Page 5 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Cowboy

Vincent clears his throat. "Lily, why don't you go help Uncle Aaron feed those carrots to the horses like he promised? I'll show Miss—Charlotte to her room."

For a moment, it looks like Lily might protest, but then she nods. "Okay, but don't forget to show her the secret bookshelf!"

She darts past her father, calling for her uncle as she goes. Vincent watches her go with a look of such tender affection that it catches me off guard. This stern cowboy clearly adores his daughter, and something about witnessing that private moment makes my heart stutter.

"Secret bookshelf?" I ask when he turns back to me.

The corner of his mouth twitches. "My mother had a thing for hidden storage. Come on, I'll show you."

He leads me through the sprawling ranch house, which is both exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined. The bones of the place are rustic—exposed beams, hardwood floors worn smooth by generations of boots—but there are unexpected touches of elegance too. Hand-carved furniture, beautiful landscape paintings, dozens of family pictures, and shelves of leather-bound books.

"Your home is beautiful," I say, genuinely impressed.

"Been in the family for four generations," he replies. Each generation adds something, while taking something away. Makes it their own while keeping what matters."

There's pride in his voice, and I find myself wondering what his contribution has been to this legacy. Before I can ask, he stops at a door near the back of the house.

"This is you," he says, pushing the door open.

The room is small but charming, with a window that looks out over what appears to be a flower garden. There's a twin bed with a colorful quilt, a dresser, a small desk, and—

"The secret bookshelf?" I guess, pointing to what looks like an ordinary bookcase against one wall.

Vincent nods. "Pull the copy of 'Little Women.'"

Curious, I cross to the bookshelf and find the novel, tugging it gently. To my delight, there's a soft click and the entire bookcase swings forward, revealing a small bathroom hidden behind it.

"That's amazing!" I laugh, genuinely delighted. "Why hide a bathroom, though?"

Vincent leans against the doorframe, arms still crossed. "My father added this room after they were married. My mother said every lady needs her private space, so he built her this sewing room with its own bath that my brothers couldn't invade. The hidden door was her idea—she said it made her feel like she was in an Agatha Christie novel.”

There is a softness to his voice when he speaks of his parents, which contrasts sharply with his otherwise guarded demeanor. I wonder if they're still around, but something tells me that's a question for another time.

"It's perfect," I say sincerely. "Thank you."

"Bathroom's stocked with towels and basic toiletries. Your suitcase—" He stops, frowning. "Your suitcase is in your broken-down car, right?"

I wince. "Yes. Along with pretty much everything I own."

His eyebrows rise. "Everything?"

Heat rises to my cheeks. "I, um, just moved to the area. Everything I didn't ship ahead is in my car."

Vincent pinches the bridge of his nose, and I can practically feel him regretting his hiring decision. "Right. Well, Jackson's arranged for your car to be towed to Pete's garage in town."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

He nods curtly. "In the meantime, I'll drive you into town, and you'll pick up whatever essentials you need. And—" he hesitates, "—my aunt Maggie left some clothes behind last time she visited. She's about your size. I'll have Lily bring you something to change into."

The offer is delivered gruffly, like it pains him to be helpful, but I'm touched nonetheless. "That's very kind of you."

"It's practical," he corrects. "Can't have you walking around like that all day."

I glance down at my sweat-stained dress and can't help but laugh. "Fair point. Not very nanny-appropriate."

"See that it doesn't. Lily has had enough people in her life who don't show up when they're supposed to.”

The words land like a slap, and I understand their subtext clearly. This isn't just about punctuality—it's about reliability. About not being another person who fails his daughter.

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