Chapter 6 Caleb #2
“Eat your food, Silas,” I snap, but there’s no heat in it.
Boone takes a bite, chews, swallows, then nods once. “This is… excellent.”
From him, that’s practically a standing ovation.
Color rises in Delaney’s cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Can Miss Delaney stay forever?” Sadie asks through a mouthful, then winces when Boone gives her the “don’t talk with your mouth full” look.
“We’ll see,” he says, but his gaze goes to Delaney with an expression I’ve never seen from him before.
Silas launches into a story about a possible event series he wants to pitch. Live music nights at the ranch, themed dinners, maybe a “Saddle & Supper” package tourists can’t resist. Delaney listens while she eats, smiling sometimes, shaking her head others.
I find myself watching her more than my plate.
The way she tucks loose hair behind her ear when she laughs. The way her shoulders relax when Sadie asks her a question about the meal. The way her fingers curl around her fork.
She looks comfortable in a kitchen, even if she doesn’t look entirely settled in this house yet.
“You lived in a city before this?” I ask when there’s a lull, surprising myself by speaking up at all.
She glances at me. “Yeah. A few, actually. Most recently… a very loud one.”
“Must be a big change.”
“That’s one way to put it.” She smiles faintly. “Less traffic. Fewer sirens. More… trees.”
“And horses,” Sadie adds.
“And horses,” Delaney agrees. “Can’t forget them.”
“You like animals?” I ask.
“Love them,” she replies without hesitation. “I wanted a dog for years, but… my old schedule didn’t really work for that. I’m excited to be around them more. Once I’m not burning potatoes and getting lost between the house and the barn.”
“You didn’t burn the potatoes. They’re perfect.”
She blinks. “You think so?”
“I know so,” I say, then feel stupidly self-conscious. I clear my throat. “Can tell when someone’s put time into a skill. Food’s no different than working with a green horse. You can see the hours.”
Her expression softens at that. I guess I said something right.
Silas raises a brow at me over his glass, smirking. He’s just found a new toy.
“Would you look at that,” he drawls. “Caleb out here writing poetry about potatoes.”
I shoot him a look. “Shut up and pass the bread.”
He does, still smirking. But there’s an approval in it too.
By the time I go back for seconds, I’ve stopped pretending this is just polite appreciation.
I am legitimately impressed.
It’s not just that the food tastes good. It feels intentional. She’s trying to make this table more than a place to shovel calories.
She’s feeding more than our bodies.
She’s feeding something hungry in the house that we didn’t realize was starving.
When dinner’s done, Sadie is drooping in her chair, fighting sleep. Boone checks the time.
“Bath and bed,” he reminds her.
She groans. “But dessert.”
“Dessert tomorrow,” Delaney says gently. “We can bake brownies together, if it’s okay with your dad.”
Sadie perks right up. “Daddy? Please?”
Boone glances at Delaney, then back at his daughter.
“We’ll see,” he declares, which we all know is his version of yes.
Sadie grins and hugs Delaney’s arm.
“You make the house smell good,” she tells her solemnly, then stomps down the hall in her little socks.
When they’re gone, it’s quieter. Silas leans back in his chair, stretching out comfortably.
“I’ll do the dishes,” Delaney announces, starting to stack plates.
“You cooked,” I hear myself say. “I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve got it.”
“Don’t worry,” Silas cuts in, hopping up. “I’ll supervise. Delegate. Offer helpful commentary.”
“No,” Delaney and I speak at the same time.
He puts his hands up, grinning. “Message received. I’ll get out of your hair. Wouldn’t want to get between Caleb and his new favorite person.”
I feel my ears heat. “Silas.”
“What? He had two helpings. That’s basically a declaration of love.” He winks at Delaney. “Welcome to the family, sunshine.”
She goes still for a beat at the nickname, then forces a quick little smile and looks back down at the plates. If she were any farther from him at the table, she’d be in the next room.
He saunters out before I can throw a roll at his head.
That leaves me and Delaney in the kitchen, the sound of running water and the clink of plates filling the quiet.
I gather up dishes and bring them to the sink. She runs hot water, adding soap, the smell of it mixing with garlic and roasted chicken.
“You don’t have to—” she starts again.
“I know,” I note. “Still doing it.”
She huffs out a small breath that might be a laugh. “Stubborn?”
“Something like that.”
We fall into a rhythm. I rinse. She washes. I dry and stack dishes. It’s easy. Companionable. Not as awkward as I’d braced for.
“You’ve worked on ranches before?” she asks after a bit.
“Just this one,” I say. “Been here since I was a teenager.”
“Wow.” She glances at me. “So this is… home home.”
“Well, it wasn’t supposed to be. Not originally.”
