Page 24 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
Beck chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Jace. She’s impressive, yeah. But I’ve seen the way you’re staring. Don’t deny it. Nerdy girls and big cowboy energy? Classic formula.”
I wave him off, trying to refocus. “I’m making sure the ranch is secure, Beck. That’s it. Nothing more.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s sharing state secrets. “Sure, sure. Just don’t come crying to me when she hacks into your heart along with your security grid.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help stealing another glance at her. Tessa’s focused, unbothered, entirely in her element. She doesn’t notice me watching, or maybe she does and doesn’t care. Either way, she’s proving herself over and over, earning my respect while keeping her distance.
And I like that. I hate that I like that.
Beck saunters off, whistling a tune, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the low hum of machinery. I take a deep breath and focus back on the herd, reminding myself: she’s here to do a job, nothing more.
I roll toward her, keeping a polite distance. No hovering. No constant questions. Just mere presence. My eyes flick toward her periodically, catching her hunched over the laptop, fingers dancing across the keys as she reroutes power flows, checks security logs, and patches vulnerabilities I didn’t even know existed.
She doesn’t look up or ask for help. And somehow, that’s what annoys me the most. She makes it look easy, like she belongs here among the chaos of the ranch, while I’m scrambling to keep a hundred things from breaking at once.
I keep my voice casual when I speak. “Everything running smoothly?”
She glances up, eyes sharp. “Perfectly peachy,” she says, a bit dismissively.
“Keep up the good work,” I say, rolling on.
She nods once and returns to her work. That’s it. No flirting. No conversation. Just competence.
I resist the urge to roll closer, to hover, to micromanage. I’ve been burned by people who look good on paper but can’t handle a real crisis. She’s not that. I can see it now. Even from this distance.
I glance out the window at the horses grazing calmly in the corral. Daisy’s voice echoes faintly from the veranda as she chases a runaway chicken. Beck’s somewhere in the barn, probably scheming a way to embarrass me further. But in here, with Tessa and the hum of machinery, the chaos is manageable.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel a rare sense of calm. I can trust her. But just barely. One wrong move, one slip-up, and it’ll all come crashing down.
The phone rings, and I don’t even need to check the caller ID. I already know.
“Hello?” My voice is flat, steady, but I can feel the tension in my shoulders.
“Mr. Morgan,” Mercy’s voice trembles. “I quit.”
I stare at the horizon, fighting the sudden surge of frustration. Rodeo season, the ranch running at full throttle, and now this? “You... quit?” I ask, disbelief threading through my drawl.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice small, before swiftly hanging up.
Damn it. Of course. Of course this would happen now.
I glance toward the main house, imagining Daisy bouncing around, needing constant supervision. My hands tighten on the armrests of my wheelchair. I can’t leave her unattended, not with a hundred things needing my attention across the ranch, and the rodeo season barely giving me a second to breathe.
I start making calls.
“Morning, this is Jace Morgan at Iron Stallion. I need an emergency nanny. Yes, immediately. Do you have anyone available?” I bark into the receiver, listening as the other side rattles off excuses about no one being available. I hang up, jaw tight.
My fingers drum against the armrest as I curse under my breath. Rodeo season doesn’t care about nannies quitting. Neither does Daisy. I need a nanny and I need her ASAP.
11
TESSA
The suitcase gapes open on my bed, half-packed and accusing, glaring back at me. All my clothes lie in messy folds, tossed in without care, but every time I reach for another piece of clothing, my chest tightens. I tell myself that I’m doing the right thing, that the time has come, but every shirt I fold feels like closing the door on this strange little bubble I’ve been living in.
Iron Stallion was never meant to be anything more than a gig. Just a stopover, a hiding place away from those hunting me. Now the smell of hay and leather is burned into my lungs, and the heat I was complaining so often about doesn’t seem so bad.
Why am I so reluctant to leave?
