He either didn’t have an answer or didn’t want to give one. He glanced back at the bunkhouse, eyes narrowed, then turned and stomped off toward the main house.
Johanna stood in the yard for a minute, watching the snow chase itself across the bare ground. She heard the bunkhouse door slam, then Boone’s boots hitting the porch steps. He didn’t look at her. He stomped off toward the barn, head down against the wind.
She followed at a distance, letting him set the pace. Boone stopped at the edge of the field, hands jammed in his pockets, face aimed at the sky. Johanna stood a few yards back, not crowding him, waiting to see what he’d do.
“You’re still here?” Boone said, not turning around.
“Still here.”
“Why?”
“Walker asked me to be.”
“You do everything he asks?”
Her gut response was a vehement, “No!”, but she bit it back. “Not usually,” she said carefully instead and stepped closer. “But I’ve been known to make exceptions.”
Boone’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment she thought he might walk away. Instead, he turned to face her, his eyes narrowing against the cold.
“You know about me. About what I did.” It wasn’t a question.
“I read your file, yes.”
He snorted. “And now you’re here to fix me. To crawl inside my head and make everything better.”
The bitterness in his voice was so thick she could almosttaste it. But there was something else there too—a flicker of hope, quickly disguised as defiance. He wanted help, even if he’d never admit it.
“I’m not here to fix you,” Johanna said. “I don’t think you’re broken.”
He stared at her with those cold blue eyes, searching for the lie. “Bullshit.”
“I mean it. I don’t believe in fixing people. I believe in helping them find their own way forward.” She gestured at the empty field around them. “This place could be good for you. But only if you want it to be.”
Boone’s jaw worked, the muscles tightening and releasing. He looked away. “My mom didn’t recognize me today. Called me Micah—that’s my dad’s name.” His voice cracked slightly. “Fucking Hank Goodwin of all people had to talk her down. Whole time, he’s looking at me like I’m the one who caused it when it was his fucking family that threw her out on her ass for falling in love with the wrong guy.”
“That must have been awful.”
“Been happening more and more. Doctor says it’s early-onset dementia. Says she’ll need full-time care eventually.” His shoulders slumped. “And I’m all she’s got.”
“That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”
“Not like I have a choice.” He kicked at a clump of snow. “Can’t exactly put her in a home on my non-existent salary. Nobody wants to hire an ex-con.”
“Walker did.”
“Walker’s delusional. He sees something in me that ain’t there.”
This young man reminded her of so many others she’d worked with—angry, lost, carrying the weight of the world. But there was something raw about Boone that cut deeper, a pain so fresh it might as well have been bleeding.
“What if he sees something that is there, but you just can’t recognize it yet?”
Boone’s laugh was harsh. “Lady, I killed a man with my bare hands. I’m exactly what everyone thinks I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Dangerous.” He said it like a badge of honor, but his eyes betrayed him—there was fear there, too. Fear of himself.
“I’ve worked with dangerous men before.” She kept her voice even, professional. The wind picked up, sending a swirl of snow between them. “But I’ve rarely met one who checks on his mother every day, no matter how much it hurts when she doesn’t recognize him.”
