Page 13 of Nanny for the Cowboy

There’s a bit of a staring match building between us now, and I face off against him, totally unwilling to back down.

“I don’t think you’re cut out for the life.” He raises his brows, his expression matter-of-fact and calm. “I don’t think you’ll hack it here on the ranch.”

My brow furrows before I can even respond, my mouth dropping open slightly. “You don’t know anything about me. You have no reason to think that except for the fact that I’m from the city. Isn’t that amitejudgemental?”

I know I’m pressing my luck a little, using language I know is stereotypically associated with the country, but the anger is too hard to dismiss right away.

“Perhaps. But if I’m right…”

Brooks lets it hang like that, and I just glare back at him. After a few seconds, I put my hands on my hips, leaning in toward him to make my point.

“If you’re trying to push me out or ‘test my resolve,’ just know I can take anything you dole out. I’m not a quitter.”

He doesn’t say anything, content to return to his damned table leg. All I can do is glare at him, knowing that I have to drop it for now and go back to bed.

Still…

If this jerk thinks I can’t hack it, he’s got another thing coming.

FIVE

Clover

Clover

The sun is only just cresting the substantial hill that sits behind the house to the west, but I’m up. I’m up at five fucking o’clock in the morning because I’m not about to let Brooks be right.

I’ll prove I can do this if it’s the last thing I do.

Still, I can feel my body dragging, and I pour my second cup of coffee as eggs and breakfast potatoes fry on the stove. I’ve also managed to snag that basket of laundry Brooks told me about and throw it in the washer so that it’ll be done before long.

“He’ll see,” I mumble to myself, indignation simmering in my blood, “I can do anything I put my mind to.”

It’s wildly ridiculous to be talking to myself about this, as much as it is to bethisupset about everything, but I can’t help it.

All morning, I’ve had the same mantra running through my head.

Your mother grew up on a Texas farm. You’ve got this country shit in your blood, Clover Joy.

Time passes in a blur after that, and I get Darby set up at the kitchen island with breakfast by the time I hear Brooks come down the stairs. I look at the clock on the stove—it’s seven.

As the big boss man comes into the kitchen, he eyes the spread I’ve laid out on the oversized island as Darby happily munches away.

There’s fruit, eggs, bread, sausage, and potatoes. Hell, I’ve even put out some coffee and cream, orange juice, and an array of toppers you can put on your eggs, like cheese and crumbled bacon.

“You cooked all this?”

Surprise paints Brooks’s face, and I am a smug bitch in spades.That’s right, cowboy. I can cook.

“I did. Breakfast is indeed served.” As Brooks sits down next to Darby, eyeing his son’s plate with a subtle nod, I make sure all the dishes I used to cook are in the dishwasher, ready to go when we’re done eating before I join them.

“I also made sure that Darby’s lunch is ready, his backpack with homework is set, and I’ve gotten through a load of dishes, laundry, and the garbage has been taken out for collection.”

Stopping with a bite of food poised at his mouth, Brooks eyes me with his brows right up to his thick hairline. He stumbles for a second, relaxing his arm down to the table instead of eating.

“You did all that. Seriously?”

I nod. “Before you were even out of bed. Not bad for a city girl, huh?”

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