“I know,” River said, and for a moment, Boone caught a glimpse of something raw and honest beneath the jokes. “Being tired like that, it hollows you out.”
She swayed on her feet. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. Sometimes I think... I think maybe I’m already dead, and this is hell.”
“You’re not dead, Mom.” Boone risked another step closer.
The knife clattered to the porch floor. In a blink, Walker moved, pulling Johanna to the safety of his arms.
Leonora’s legs buckled, and Boone lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. She felt so light in his arms, bones sharp against his hands as he cradled her.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed against his chest, fingers clutching weakly at his coat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
River moved casually, kicking the knife away while Walker held Johanna tight.
“I was trying to protect you,” his mother mumbled, words slurring as the adrenaline drained from her system. “The ranch... it’s dangerous. Every in town says so. Hank says so. He says they’re keeping you from me.”
“No one’s keeping me from you,” Boone said, shifting her weight to support her better. “I see you every day.”
She shook her head, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face. “I did things. Bad things. To make them leave. To make you come home.”
Cold realization settled in his gut. “What things, Mom?”
“The tree.” Her gaze drifted toward the yard where the cottonwood had fallen. “I cut it. To scare them. The tires, too. I slashed them all.”
Jesus Christ. Boone met Walker’s eyes over his mother’s head.
“The fence,” she continued, each word dragging as if pulled from somewhere deep and painful. “The water pipes. The window. I broke in. I had to make them go away so you’d come back to me.”
Every strange incident at Valor Ridge over the past year—the tree that nearly killed Jonah, the break-ins, the fence that led to Sunny’s injury—all of it had been his mother.
“I made it snow, too,” she whispered, her grip on reality slipping further. “For Christmas. For my little boy.”
“Walker,” Boone managed, his voice strangled. “Call an ambulance.”
“I’m on it,” Jonah said, already on his phone, speaking in low, urgent tones about a mental health emergency.
River knelt down. “Hey, Mrs. C. You’ll be okay now. We’ll take good care of you.”
Her eyes rolled back, her body going limp as consciousnessfled. Boone held her against his chest, rocking slightly as he had when he was a child, and she was the one comforting him.
He looked up at River. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” River’s throat worked for a moment, then he stood and plastered on his grin again, turning to the rest of them. “Anyone else want cookies now?”
“Not the time, River,” Walker said with faint exasperation, his arms still wrapped protectively around Johanna. Blood stained the collar of her shirt, though the cut seemed shallow.
River’s smile faltered. He shrugged and jammed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“You did good,” Johanna told him softly. “Really good. I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh. Well.” He flushed and scuffed his boot on the ground. “Any of you would’ve done the same for me.”
Boone stared down at his mother’s unconscious form, so fragile in his arms. All this time, she’d been trying to destroy the thing that saved him. The bitter irony of it lodged in his throat like a stone. Valor Ridge had pulled him back from the edge, given him purpose, a future—and his mother had been systematically attacking it, believing she was saving him.
The snow fell heavier now, covering the knife that lay forgotten on the ground. Covering the bootprints that led to this moment. Covering everything in a blank white sheet, like the world trying to start over.
He held his mother and waited for the ambulance, for dawn, for some sign that this Christmas might still hold something other than pain. But as her fevered breath shallowed against his neck, Boone knew some breaks couldn’t be mended with time and patience. Some wounds ran too deep, cut too close to vital parts.
twenty-five
