“Was it?” she asked, suddenly serious. “All those years we wasted?—”
“Weren’t wasted,” he interrupted gently. “We weren’t ready then. I wasn’t ready.” His eyes held hers. “You needed time. I needed to find my way back from what happened with Nick.”
The name that had stood between them for so long didn’t sting the way it once had. Nick would always be part of her story, part of what had led her to Valor Ridge, to Walker. But he wasn’t a barrier anymore. Just a chapter that had closed, making room for a new one to begin.
“We should’ve listened to River sooner,” she said, smiling through her tears.
Walker snorted, his arms tightening around her. “Don’t tell him that. His ego can’t handle it.”
She laughed, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Woodsmoke, soap, leather. Familiar and new at the same time. His heartbeat steady under her palm.
From inside the house came a chorus of cheers. Midnight. The New Year had arrived while they weren’t paying attention.
Walker pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes reflecting the firelight and something else, something warm and private meant only for her. “Happy New Year, Jo.” His voice was rough around the edges.
“Happy New Year, Walker.”
He stood, pulling her up with him. Cowboy rose too, shaking snow from his coat.
“It’s cold out here,” Walker said, his hand finding hers. His fingers were warm despite the winter air. “Come inside with me?”
twenty-seven
The snow was coming down harder, flakes catching in the weave of Johanna’s scarf as she stood beside Walker in the firelight. He still had her hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on the inside of her wrist. She couldn’t feel her nose, but every other part of her was alive and shivering.
“Come inside with me,” he said. The words were quiet. Unmistakable. Not an order, not a plea—just the truth, finally spoken out loud.
Her first instinct was to look around, make sure no one had heard, but the yard was empty except for Cowboy, who was already trotting up the porch steps toward the main house. The windows glowed gold against the dark. Every light left burning for them.
She nodded once. “Okay.” Her voice was steadier than she felt.
He didn’t let go of her hand as they walked, boots sinking in the powder that had drifted up over the flagstones. At the porch, he paused, waiting for her to take the first step. When she did, he followed close behind, so close she could feel his heat on her back. The wood was slick with new snow. Shecaught herself on the railing, but he steadied her with a hand to her hip. Didn’t linger, just held her upright until she had both feet under her.
The front door opened easier than she expected, the old hinges oiled just last week by River, who’d left a note on the handle reading “Maintenance: you’re welcome.” She wanted to laugh, but her chest was too tight for it.
Inside, the house felt overheated after the cold. Her glasses fogged instantly. She wiped them clean on her sleeve, blinking at the jumble of boots and jackets lined up in the entryway. Walker shrugged off his own coat and hung it on a hook. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she realized she was still wearing every layer she’d left the house with. She took off her coat, her scarf, her hat, feeling exposed with each removal. Beneath it all, her heart thudded, anxious as a rabbit.
The living room was empty. The fire had burned low, just embers flickering through the mesh screen. The couch and chairs were still arranged in their rough half-circle from earlier, pillows askew, a mug abandoned on the end table. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
Walker motioned for her to follow. His boots made almost no sound on the old pine floors, and she had to watch his feet to know he was actually moving. At the base of the stairs, he stopped, turning so they were eye to eye.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The look on his face was as raw and open as she’d ever seen him. She wanted to say something clever, break the tension, but nothing came. He started up the stairs. She went after him, her hand trailing the smoothed edge of the banister.
On the landing, a hallway stretched out—three doors to the left, two to the right. She’d been in each one at one time or another: the guest bath, the office, the spare room that doubled as a supply closet. His room was at the very end, the only one with the door closed.
Walker reached for the knob, then hesitated. The pause was long enough for her to catch up, to stand just behind him and watch his hand flex on the wood. He turned, not all the way, but enough so she could see the lines at the corners of his eyes, the stubble shadowing his jaw.
“Johanna.” Just her name, but it carried a hundred questions.
She reached up, covered his hand with hers. His skin was rough, but warm, and he didn’t move away.
“I’m sure,” she said.
He looked at her a moment longer, searching for doubt, maybe, or regret. Then he nodded, just once, and held open the door for her. She stepped inside, heart fluttering against her ribs like something wild caught in a cage.
His bedroom was exactly as she’d imagined it—spare, masculine, functional. A king-sized bed with a navy quilt dominated the space, flanked by simple wooden nightstands. Cowboy had already settled at the foot of the bed, watching them with quiet interest. Moonlight spilled through half-drawn curtains, painting silver stripes across the hardwood floor.
Walker closed the door behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in the quiet room. They stood there, barely an arm’s length apart, the weight of three years of waiting pressing down on them both.
