Walker’s pace didn’t slow as he crossed the yard, his face tight with concern. He reached them and immediately grabbed Jonah’s shoulder, then Boone’s, as if needing to physically verify they were unharmed.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, taking in the crushed truck. “That was too damn close.” Then his gaze zeroed in on Boone’s truck, where the puppy was practically climbing the windows now. “Is that a… puppy?”
Boone looked between Walker’s surprised face and the crushed truck, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in his throat. The timing was too perfect, too absurd, like some cosmic joke played by a universe with a twisted sense of humor.
“Merry Christmas?” he offered with a helpless shrug.
Jonah stared at him for one stunned moment beforebursting into laughter—deep, genuine belly laughs that bent him double. The sound was startling, coming from the usually reserved Marine, but infectious. Walker joined in next, his gruff chuckles growing louder as he shook his head at the ridiculous scene before them. Johanna’s laughter followed, bright and clear in the snowy evening.
Boone couldn’t help himself. He laughed until his sides hurt, until tears froze on his cheeks in the cold air. The four of them stood there in the falling snow, surrounded by destruction and barking dogs, laughing like lunatics.
“Well, if I needed a sign,” Jonah gasped, wiping at his eyes, “you can get much clearer. I guess I’m staying.”
seventeen
Walker stood at the base of the fallen cottonwood, hands on his hips, breath puffing white in the cold morning air. The tree looked worse in daylight. Branches thick as his thigh splayed across the snow-covered ground, some driven deep into the frozen earth from the impact. Jonah’s truck was still there, crushed flat beneath the trunk. Metal glinted through gaps in the wood where the roof had buckled.
“Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse,” Boone said beside him.
Walker grunted. His chest tightened every time he thought about how close it had been. Five seconds. Maybe less. He’d watched them sprint away from his window, watched the tree come down, and for those few seconds before he knew they were safe, his whole world had narrowed to getting outside, getting to them.
Behind them, Cowboy bounded through the snow, his blue-gray coat already dusted white. The puppy barked and leaped at Bishop, who tolerated the chaos with the patience of a saint. The older dog would occasionally lift a paw to pinCowboy when the pup got too rowdy, then release him to tumble through the drifts again.
Walker watched the puppy attack a snowbank, disappearing into it nose-first before backing out with a sneeze. “You really thought I needed a dog?”
“Everyone needs a dog,” Boone said.
“I’ve got enough to worry about without cleaning up puppy shit.”
“Jo’s already in love with him.” Boone pulled out a cigarette, cupped his hands to light it. “You don’t stand a chance.”
Walker couldn’t argue with that. Johanna had spent twenty minutes last night cooing over the damn thing, scratching behind his ears while Cowboy wriggled in her lap like he’d found heaven. The name had been her idea, too. She’d taken one look at the blue merle and those bright eyes and declared him Cowboy on the spot.
So he supposed he had a dog now.
He circled the trunk, inspecting the damage. The tree had split clean near the base, the wood pale and raw where it had torn apart. Snow had already started to fill the hollow cavity inside. Rot. The center was soft, decayed from years of exposure and Montana winters. Should’ve seen it coming.
“Johanna’s been after me to take this thing down,” he admitted.
Boone exhaled smoke. “How long?”
“Since last Christmas. Took out a window on the house the night she found you drinking in the barn.” He nudged a chunk of bark with his boot. “Told her I’d get to it.”
“Guess it got to itself.”
Jonah approached from the other side, his boots crunching in the snow. His face was drawn, shadowed with exhaustion. Walker doubted the kid had slept much. Hell,none of them had. They’d stayed up late dealing with the mess, clearing enough debris to make the yard passable, moving Jonah’s belongings from the wreckage into the bunkhouse.
“Found something,” he said and held up an ax, the blade crusted with frozen wood shavings. The same one he had been using to split wood yesterday.
“Where was it?”
“Near the stump.” Jonah gestured toward the base of the tree, where the trunk had torn free. “Wedged in the snow.”
Walker took the ax and turned it over in his hands. “Did you leave it here?”
“No. I left it by the barn.”
“Huh.” Walker crouched, brushing snow away from the base of the tree. Cuts scored the wood, deep gouges that bit into the heartwood. Fresh cuts. Not weathered or old.
