Chapter 44 Boone
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Boone
School drop-off is always hellish.
Cars inch forward in a crooked line that never quite follows the cones the school insists matter. Kids spill out with backpacks too big for their bodies, voices loud, emotions already dialed up to eleven before eight thirty in the morning.
I hate this part of the day.
Not because of Sadie, she’s the only good thing about it, but because I don’t enjoy leaving her here. Don’t enjoy not being able to see everything.
Sadie unbuckles herself before I even stop, bouncing in her seat. “Daddy, I forgot my folder yesterday, but Mrs. Hanover said it’s okay and Micah says his aunt’s bringing donuts for the class and—”
“Hey.” I reach back, still the stream of words. “Slow down.”
She grins. Same smile that’s gotten me through some real bad years.
I park, walk her up to the curb, and crouch to straighten her backpack straps. She smells of shampoo and cereal and the faint grass smell that never quite leaves kids who grow up on a ranch.
“You have a good day,” I tell her.
“I will.” She hesitates, then wraps her arms around my neck in a quick, fierce hug. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She runs off, ponytail swinging, and I don’t leave right away. I never do. I watch until she’s inside. Until the door shuts.
That’s when I see Carol Spence.
She’s standing tall near the entrance, clipboard tucked against her chest, posture sharp and immaculate. Eli’s at her side, shirt pressed, shoes spotless, eyes scanning the crowd with that same pinched alertness he always has.
I keep my face neutral.
Carol spots me. Of course she does.
Her lips tighten. Not a smile, not a scowl. Something in between. Eli follows her gaze, eyes flicking to the door Sadie disappeared through.
I watch him carefully.
Nothing happens.
No whisper. No smirk. No move toward the building that would give me an excuse to step in.
Good.
I give it another minute anyway, just to be sure, then head back to the truck.
The drive away from the school is slow, my mind already ticking through the day ahead. Feed orders, a fence that needs fixing, a call from the vet I’ve been putting off.
I turn onto Main Street for coffee and gas before heading back out to the ranch.
And that’s when I see her.
Delaney.
She’s near the bakery, backed up close to the curb, body tense in a way that makes cold settle in my chest. There’s a man in front of her. Too close. One hand lifted, fingers wrapped around her wrist.
I don’t think.
I slam the truck into park, and I’m out the door before the engine’s fully cut.
I cross the distance in long strides, boots hitting pavement hard enough to echo.
“Hey.”
My voice cuts through the street noise sharper than I intend. It doesn’t matter. It lands.
The man turns first. Mid-thirties, maybe older. Well dressed in that expensive but effortless way that screams money and certainty. One of those men who assumes the world bends because it usually does.
His hand is still on Delaney’s wrist.
That’s when my vision narrows.
“Back up,” I say, already stepping between them.
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go right away. He looks me over slowly, calculating. I’m a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve yet.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he says.
“Delaney,” I say quietly. “Step back.”
She does. Immediately. The second the space opens, she moves behind me. She’s been holding herself in place by sheer force of will.
That’s all I need to know.
I turn to him then.
“You touch her again,” I say evenly, “and you’ll regret it.”
He laughs. A short, disbelieving sound.
“You don’t know what this is,” he snaps, irritation bleeding through the polish now.
“I know exactly what it is,” I say.
Delaney’s hand grips the back of my jacket as if she needs to feel something solid.
The man’s eyes flick to that hand, then back to my face. His mouth curls.
“Oh,” he says softly. “I see.”
Ugly anger lights up behind his eyes.
“You didn’t tell him everything, did you?” he says, directing the words past me, straight at her. “You never do.”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s enough,” I warn.
He ignores me.
“Funny how you run,” he continues. “Change cities. Change stories. Pretend you’re someone new.”
I feel her flinch behind me.
That’s it.
I step closer.
“You’re done here,” I say. “Walk away.”
He scoffs. “You think you get to decide that?”
“I do,” I reply. “Because you don’t get to corner someone and call it a conversation.”
He straightens, shoulders squaring. “Do you even know who I am?”
The words click into place then.
The way Delaney was frozen. The fear that wasn’t panic, but memory. The shame layered under it.
“You’re Marcus,” I say.
His brows lift. Surprise flickers, then satisfaction.
“So she did tell you something.”
I don’t look back at her. I don’t need to.
“She told me enough,” I say. “She protected herself.”
His smile thins. “Is that what she calls it now?”
I feel heat crawl up my spine, old and familiar.
“You don’t get to rewrite what you did,” I say quietly. “You don’t get to follow her and pretend you’re the injured party.”
“I built her,” he snaps. “I gave her everything.”
“She earned everything,” I shoot back. “You just took credit.”
He laughs again, but it’s brittle now. The street has slowed. People are watching. And predators hate witnesses.
“You think she’s innocent?” he presses. “Ask her how she climbed the ladder. Ask her how many nights she spent…”
I take another step forward.
He stops talking.
“I don’t care what story you tell yourself,” I say. “But you will not speak to her again.”
“She ruined my reputation,” he snarls. “She owes me.”
Delaney makes a small sound behind me. Not a word. Just a breath breaking.
I plant myself fully in front of her.
“She owes you nothing,” I say. “And if you ever come near her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Uncertainty flickers across his face. Then calculation. He scans the street. The people. The phones.
“This isn’t over,” he says to her.
“It is,” I snap.
He hesitates longer than he wants to.
Then he backs away, muttering something under his breath before disappearing down the sidewalk.
I don’t move until he’s gone.
Not until the pressure in my chest eases just a fraction.
Then I turn.
Delaney’s face crumples. Her knees wobble, and I catch her before she can think better of it.
She presses her forehead into my chest, breath hitching, shoulders shaking. She’s been holding herself together since the second she saw him.
“I didn’t want him to find me,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say.
“I didn’t want this to touch my life here.”
“I know,” I repeat.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes red and wet and furious with herself. “I wasn’t hiding because I was guilty.”
“I know.”
The words land differently this time.
She nods once, letting herself believe me.
“Let’s go home,” I say gently.
She doesn’t argue.