She turned to look at him, surprised by the admission. “At what?”
“Waiting. Being still. Letting people come to you.” His fingers traced a pattern on the couch cushion between them. “I push too hard. Always have.”
“We’re good at different things,” she countered. “You gave Boone structure. Jonah purpose.” She thought of the way Walker had rebuilt both men, giving each exactly what they needed to find themselves again. “River needs... space to be broken without being judged.”
Walker’s eyes met hers, blue even in the dim light. “What would I do without you?”
The question hung between them, weighted with everything they’d never said aloud. Three years of careful distance, of professional boundaries slowly blurring into something neither of them had named. Her throat tightened.
“You’ll never have to find out,” she said, the words barely above a whisper.
His hand moved across the cushion, covering hers. His palm was warm, callused from years of ranch work, solid against her skin. She turned her hand over, letting their fingers intertwine. Such a small gesture, holding hands like teenagers, yet her pulse jumped at the contact.
Walker’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, then back to her face. Something shifted in his eyes, a decision forming. He leaned forward slightly, just enough for her to feel his breath warm against her cheek.
She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t, even as her mind raced with all the reasons she should. This was Walker, who carried the guilt of her husband’s death like his own sin. Walker, who’d built Valor Ridge from nothing, who poured everything into saving broken men because he believed himself beyond redemption. Walker, whose touch made her feel more alive than she had in years.
But the memory of Nick rose between them, unbidden. Not the husband she’d loved before deployment changed him, but the stranger who’d come back wearing Nick’s face. The Nick who’d watched her from his car outside the VA. Who’d called at three in the morning, alternating between apologies and accusations. Who’d found them in bed together and left that awful note before taking his own life.
You took my only reason to live. I hope you’re happy together. I hope it was worth it.
Walker carried that guilt like a stone in his chest. She saw it in the way he’d pulled back after the funeral, the way he’d kept their conversations clinical, professional. The way he’d built Valor Ridge as if saving enough broken men might somehow balance the scales.
But she carried it too. The knowledge that she’d let herself feel something for Walker while Nick was struggling, even if they had been separated at the time. The first date that hadended in her bedroom with one of the best nights of her life, quickly followed by the worst morning.
Nick had been looking for a reason. She knew that. His therapist had said it. The note had said it, in its own twisted way. He’d been circling that decision for months, maybe years, and she and Walker had just happened to be there when he finally chose.
Knowing didn’t make it easier.
The moment stretched, taut as a wire. Neither of them moved to close that final distance.
“Merry Christmas, Jo,” Walker said finally, his voice rough with something that might have been regret.
She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Merry Christmas, Walker.”
He didn’t release her hand. She didn’t pull away. They sat together in the firelight, the Christmas tree blinking its silent rhythm, closer than they’d allowed themselves in years but still separated by the ghosts between them.
Outside, snow began to fall again, covering their footprints in the yard. Tomorrow would bring presents and breakfast and all the forced cheer of a holiday at Valor Ridge. But for now, there was just this: the fire, the quiet, their hands joined on the couch cushion while the clock ticked toward midnight.
Cowboy sighed in his sleep, settling more firmly against Walker’s leg. The fire crackled.
And somewhere in the house, a phone began to ring.
twenty-three
“Ignore it,” Walker said.
The phone rang three times before going silent.
Then it started again.
“We can’t.” Johanna lifted her hand from Walker’s, the connection broken as he grumbled and stood to retrieve the phone.
Another crisis, another need, another interruption.
Christmas Eve at Valor Ridge wouldn’t be complete without something going wrong.
She rubbed her cold fingers together, already missing his warmth, and wondered if this was a sign. Three years of almost moments, and maybe that’s all they were ever meant to have.
