the perfect answer, the magic words that would make everything click into place for Jonah. But he only had the truth.
“I don’t know. It’s different for everybody. I did stay for Mom, at first. And for Walker. And myself, because I needed to be here even when I didn’t want to admit it. Then Bishop was my reason. And then it became something bigger. The ranch. The work. Finding a place where my past didn’t define me. Finding a way to repent for my sins. Finding a purpose.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You can’t find any of that on the road, Jonah, and I can’t promise you’ll find all of it here, but you might. Stay through Christmas. Just one more day. See what happens.”
Jonah’s hands tightened on the wheel until Boone thought he might snap it in two. The truck’s engine kept rumbling, ready to carry him away from Valor Ridge. His expression gave nothing away, but a war clearly raged beneath the surface, the pull between running and staying, between fear and hope.
Boone stayed silent and let him work through it. He knew how hard the decision could be.
Then Jonah reached down and turned the key. The engine went silent.
Relief flooded through Boone, so strong he had to work to keep it off his face. He didn’t want Jonah to think he was being patronizing or smug. This wasn’t about winning an argument. It was about giving someone the same chance he’d been given.
“Help me get the puppy settled into the bunkhouse,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Then let’s go have dinner. Jo always makes too much food for just Walker and me.”
Jonah nodded, a small, tight movement, but didn’t say anything.
They climbed out together, but Jonah paused and stood for a moment beside his truck, looking back at his duffel bag inside. He hadn’t committed to staying, not fully, but he wasn’t leaving yet either.
“One night,” Boone said as they started toward his truck. “See how you feel after Christmas dinner.”
Jonah nodded, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as they trudged through the thickening snow. The puppy was practically vibrating with excitement now, bouncing from window to window inside the truck cab.
“He’s going to be a handful,” Jonah said, a hint of amusement breaking through his carefully neutral expression.
“That’s what I was thinking. Walker’s going to?—”
A sharp crack split the air.
Boone froze, the sound registering as a gunshot for a half-second before his brain caught up. His head snapped around toward the source—the massive cottonwood tree that Jonah’s truck was parked beneath.
The ancient trunk was tilting, moving in slow motion as decades of growth surrendered to gravity and the weight of the new snow. Branches groaned, ice cracked, and a sound like thunder rolled through the winter air.
“Run!” Boone shouted, grabbing Jonah’s arm and yanking him backward.
They sprinted away from the falling tree, boots slipping in the fresh snow. The massive cottonwood crashed down with a deafening roar, landing squarely atop Jonah’s truck. Metal crunched and glass shattered as the full weight of the ancient tree crushed the cab like it was made of paper.
Boone’s ears rang with the impact. He stared at the wreckage, his heart hammering against his ribs. The truck was completely flattened, the duffel bag and everything else inside buried beneath splintered wood and twisted metal.
“Holy shit,” Jonah whispered beside him, his face pale with shock.
Frantic barking erupted from Boone’s truck. Bishop and the puppy were going crazy, their silhouettes visible through the snow-dusted windows as they leaped and pawed at the glass.
“You okay?” Boone asked, scanning Jonah for injuries.
“Yeah.” Jonah couldn’t tear his eyes away from his demolished truck. “If we’d been inside...”
The thought settled cold in Boone’s stomach. Five seconds. Maybe less. That’s all the difference there had been between them standing here, alive and whole, or being crushed beneath tons of wood and snow.
The front door of the house slammed open, and Walker burst onto the porch with Johanna right behind him.
“What the hell was that?” Walker shouted, already moving toward them through the falling snow. Johanna was right on his heels.
“Tree came down,” Boone called back. “We’re fine.”
