Boone’s voice cut through the moment. “Hey! Less socializing, more working. Oliver, go see if your mom needs help. Ghost, I need a hand with the new intake. Got a couple of dogs that need evaluation.”
Ghost was grateful for the interruption. He tucked Oliver’s drawing carefully into his back pocket, giving the kid a nod thatsent him running back to his house with a grin that could have powered the entire ranch.
“New intake?” Ghost asked as he fell into step beside Boone. Anything to avoid going back to the Hub and facing Naomi’s wrath, or worse, her disappointment.
“Three rescues from a hoarding situation down in Missoula,” Boone said, his weathered face grim. “X and River are each taking one, but the third one’s gonna need special handling. Jax might need your help with him.”
That was Boone-speak for the dog was a mess—aggressive, terrified, or both.
Before Walker hired Jax, the actual dog expert, Ghost had handled the hard cases. He’d earned that rep for bringing Cinder around. The Belgian Sheepdog had been feral when she first arrived, more wolf than domesticated animal, with a scar across her muzzle and a hatred of humans that matched her own. Now she was the closest thing to family he had.
Until Naomi.
The thought ambushed him, and he shoved it away. They hadn’t defined what was between them. Hell, they hadn’t even had a real conversation about that kiss in his truck or what had happened after he’d found her. There’d been no time, with her recovery taking precedence over everything else.
They crossed the main yard toward the kennels, passing the barn where Walker was arguing with the world’s most stubborn highland cow. Maisie had a bad habit of standing right where you needed to be.
“I swear to fucking God, Mais, if you don’t move your stubborn ass...” Walker muttered, then spotted them approaching. “You heading to the new arrivals?”
“Ghost is going to help Jax evaluate the skittish one,” Boone confirmed.
A slight smile tipped up Walker’s mouth, and he nodded toward the agility yard. “Might want to check on that circus first.”
At that moment, a howl tore through the air, followed by something that sounded like… yodeling?
“Jesus,” Boone muttered and stalked toward the yard. “Can’t leave those two idiots alone for five seconds.”
“River and X?” Jax guessed.
“River and X,” Walker confirmed.
“This is going to be interesting,” Jax said, and he and Bear drifted toward the agility yard to take in what was sure to be a show.
Ghost moved to follow, but Walker stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Got a minute?”
Ghost paused, glancing toward the agility yard. The yodeling had given way to what sounded like X attempting to out-shout the dog, who was still howling. “I should?—”
“They’ll survive without you.” Walker gestured toward the main house. “Come on. Coffee’s hot.”
Ghost hesitated, caught between the prospect of caffeine and the awareness that Walker rarely asked for one-on-one conversations without a reason. But the old man was already walking away, clearly expecting Ghost to follow. With a last look at the chaos unfolding in the agility yard, Ghost followed Walker to the main house.
Walker led him through the kitchen, where Johanna Perrin—therapist, cook, housekeeper, barrel rider—was elbow-deep in dough, flour dusting her forearms and a smudge of it across her cheek. She glanced up as they passed, her eyes lingering on Ghost a second too long. Like she was trying to read something in his face. Everyone on the ranch had been doing that since he’d brought Naomi back—looking at him sideways, like they expected him to crack open and spill his guts.
They entered Walker’s office, a room that somehow managed to be both cluttered and orderly. Maps of the ranch property lined one wall, marked with trails and landmarks. Framed photos covered another—men in uniform, some with Walker, others without. The fallen. The remembered. The reason this place existed. Another wall showcased the men who had graduated from the Ridge and gone on to become productive members of society.
Walker gestured to a chair and poured two mugs from the carafe on the sideboard behind his desk. The coffee was black and strong enough to strip paint. Ghost took his without comment and waited. Walker wasn’t the type to call a meeting without purpose, and Ghost wasn’t the type to fill silence with chatter.
“How’s she doing?” Walker asked finally, settling into his chair.
“Better.” Ghost kept his tone neutral. “Ribs are still giving her trouble. She gets tired easily.”
Walker nodded, eyes steady on Ghost’s face. “And how are you doing?”
The question caught him off guard. Nobody asked him how he was doing. Not because they didn’t care, but because they knew better than to expect an honest answer.
“Fine,” he said automatically.
Walker’s mouth quirked. “Sure you are.”
