Chapter 4 Silas
CHAPTER FOUR
Silas
Mornings at the ranch are usually my thing.
Not the waking up part… hell, no.
But the ideas part.
The second I’m conscious, my brain is buzzing: flyers for the next event, which vendors to charm, how to convince the mayor that letting me put a mechanical bull in the middle of Main Street would “boost morale and stimulate local commerce.”
It’s a gift.
Boone calls it “a menace.”
Same difference.
Today is no exception. I’m half awake, hair a mess, shirt mostly unbuttoned, thinking, okay, plotting, music nights, new partnerships, a “Smooch the Ranch Hand” fundraiser for animal rescue…
Crash.
I freeze.
That was not a normal house sound. Not Sadie, playing. Not Caleb, gently kicking one of my boots out of his way. Not Boone being angsty about receipts.
That was pantry murder.
I follow the sound down the hall, because I’m the curious one. The nosy one. The one who has to poke the metaphorical bear just to see what happens.
I swing the pantry door open…
And stop dead.
There is a woman on the floor.
A beautiful woman.
Flour clings to her, her messy knot of golden-brown hair falling loose around her flushed cheeks, her hazel eyes wide and startled, lashes dusted white.
Her lips, full, pink, familiar, part in shock, and my gut lurches.
Even covered in flour, even blinking up at me in absolute pandemonium, she’s stunning in a quiet, magnetic way that punches the air right out of my lungs.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
It’s her.
Her.
The woman from The Hollow.
The one with the soft laugh and sharp wit that rearranged things in my chest.
The one who tasted of sweetness and heat, and one very questionable life choice I had absolutely no regrets about.
She scrambles to sit up, and a whole avalanche of flour spills off her. “I… I was just… there was a sack, and it slipped and…”
I offer my hand. “Sunshine, breathe.”
Her eyes widen further as recognition hits her.
She hesitates.
Then her palm slides into mine.
And just like that, my heart does something stupid.
My brain: Oh hell.
My heart: Oh yes.
Everything below my heart: Well, well, well.
The second she’s upright, she’s close enough for me to inhale a faint scent of vanilla and a warm, sweet citrus that hits me straight in the spine.
My body reacts immediately.
A jolt low and deep, sharp enough to make me nearly sway forward.
Her breath catches.
“What are you…” she starts, then trails off when she seems to remember she’s still holding my hand. She lets go immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my house,” I say, trying for charming but coming off slightly out of breath. “Well, technically Boone’s house, but my room is down the hall.”
Her jaw opens, then closes again. “This is… your house?”
“Yup.” I grin. “What are you doing in my pantry?”
She groans softly, wiping powder from her cheeks. “I’m the new chef.”
I blink.
Then I laugh. Loud. Borderline delighted.
Because fate, sweet, matchmaking fate, just dropped the woman I had a very, very memorable night with… directly into my home.
“My new coworker?” I ask, just to make sure I’m hearing that right.
She wants the floor to swallow her. “Your… your new chef.”
“Oh, this is fantastic,” I say, and I mean it. “I love this for us. Really ties the week together.”
She glares at me, which only makes her more adorable. “This is a nightmare.”
“Not yet,” I reply lightly. “But give me time.”
She opens her mouth, probably to argue, but a small voice cuts between us.
“Uncle Silas?
We both turn as Sadie pads into the kitchen, hair in little morning tangles. She blinks at me, then at Delaney, then at the flour explosion now coating three full shelves.
“Oh no,” she whispers dramatically. “Daddy’s gonna be so mad.”
I scoop her up, kissing the top of her head. “Daddy doesn’t need to know every detail.”
“Yes, he does,” she counters. “He always says the pantry is a sacred space.”
She sounds like him.
Delaney wipes her hands on her apron, guilt painting every line of her face. “I’m so sorry—”
Sadie shakes her head, curls bouncing. “It’s okay! I spill stuff all the time. One time, I dropped an egg inside Daddy’s shoe.”
Delaney laughs, but Sadie’s smile dims a little.
Instantly, my instincts flare.
“What’s going on, Sadie Boo?” I ask, adjusting her on my hip.
She shrugs. “Nothing.”
Which is a lie.
A Boone-type deflection.
Never a good sign.
I rub her back gently. “Want pancakes later?”
She nods without enthusiasm.
Okay. Noted. Something’s wrong. I’ll pry it out of her later in my patented “dysfunctionally charming” way. People think Caleb’s the emotional support animal of the house, but Sadie talks to me when she doesn’t want to worry her dad.
Delaney watches her with a soft expression, warm as sunlight. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“Miss Delaney,” Sadie says suddenly, brightening a little, “do you make waffles too?”
Delaney blinks.
“I… yes? Absolutely. I can.” She looks at me, flustered. “If that’s okay?”
I grin. “Sunshine, you can make whatever you want. Welcome to the ranch.”
She blushes. Actually blushes. And I’m hit with a wave of memory from the night we met and exactly how she looked when I…
Nope.
No.
Not thinking about that.
I clear my throat and set Sadie down gently. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you dressed.”
Sadie grabs Delaney’s hand first.
Of course she does.
Delaney looks startled by the tiny gesture of trust.
I’m not.
Sadie’s always had good instincts.
When she trots off toward her room, Delaney turns back to me. “So. About the pantry…”
“Don’t worry.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll tell Boone I did it.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m the lovable disaster. It’s on brand.”
She makes a helpless noise that sounds dangerously close to a laugh. A tiny, frustrated sound that makes her even prettier.
And I…
I feel it.
The shift.
The spark.
Oh, I am in so much trouble.
Because I spent the night with this woman once and haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
And now?
Now she’s in our house.
In our kitchen.
In our lives.
Boone’s going to kill me.
Caleb’s going to sigh and read me the riot act.
And I…
I’m already smiling idiotically at the thought of seeing her again in exactly five minutes.
“Welcome to Sunridge Ranch, sunshine,” I drawl, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, grin wicked and warm. “Let’s see what kind of trouble you stir up.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
But her cheeks turn pink.
And I swear it’s the start of something I’m absolutely not ready for.