Page 11 of Nanny for the Cowboy

“Alright, you know the drill.”

Darby looks from his dad to me, and I offer a curious smile, brows up to my hairline.

“Ugh, okay.” He settles into his chair and then looks back over at his dad. “Thank you for the food, the roof over my head, and…oh! Hiring Clover.”

A laugh breaks free, and I look back over at Brooks.

“We say what we’re grateful for. Tradition.” Brooks clears his throat, obviously searching for his list. “Thank you for being such a great kid, thank you to Leo for helping me find a nanny, and…thank you to Clover.”

His eyes meet mine, and all I can do is swallow hard, his stare pinning me in place.

“For accepting the job. We’re both very grateful.”

Smiling, I feel my cheeks heat, and I look over at Darby to offer my own thanks. “Well, thank you for having me. I’m very glad that I could find something that keeps a roof over my head and pairs me with such a cool kid.”

Darby looks very impressed with himself, and then we’re both laughing as Brooks doles out the food. It feels oddly intimate to have shared that with them.

I’m not sure who this guy is, but there’s one thing I know for sure about Brooks. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.

Snapping back to reality, I blink, realizing that I’ve walked the entire length of the house, replaying the events of dinner in my head.

While the beginning of the meal had been so warm and inviting, Brooks didn’t say more than ten words for the rest of dinner. Darby talked plenty, though, asking me questions about NYC and my job there.

It was adorable, and hell, the two of them know tons about me now. If only I could get the info dump from Brooks.

With the whole of the house now explored—even if I don’t remember everything I saw—I decide to take this show on the road and go outside. The summer evening is comfortable, and the wind from earlier has settled into a gentle breeze.

As soon as I step outside, I’m hit with a wave of humidity. I’m not used to it at all, but at least with the sun down, it’s not that bad. And crickets are singing loudly, coming from every direction.

I smile, wandering over toward a smaller building that’s parked right near the back of the house. It’s not the barn. That thing’s huge and in the other direction, so I figure, why not explore?

Getting closer, I can hear the sound of something whirring, and the door to the large shed of sorts is cracked open slightly, light spilling out from inside.

Turning around and going back to bed is what Ishoulddo, but instead, I find myself approaching the building cautiously, in some vain attempt to be sneaky.

Inside, I see Brooks standing over a workbench, hunched over something. There’s a fan set up to his left, enhancing the breeze, and there’s the sound of something scraping.

From where Brooks is standing I can’t see what he’s working on, but I can see a pile of wood shavings at his feet.

Is he building something? With his broken fucking arm?

After a moment, Brooks shifts, and I can see that he’s holding some type of sander or cutting device and tracing it over the edge of what looks like the leg of a table. He’s using the thing with one hand, and I can tell it’s annoying him to no end.

He fumbles with the device as he rubs it around the bulge in the middle of the leg, dropping it to the floor. Brooks lets out a huff, his hand going to his hip.

“Goddamn it.”

Brooks is working without a shirt on, the tee tucked into the waistband of his blue jeans at his back. A backward baseball cap keeps his hair out of his face, and the glimmer of sweat coats his skin.

My breath leaves me in a shaky rasp, and I realize I’m staring. Hell, I’m ogling.

I should not be staring at him like this. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, yeah, he’s gorgeous. But he’s way older than me, and I’ve got one reason to be here, and it’s not to get laid.

It’s been a minute since I did enjoy any type of sexual company, though. That’s got to be it.

Brooks bends to get the sander thing from the floor, and his jeans pull against his ass. My heart flutters, beating too loudly in my ears.

“Clover?”

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