Boone and Jonah exchanged glances, then rose from their chairs.
“Two minutes till midnight,” Boone said, checking his watch again. “Just enough time for us to grab more cider.” He tilted his head toward the house, giving River a pointed look.
“And to place new bets,” River added with a grin that was almost like his old self. “I’ve got five on a full-blown makeout session before the clock strikes twelve.”
“River,” Walker growled, but there was no real heat in it.
River held up his hands, backing away. “Fine, fine. We’re going. Happy New Year, you stubborn idiots.”
The three men trudged toward the bunkhouse, their footsteps crunching on the snow. Bishop hesitated, looking from Boone to Walker and back again before following his person.
Only Cowboy remained, sitting sphinx-like at Walker’s feet, watching them both with intelligent eyes.
And then they were alone, just them and the crackling fire, with the vast Montana night sky spread above them and five years of guilt, three years of longing, and countless almost-moments stretching between them.
She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t trust what might happen if she did.
“So,” Walker said, his voice barely audible over the fire. “That happened.”
A small laugh escaped her, tension breaking just enough to let her breathe again. “It was bound to eventually.”
“Johanna.” Her name in his mouth, low and certain, sentwarmth curling through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire.
Snow began to fall, soft flakes drifting down through the still air, catching the firelight as they descended.
The world went quiet, as if holding its breath.
She stared into the flames, heart hammering against her ribs. The snow fell silently around them, flakes melting as they hit the heated air near the fire. She felt Walker’s eyes on her but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Five years since Nick's death. Three more years of working side by side at Valor Ridge, of lingering glances and conversations that always stopped short of what they really wanted to say. Of New Year’s Eve on this same porch, when they’d almost crossed that line. Of Christmas Eve in his kitchen, flour on her hands and his name caught in her throat. All of it leading to this moment, when there was nowhere left to hide.
Cowboy shifted at Walker’s feet, his tail sweeping a small arc in the snow. In the distance, she heard laughter from inside the house. River’s voice carried through an open window, followed by Boone’s deeper rumble.
“He’s right,” Walker said finally, breaking the silence. “I’ve been a coward.”
Johanna risked a glance at him. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes. His profile was sharp against the night sky, jaw tight, shoulders rigid beneath his heavy coat.
“We both have,” she admitted, her voice barely audible over the crackling wood.
Walker turned to her fully then, his chair creaking as he shifted. “I’ve known how I felt about you for years, Jo. Been carrying it around like some secret I didn’t dare speak out loud.” His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles white. “Telling myself it was respect for your boundaries. For whatyou needed.” He shook his head. “But that was just an excuse. Truth is, I was scared.”
The raw honesty in his voice made her throat tighten. This was Walker Nash, the man who had faced down warlords and prison guards and his own demons. Who never backed down from a fight. Who carried the weight of every broken man at Valor Ridge on his shoulders. And he was afraid of this, of her, of what lay between them.
Just like she was afraid of him.
“I know,” she said softly. “I was scared, too, but I’m not anymore.”
Then she leaned forward and kissed him.
Eight years.
Eight years of wanting and waiting and telling herself it could never happen. Eight years since she’d first looked at Walker Nash and felt that jolt of recognition deep in her chest. Their first kiss on New Year’s Eve had been awkward, rushed, a fumbling collision. This was different. This was coming home.
His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. His lips were cold at first, then warm, soft against hers. She tasted cider and smoke and something that was uniquely him. Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket, anchoring herself as everything else seemed to fall away.
When they finally broke apart, she found herself half out of her chair, practically in his lap. Cowboy had retreated a few feet to give them space, watching with what looked suspiciously like canine approval.
A laugh bubbled up from her chest, part joy, part disbelief. “That was... better than last time.”
Walker laughed too, his forehead resting against hers. “Definitely better.” His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, reverent, as if memorizing her features by touch. “Worth the wait.”
