His face softened slightly, but his stance remained defensive. “He needs to face it eventually.”
“And he will,” she repeated. “When he’s ready. Not when you decide it’s time.”
They were standing close now. Close enough that she could see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides. Close enough that she remembered New Year’s Eve, the way his mouth had felt on hers, the way her hands had gripped his shoulders.
They weren’t just talking about River anymore.
“And if he’s never ready?” he asked, the question layered with other, unspoken ones. “Do we just keep waiting?”
Johanna’s throat tightened. The oven timer beeped, a shrill intrusion neither of them moved to silence. “You’re making it black and white, Walker. It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” He planted his hands on the counter again, leaning forward. “At some point, a person has to make a choice. Move forward or stay stuck. You can’t straddle the fence forever.”
The cookie sheet between them might as well have been a canyon. Johanna straightened, squaring her shoulders. “You’re pushing too hard.”
“And you’re not pushing hard enough.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the insistent oven timer.
“This isn’t about us,” she finally said quietly.
Walker exhaled hard. “It’s been a year, Jo.”
She reached for the oven mitts, needing something to do with her hands. The cookies inside were turning golden at the edges, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon filling the kitchen. “I told you I couldn’t promise a timeline.”
“And I told you I’d wait.” His voice softened, the edge of frustration dulling. “I meant it. I still mean it. But sometimes I wonder if you’re waiting because you’re not ready, or because you’re afraid to find out what ready feels like.”
She pulled the cookies from the oven and set the hot sheet on the stovetop. She kept her back to him for a moment, composing herself. When she turned, his blue eyes were watching her, patient and knowing.
“Maybe a bit of both,” she admitted.
He nodded once, accepting her honesty without pushing further. He straightened, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
She set the spatula down, the metal making a soft clickagainst the countertop. She’d known this conversation was coming. Had felt it building for months in the lingering looks, the casual touches that weren’t casual at all, the way they finished each other’s sentences.
“You’re not wrong to ask where we stand,” she said. “It’s been a year.”
Walker leaned against the counter, his body angled toward hers, but still maintaining that careful distance they’d perfected. “I meant what I said that night. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten. This man who commanded respect with a single look, who could be so stubborn about everything else, had infinite patience when it came to her.
“What if it takes forever?” she asked, voicing the fear that had kept her awake on too many nights.
“Then I’ll wait forever.” The simplicity of his answer nearly undid her.
She took her mixing bowl to the sink, needing to put distance between them, needing something to do with her hands so she didn’t reach for him. “That’s not fair to you.”
“I decide what’s fair to me.” There was that stubborn edge again, the one that had both frustrated and drawn her to him from the beginning.
Outside, Boone’s voice rose, sharp with irritation. River’s laughter followed, high and almost manic.
Walker sighed heavily and pushed off the counter. “I swear to God that kid’ll be the death of me.”
“Go,” she said, waving her hand toward the door. “Before Boone actually throttles him.”
Walker hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face. “We’re not done with this conversation.”
“I know.” She managed a small smile. “But the ranch comes first. Always has.”
