Page 122 of Nanny for the Protector

A smile twitched my cheek, and I reached out to ruffle her hair.

“Daddy,” my four-year-old yelled and batted my hand off. “You’ll mess up my hair.”

I glanced at the two pigtails she'd given her Aunt Claire strict directions on how to fix that morning. Her red hair was so curly and soft that the ribbons were already coming undone. I definitely wouldn't be the one to tell her that.

“Sorry, Muffin.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.” She tapped my arm. “You can touch my hair later, okay?”

I stifled my laughter. “Okay.”

I went back to my laptop. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Trying to catch up with work while I was on my way to Hannibal, Missouri, in a car with my friend, sister, and daughter. Not the quietest bunch. I blew out a breath as my office email pinged with updates.

“French fries!I should be back at the museum,” I bit out.

“If you're going to say a cuss word, just saythe word,” Claire, my younger sister, twisted in the front passenger seat to eyeball me.

My gaze slid to Charlotte. She was already sucked into another video. I looked back up at my sister, and her grin told me everything. She knew I'd have hell to pay with Lacey if Charlotte picked up a bad word from me. And Charlotte could pick up everything. So fast. Too fast. I refrained from touching her hair. She used to be so tiny, and now she had pigtails, fancy jackets, and sneakers. Soon, she'll be putting on nail polish.

“I can even help.” Claire's eyes twinkled mischievously. “A cuss word is f—”

“Claire!” I growled and covered both of Charlotte’s ears. “Stop.”

“Fish!” My sister beamed.

Charlotte whined and shook her head. Her ribbons came free, and her hair poured down her face. Eyes widening, I leaned away from the crime scene. If she even suspected I had a hand in her pigtails coming loose, we wouldn't make it to Hannibal in one piece. Thankfully, she was so lost in Cocomelon that she tucked the strands behind her ears and continued watching.

Claire’s laughter pulled my eyes up. “Lucky.”

“Tell me why I invited you again?” I eyed her before going back to my laptop.

A couple of months ago, my Aunt Grace's lawyer informed me she'd left her estate to me. While I was sad she was gone and I missed her, traveling to a new city to settle an estate wasn't in my plans and didn't fit into my tight schedule. But the man insisted that I couldn't handle it over the phone. Now, here I was, tucked in an SUV, on the way to Hannibal while heaven knew what was happening back at the museum.

A work email pinged, and I clicked on it. A new art consignment just arrived, and they were offloading it onto the premises. A sigh left me. I should be there. What if they didn't handle it properly? What if—

“You'd feel a lot better if you just turn off the laptop and take in the countryside,” my friend slash art director at the museum, Chris, threw over his shoulder. He’d turned chauffeur for this trip. “There's a lot to see.”

“Chris is right. Look up, bro,” Claire put in.

I eyed them both and took a second to glimpse out the window. Endless fields of grass and sunshine held no appeal to me, except when they were slapped onto a canvas and priced very highly.No, thanks.

“Or...you can look at this as a break. Remember one of those? When you stop working and just relax?” Claire said.

“Like you're one to tell me. I dragged you away from work. When last did you use your sick days?”

“Um, hello? Do you know what being sick means?” Claire returned. “You’re running on fumes, old man.”

“I'm thirty-seven!”

“Yikes. The only thing I heard was ‘get off my lawn!’” Claire said in a fake feeble voice.

Chris guffawed. “Yeah, I heard that, too.”

“Idiot, you're only two years behind me.”

“Daddy said a bad word,” Charlotte murmured.

I facepalmed, and Chris and Claire shared a fist bump.

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