Walker set the metal cowboy down carefully. “You are enough, River.”
“How do you know?” The desperation in his voice cracked something in Walker’s chest. “How do you know I’m not going to fuck everything up again? Hurt someone. Get someone killed.”
“Because I know you.” Walker stood, crossing to where River stood frozen by the door. “The man who talked down a woman in psychosis when the rest of us couldn’t reach her.The man who spent all night making gifts out of scrap metal because he couldn’t sleep.”
River’s eyes were too bright. “That’s just one night. One good night in months of screwing up.”
“It’s a start.” Johanna’s voice was gentle. “And starts are all we need. One good choice, then another, then another.”
“I don’t know how to stop running,” River admitted. “Even when I’m still, I’m running.”
“I know,” Walker said. “But you don’t have to figure it out all at once.”
The front door opened again, and Boone stepped inside, followed by Jonah. They both stopped, taking in the scene—Walker and River by the door, Johanna on the couch holding a metal bird, the sculptures on the coffee table.
“Did I miss something?” Boone asked.
River wiped a hand across his face. “Just having a breakdown. Normal Christmas stuff.”
Boone crossed to the coffee table, picking up the metal dog. His eyebrows rose as he studied it. “You made this?”
River nodded.
“It’s Bishop.” Boone’s voice held something close to wonder. “Down to the white patch on his chest.”
“I’ve got one for you too,” River said. “And Jonah. Just haven’t finished them yet.”
Jonah moved to stand beside Boone, looking at the sculptures. “These are incredible.”
River shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “Just needed something to do with my hands. After last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about...” He trailed off.
“About Jamie,” Walker finished quietly. The friend he’d killed with one of his pranks.
River’s throat worked. “Yeah. About Jamie. About all of it. So I made things instead of breaking things.” He looked around at all of them. “Seemed like a better use of my time.”
“Much better,” Johanna agreed.
The silence that followed felt fragile, like they were all standing on thin ice, testing whether it would hold their weight.
“My mother confessed to all the sabotage,” Boone said finally, his voice flat. “The tree. The tires. The fence. The office break-in. All of it.”
Jonah’s expression didn’t change. “I know.”
“You could’ve been killed. When that cottonwood came down?—”
“But I wasn’t.” Jonah set the horse sculpture down carefully. “And she’s sick, Boone. Not evil. Sick.”
“Doesn’t change what she did.”
“No,” Jonah agreed. “But it changes what we do about it.” He looked at Walker. “We’re not pressing charges, right?”
“No charges,” Walker confirmed.
Boone’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Hank’s not going to like it.”
“Hank can go to hell,” Walker said flatly. “This is our ranch, our decision.”
“He’ll make it difficult. Use it against us with the town.”
