“He likes horses.”
Bear turned to find Walker standing in the doorway, two steaming mugs in his hands. The older man wore his standard uniform—faded jeans, work boots, and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His face was weathered from years in the Montana sun, his eyes sharp with an understanding that made Bear feel exposed.
“He says he doesn’t,” Bear said, accepting the mug Walker offered. The coffee was strong and black, with a hint of something that might have been cinnamon.
Definitely Johanna’s doing. Walker wouldn’t think to put cinnamon in his coffee, but his new wife would.
“Kids say a lot of things that aren’t true.” Walker settled into one of the rocking chairs on the porch and gestured for Bear to take the other. “Especially when they’re hurting.”
Bear didn’t sit. He couldn’t. Not with Logan across the yard, getting farther away by the second. “He hates me, Walker.”
Walker took a sip of his coffee, considering. “Maybe.”
The simple, honest response was somehow exactly what Bear needed to hear. Walker Nash didn’t waste time on platitudes or reassurance. Just the truth.
“Twelve years.” He watched as River threw an arm around Logan’s shoulders and pointed toward the barn. “Eight years of his life I missed in prison. Then spent the last four trying to reconnect, but Amber shot me down every time. And then she’s gone, and I show up and tell him he’s moving to Montana to live with a stranger in a house he’s never seen.”
“Tough break,” Walker agreed. “But not insurmountable.”
Across the yard, River was leading Logan into the barn. Bear caught a glimpse of his son’s profile—still no give there. Even River’s chaotic charm wasn’t enough to break through that wall of teenage resentment.
And then they were gone, swallowed by the shadow of the barn door.
“Give it time,” Walker said. “You didn’t get where you are now overnight. Neither will he.”
Bear finally sank into the rocking chair. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Walker.”
“Nobody does, at first.” Walker rocked forward, boots creaking against the porch boards. “You think I instantly knew how to be a dad to my daughter? Hell, I’m still figuring that out, and Stella’s a grown woman now.”
“Jax seemed to know how to do it with Oliver.”
“Yeah, but that’s Jax. Man was meant to be a father. So when he decided Oliver was his, that was the end of the conversation. Some men are just made for that, but the rest of us learn as we go.”
Bear stared into his coffee, watching the steam rise. “I’m not sure I can learn fast enough.”
“You will.” Walker’s voice held that quiet certainty that had pulled Bear through the worst days of his early sobriety.
“He doesn’t talk to me. Hasn’t said more than ten words at a time since I picked him up in Denver.”
“He’s grieving.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah?” Walker fixed him with a look. The one every man on the ranch knew. The one that said,you’re so full of bullshit, I should be mucking a stall for you.“Looks to me like you’re expecting too much, too soon.”
From the barn came the sound of River’s voice, too far away to make out the words but close enough to hear the animated cadence of his speech. Then, unexpectedly, Logan laughed—a short, surprised sound that cut off almost immediately, like he’d caught himself.
Bear’s head snapped up. “Did you hear that?”
Walker smiled. “Told you. Give it time.”
Bear watched as River handed Logan a carrot, demonstrating how to offer it to Lazy Susan with a flat palm. Logan mimicked the gesture, and the horse lipped the treat from his hand. For a split-second, Logan’s face transformed, and the angry teenager disappeared. For a moment, Bear saw the three-year-old boy he remembered, who looked at the world with such wide-open wonder.
“He’s a good kid,” Bear said, more to himself than to Walker.
“Got good genes.”
Bear snorted. “Not from me.”
