Delaney
By Saturday,Caleb’s fever finally breaks.
I’m in his doorway with fresh sheets over my arm when I hear him groan and shift.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say.
He squints at the light bleeding around the curtains. “Is it?”
“Technically. It’s almost eleven.”
His eyes widen. “I slept that long?”
“You’ve been out of it for days.” I lean against the doorframe. “I think you and the pillow are legally married now.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, wincing when his scruff rasps against his palm. “I feel like I got trampled.”
“You kind of did. By the flu. And your terrible life choices.”
“Which ones?” he mutters. “Not telling anyone I was sick or working through it until I face planted in the barn?”
“Yes.”
He slants me a look that says he wants to argue but doesn’t have the energy. “You been… taking care of me?”
I shrug, suddenly shy. “You’ve kept half the horses on this ranch breathing with nothing but stubbornness and a weird amount of empathy, Caleb. The least I can do is make you soup.”
His throat works. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make it weird,” I say, because if I let the sincerity hang too long, I might melt into the floor.
“Too late,” he says, but he’s smiling.
I clear my throat. “I brought clean sheets. Once you’ve showered, I’ll strip the bed, and we’ll start fresh.”
“Do I smell that bad?” he asks dryly.
“Yes.”
He snorts.
“I’m kidding,” I say. “You just… smell sick.”
“Very flattering.”
“You’re welcome.”
Sadie barrels in before I can embarrass myself further, her hair in messy braids, wearing a T-shirt that says “Future President of the Barn.”
“Uncle Caleb!” she squeals, launching herself at his knees.
He oofs but braces for impact, hand automatically finding the back of her head. “Careful there, kiddo. I’m fragile.”
“You’re better,” she says, squinting up at him. “Your eyes are less droopy.”
“Good medical assessment,” he says solemnly.
“Miss Delaney said if you drank your tea and soup, you’d get better.” She looks at me with the kind of absolute faith that makes my knees wobble. “And you did!”