Her brow furrows. “What happened?”
I shrug. “My mom, Maggie, was married to Boone’s dad for a couple of years when we were young teens. She’s… artistic. Sweet. Not super great at settling anywhere for long. The ranch was the most stable place we ever lived.”
Delaney’s hands still in the soapy water. “And when they divorced… you stayed?”
“Yeah.” I huff out a breath, half laugh, half memory. “Mom left to go chase her dream of joining some folk band. Boone’s dad, Walter, asked if I wanted to stay here until I figured things out. He treated me like a stray someone dropped off, but he didn’t turn me away.”
Her eyes soften. “And Boone?”
“He was practically running the ranch even back then.” I dry one of the serving bowls. “Didn’t talk much. Still doesn’t. But he looked out for me. In his way. Let me muck stalls and do grunt work until I earned more responsibility.”
A corner of her mouth lifts. “So you two became brothers.”
My voice comes out quiet. “Not by blood. But that never mattered here.”
She nods as if she understands that better than most.
I rinse another dish. “Silas, who’s actually my cousin, came along later. Well… technically, he was around long before I showed up, just not living here. He and Boone grew up together. Best friends since they were kids. But he moved here after me.”
Delaney tilts her head. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I set a plate on the towel. “His mom and my mom are sisters, but our families were never that close. His dad’s a businessman, big on image, not big on affection. Silas learned early how to charm a room because nobody at home listened long enough to see him.”
Her expression softens. “That explains so much.”
“Exactly.” I huff a laugh. “Boone’s family, Walter especially, gave him more stability than he ever got at home. Silas spent half his childhood running around this ranch. Might as well have had his name engraved on one of the bedrooms.”
She laughs quietly.
“So when I moved in after my mom left,” I continue, “Silas was already basically part of the furniture. He came by every weekend, and eventually just started staying. One toothbrush turned into two pairs of boots by the door, and now he acts like co-owner of the place.”
“Really?” she asks. “So it’s just the three of you?”
“Has been for years.” I dry my hands and lean back against the counter. “Boone handles the business. Silas handles the people. I handle the animals.”
Delaney studies me. “Sounds like a family.”
“It is. A weird one. But it works. It’s somewhere to belong.”
“Belonging’s… complicated.”
“It is,” I respond quietly.
The kitchen feels different. Smaller…
Then a crash from the living room breaks the moment.
Silas’s voice: “I’m okay! That table was in my way anyway.”
Delaney snorts. “Is he always… like that?”
“Yeah,” I hum. “That is the watered-down, early evening version, actually.”
She laughs, a real one this time. “I don’t know how you all survived this long.”
“Stubborn,” I say.
She shakes her head, still smiling, and we go back to our quiet chore.
By the time the kitchen’s clean, the house has settled again. Night has fully fallen outside, the windows reflecting us instead of the fields beyond.
She leans against the counter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Thanks for helping,” she says. “I know you’ve already done a full day before this.”
“It’s fine. You did too.”
She wants to protest, then seems to think better of it. “Tomorrow I’m thinking of trying something with the slow cooker. So nobody has to wait as long when they’re starving after work.”
“You don’t have to impress us every night,” I tell her.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” she asks lightly.
“Feels like it.”
She looks down at her hands. “Maybe I’m just… trying to make it feel worth it. That you took a chance on me.”
I can’t help but smile.
“You’re here. That’s worth it.”
She meets my gaze, eyes soft and searching, and I have to look away first.
“Goodnight, Delaney,” I say, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door.
“Goodnight, Caleb.”
Her voice follows me out onto the porch.
Back in the barn, the horses shift as I walk by, blowing warm breath into the cool night. I pause by one stall and rest my forehead against the wood, listening to the calming sound of chewing.
The tack room is dim when I go back in. The cats have rearranged themselves. My book is still wedged where I left it.
I pull it out. Flip it open to where I left off.
He held her like she was something precious…
I shut it again.
Because tonight, what sticks with me isn’t the words on the page.
It’s a woman standing at my kitchen sink, hands in soapy water, listening to me talk about belonging as not a thing I have to earn every day.
It’s a kid’s face lighting up over real bread and magic gravy.
It’s the way the house felt… fuller.
We’ve been missing a piece we didn’t know we needed.
I rub a hand over my jaw and sit back down on the hay bale, the barn wrapping around me as it always does.
The animals I understand. Their wants are simple. Food, safety, consistency.
People are messier.
And still, as I listen to the quiet and stare at the book in my hands, one thought keeps circling in my head:
The new chef is going to be trouble.
Not the kind that wrecks things.
The kind that makes you hope for more.
That’s the dangerous kind.
And she’s already here.