Delaney
Any confidenceI built up walking into Sunridge Ranch evaporates the second Boone Taylor turns and looks at me.
I’ve met stoic people before. I’ve met calm people. I’ve met men who don’t waste words.
Boone is… all of those things, plus a silent wall made of muscle and judgment-resistant stone.
Not cold or unkind.
Just… unreadable.
Exactly what I need.
A boss who isn’t charming.
A boss who isn’t magnetic.
A boss who doesn’t make me feel like I need to perform to keep my job.
But that doesn’t stop the anxious flutter in my stomach as he leads me through the house, his footsteps heavy and sure on the hardwood floors.
Sadie sticks close, chattering enough for all three of us.
“This is Daddy’s office. It smells of paper. And horses. And stress.”
“Sadie,” Boone warns, but she just giggles and keeps going.
“And this is the living room! You can sit there if you want. Or here. Or here. Daddy sits here. Caleb sits here. Silas sits everywhere.”
My breath hitches for half a second at the name.Silas.
But… no. It has to be a coincidence. Plenty of towns have more than one Silas, right?
And the Silas I met at The Hollow was trouble wrapped in charm. The kind of man who definitely did not live in a quiet family ranch house with a kid’s artwork on the fridge.
Boone gives me a look. A wryness flickers in his eyes before he covers it up again, as if the expression escaped without his permission.
The house is beautiful. Wood paneled walls, big windows looking out over pastureland, cozy furniture, photos of Sadie everywhere. It feels lived in. Warm. The kind of home where people actually curl up on the couch instead of using it as decoration.
Nothing like the apartment I lost when Marcus detonated my life.
“This is the kitchen,” Boone says, stopping in the doorway.
I stop breathing for a second.
It’s… lovely.
A big farmhouse sink. Wide counters. A gas stove with real history, not the shiny chrome monstrosities of the fine dining world, but something curated and cared for.
I can breathe in here.
He watches me take it in, arms crossed over his chest, expression barely shifting. “You’ll have full run of the kitchen. Make whatever you think works for the week. We’re flexible.”
Flexible.
What a foreign concept.
I nod. “I can work with this.”
