His jaw tightened.
Someone had been working on this tree. Deliberately. The cuts weren’t random. They circled the trunk at the base, weakening it. He straightened, scanning the area. The snow had covered any tracks from last night, but the evidence was there in the wood itself.
Boone moved closer, cigarette dangling from his lips. He bent to inspect the cuts, ran his gloved fingers over the scored wood. “Fuck, this wasn’t an accident.”
“No,” Walker said. “It wasn’t.”
Jonah’s face went pale. “You think someone sabotaged it?”
Walker didn’t answer right away. He looked at the crushed truck, at the way the tree had fallen directly onto it. Perfect timing. Perfect placement. If they’d been inside when it came down, they’d both be dead.
“Who’d want to hurt us?” Jonah asked.
That was the question. Walker’s mind went to HankGoodwin first. The sheriff had been making a lot of noise lately, stirring up trouble in town about Valor Ridge. Calling it a haven for criminals. Saying men like them didn’t deserve second chances. But would Hank escalate to attempted murder? Hard to say. The man had a mean streak and a grudge that ran deep.
Could’ve been someone else. They’d made enemies over the last year. Men who didn’t want them here, who thought the ranch was a stain on the valley.
But sabotaging a tree? That didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense.
“Walker?”
Johanna’s voice cut through his thoughts. She stood on the porch, wrapped in her heavy coat, her breath visible in the cold air. “Breakfast is ready. You three coming in, or are you planning to freeze out here?”
He glanced at Boone and Jonah. Boone crushed out his cigarette in the snow. Jonah still looked shaken, his eyes fixed on the ax in Walker’s hands.
“Yeah,” Walker called back. “We’re coming.”
He carried the ax with him as they trudged toward the house. Cowboy and Bishop trotted alongside, and the puppy’s face was coated in snow. The smell of coffee and bacon drifted through the open door, warm and inviting after the bitter chill outside.
But Walker’s mind wouldn’t settle. Someone had done this. Someone had tried to kill two of his men. And until he knew who, none of them were safe.
He paused at the base of the porch steps, looking back at the fallen tree. The snow was already covering it, softening the jagged edges, hiding the evidence beneath a blanket of white. By tomorrow, it would look almost peaceful. Just another casualty of winter.
But Walker knew better.
“Walker?” Johanna called again, concern creeping into her tone.
He shook his head, dismissing the worry for now. No point in ruining Christmas breakfast with speculation.
He climbed the steps and followed Boone and Jonah inside, where warmth and the smell of Jo’s cooking wrapped around him like a blanket. Butter, maple syrup, and coffee—his favorite combination of scents.
Johanna stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. She glanced over her shoulder at them, her eyes lingering on the ax in Walker’s hands.
“Everything okay out there?”
“Fine,” Walker said, propping the ax against the wall by the door. He’d deal with it later. Or not deal with it. The tree was old, rotted through. The ax had probably just been misplaced. Simple as that.
He moved to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup. The heat seeped through the ceramic into his palms.
Jonah slid into a chair at the table, shoulders hunched. Boone took the seat across from him, Bishop settling at his feet. Cowboy tried to climb into Walker’s chair, got shooed down, and settled for sprawling across Boone’s boots instead.
“Puppy’s going to be a handful,” Johanna said, setting a plate of pancakes on the table.
“Already is,” Walker muttered, pulling out his chair at the head of the table.
“These look amazing,” Jonah said and added a heaping stack to his plate. The hesitant, withdrawn kid from yesterday had vanished, replaced by a man who radiated the same eagerness as the puppy.
“Jo makes the best pancakes in three counties,” Boone confirmed, already drowning his in syrup.
