Chapter 2 Boone
CHAPTER TWO
Boone
One week later…
The bell at Mountain Ridge Elementary is loud as a fire alarm every damn afternoon. It grates down my spine the same way it has since Sadie first started kindergarten. Kids rush out through the open gate like cattle—loud, fast, and with no sense of direction.
I lean back against my truck, arms folded, boots planted in the gravel. Parents cluster in little circles. Chattering, comparing schedules, trading PTA gossip as if it’s insider trading.
And then there’s Carol Spence, the self-appointed queen of the PTA.
She’s holding court again, waving a stack of color-coded folders. I swear she thinks she’s Moses delivering commandments, her perfectly straight ponytail not moving an inch in the breeze.
Her kid, Eli, runs to her side in a tiny collared shirt and pressed jeans, as if she ironed him too.
“They really should make the ranch parents do more volunteer hours,” she says loudly. “It’s not fair that the rest of us do the heavy lifting.”
My jaw ticks.
She doesn’t say my name. She never does.
She doesn’t have to.
I could say something. Correct her. Remind her I run a full-scale operation with employees and livestock and bills that don’t pay themselves. That the ranch keeps half this damn town afloat. That when the school needed auction items for the fundraiser, it was my trail ride package that got bid up.
But talking won’t do a damn thing. Carol doesn’t want understanding. She wants the last word.
So I stay silent.
Presence is its own kind of answer.
Eli looks over then, eyes skating around until his gaze snags on Sadie, and a meanness edges into his small, pinched face. He leans up on his toes and says something too low for me to hear against Carol’s shoulder as she bends toward him.
She smiles, brushing his hair back.
“That’s my polite boy,” she coos.
My gut tightens, and I don’t know why.
“Daddy!”
Sadie barrels toward me with Micah Jenks at her side, their backpacks bouncing and hair flying.
She’s a bolt of sunshine in a purple unicorn hoodie and mismatched socks, the only part of my day that never feels heavy.
Micah’s right there in her orbit, a calming presence, the way he always is.
Kid’s got serious eyes for a six-year-old.
I crouch, catching her as she slams into me. “Hey, Sadie.”
She smells of crayons, apple juice, and the outdoors. The trifecta of first-grade survival.
“Micah said he wants to come over tomorrow,” she announces immediately. “Can he? Pleeease?”
Micah grins, showing the gap from a newly lost tooth.
“If my Aunt Marla says yes,” he adds, a little shy. “She’s the principal, you know?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. You told me.” I ruffle his hair. “We’ll see. Maybe after chores.”
Sadie beams ear to ear.
“Sadie!”
The sing-song voice carries across the sidewalk. Carol. Eli’s next to her still, clutching a perfect little laminated folder decorated with glitter stickers. He looks from my truck to Sadie, comparing.
Sadie stiffens against my side in a way only someone who knows her as well as I do would notice. Her hand, which had been flapping around as she talked, fumbles for my sleeve instead.
“Hi, Mrs. Spence,” Micah says politely, because of course he does.
Carol gives him a distracted smile.
“Hello, Micah. Tell your aunt I emailed her about the bake sale guidelines, would you?” Then she focuses on Sadie. “Eli showed me his English worksheet. It’s so sweet. Did you finish yours, Sadie?”
Sadie presses closer to my leg.
“Almost,” she mumbles, eyes on the ground.
English worksheet? What the hell is she talking about? Why does this seem to be hitting a sore spot?
Eli pipes up, smug. “I already did mine. Mom said it’s perfect.”
Sadie’s fingers curl tighter into my flannel. Her mouth opens, then closes.
“Okay, Sadie,” I bark out. “We have to go. Say goodbye to your friends.”
Eli shrinks back half an inch, then hides behind Carol again. She laughs lightly, as if he just said something adorable.
“Oh, kids,” she chuckles. “You must have had such a long day at school today. You’re all so tired.”
Micah shoots Sadie a little frown, confused why she’s gone quiet.
“I gotta go,” he tells us. “Bye, Sadie. Bye, Mr. Taylor.”
“See you, buddy,” I say, clapping his shoulder as he heads toward the buses.
We get into the truck. Sadie buckles herself in, slower than usual. Eli’s voice echoes faintly across the lot, chattering about some new toy. Sadie stares out the window until I pull away from the curb.
She chatters, eventually. She always does. On the drive down the familiar road toward Sunridge Ranch, she tells me about her art project, about recess, about how she ate three grapes and a cookie at lunch because she’s growing.
Then, quieter…
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Sadie.”
She picks at a loose thread on her backpack strap. “Do I… have to play with Eli? At school?”
Sharpness lodges behind my ribs.
“No,” I shoot back immediately. “You don’t have to play with anybody you don’t want to.”
She gives the smallest nod, still not looking at me.
“He talks a lot,” she says after a beat. “And sometimes he says stuff that… Micah says it’s rude.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens before I can stop it.
“What kind of stuff?”
She shrugs, eyes glued to the passing trees.
“It’s fine,” she adds quickly. “I just like playing with Micah better.”
Damn, this kid. Six years old and already trying to make me feel better.
I let it go. For now.
“You stick with Micah, then. He’s a good friend.”
Her shoulders loosen a fraction. That’s all she needs—permission to listen to her own gut.
We drive a few more minutes in comfortable silence before she speaks again.
“Daddy? We’re doing a Mother’s Day thing soon.”
Oh no.
It’s that time of year.
That’s why it was such a sore spot.
My hands tighten on the wheel. Again.
She watches me.
“We’re doing a card and a button,” she says, filling the silence. “And maybe a photo. Mrs. Hanover said it’s okay if someone else comes instead of a mom. Like a grandma, or an aunt, or…” She trails off.
We don’t have any of those.
I clear my throat.
“We’ll handle it.”
She nods, satisfied.
We pull up the long drive to the ranch. Home. Fences weathered by sun, horses flicking their tails in the pastures, the smell of hay and cedar drifting on the breeze. The place my father built, and I rebuilt.
Then I see her.
A woman standing near the porch, turning slowly, taking everything in. Sun on her hair, back straight, duffel and suitcase next to her feet. For a split second, my insides squeeze tight.
Then it clicks.
The new cook.
I’d forgotten she was starting today. That’s what happens when mornings start before sunrise and the rest of the day becomes a blur of feed schedules, broken fence rails, and calls from vendors who can’t read a damn invoice.
Sadie gasps dramatically. “There’s a lady at our house!”
I park and get out.
The woman turns at the sound of the door shutting. Her eyes meet mine. Wide, wary, bracing.
She’s young. Not too young, but young enough that I wonder how she ended up taking a job in the middle of nowhere.
Her hair’s pulled back in a messy knot, strands escaping in the breeze. Her clothes are simple but neat. And she holds herself as someone who’s had to start over more than once.
“Boone Taylor?” she asks.
I nod.
She lets out a breath of relief.
“I’m Delaney Rivers. Sorry if I’m early. I wasn’t sure how long the cab ride would take.”
“You’re fine.”
Sadie darts to her side before I can say anything.
“Hi! I’m Sadie! Do you know how to make pancakes? Daddy tries, but they’re flat and sad.”
“Hey,” I mutter.
Delaney’s mouth lifts into the smallest smile. “I can absolutely make pancakes.”
Sadie claps. “And do you cook horses? Because we have lots of horses.”
Delaney laughs.
“No horses on my menu.”
Sadie beams, satisfied. A little of that tightness from the parking lot finally melts off her face.
I grab her backpack from the truck. “Come on. Let’s show Delaney the kitchen.”
Okay.
Sadie seems keen.
That’s… something.