“I remember you telling me that.” She hung a red glass ball near the middle of the tree. “But you never said if you liked Christmas or not.”
Walker thought about it. “Liked it fine. Just never saw the point of making a big deal out of it.”
“And now?” she asked, gesturing at the tree.
He didn’t have a good answer for that. He reached for another ornament, an ancient snowman with a carrot nose worn down to a nub. The weight of everything unsaid between them settled over the room, heavier than the silence had been.
Johanna moved to the side of the tree that faced the wall, adjusting ornaments there even though no one would see them. Her back was to him now. “I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” she said quietly.
Walker’s hand stilled on the branch he was fixing. “To Montana?”
“To you.”
The word landed between them like a stone dropped in still water. Walker waited for the ripples to settle before he spoke. “I didn’t think you would, either.”
“So why did you call again?” She turned to face him, an ornament dangling from her hand. “After I turned you down the first time?”
“I told you. Boone needs help.”
She set the ornament down carefully. “There are other therapists, Walker.”
He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. The lights on the tree blurred slightly, green smudges in his vision. “None that would understand what this place is trying to be.”
“And what’s that?”
“A second chance.” The words came out rougher than he intended. “For men who’ve been told they don’t deserve one.”
Johanna was quiet for a long moment.
When she spoke again, her voice was careful, measured. “Why did you really start this place, Walker?”
He knew what she was asking. Not about Boone, not about the ranch itself, but about the deeper motivation. The thing that had driven him out here, away from everything familiar, to start over with nothing but a run-down property and a mountain of regret.
He considered lying. It would be easier. But he’d never lied to her before, and he wasn’t going to start now. “Because I couldn’t save him. Your husband.” His voice caught on the last word. “And I needed to save someone.”
Johanna inhaled sharply. Her eyes filled, but the tears didn’t fall. “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You’re not responsible for what happened to Nick.”
“Aren’t I?” The guilt that Walker had carried for five years rose in his chest, familiar and sharp. “If I hadn’t been in the picture, maybe he wouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t.” Johanna’s voice was tight. “Don’t you dare take that on yourself. You know that’s not how it works.”
Walker shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how it works. It matters what happened.”
She was crying now, silent tears tracking down her cheeks. “I blamed myself for years,” she admitted. “For leaving him, for meeting you. As if those things caused what happened.”
“Jo—”
“No, let me finish.” She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I left him long before he died. I left him, and then I met you, and then he—” Her voice broke. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault.”
Walker felt something crack inside his chest. The walls he’d built around this particular pain started to give way. “I nevershould’ve touched you. You were my therapist, you’re ten years younger, you were married?—”
“Stop.” She took a step closer and reached out, her fingertips just brushing his arm. “I wasn’t your therapist when we got involved. You transferred to Dr. Nelson. We did everything right.”
“Except we didn’t.” He stepped back, away from her touch. “We hurt someone. A good man.”
“Nick was sick, Walker. He hadn’t been well for years before I even met you. And, yes, technically, I was still married, but the divorce was in progress. He knew it was over.” Her voice softened. “What happened afterward... that was a choice he made. A terrible, devastating choice that had nothing to do with us being together.”
The embers in the woodstove crackled, sending a brief flare of orange light across the room. It caught the glass ornaments, reflecting tiny points of fire.
