Page 40 of Nanny for the Cowboy

My gut clenches. I know what happened, and now I feel like shit for practically blackmailing Clover into singing.Christ, what did I do?

Heart in my throat, I watch the stage for her to step out. The area is quiet, and my spine is rigid, so tense it hurts. It hits me that I’ve never been invested in someone like I am with Clover.

I like her…too much.

And standing next to her fucking father is a damn good reminder of that. Gods, I’m best friends with the man standing next to me, and just last night, I nearly kissed his daughter.

Worse, I can’t deny that I wouldn’t fall into that trap again if I was set up for it.

Clover is…I don’t know how to describe everything under the surface with her, but it’s expansive, and I can get lost in those depths so damn easily.

Just being near her is enough to get my pulse racing, my fingers twitching as they itch to touch her, and I just can’t. Thatcan’thappen.

“Thank you for being patient, everyone!” Rosie steps out onto the stage, and I snap into focus, forcefully silencing my turbulent thoughts. “We had a slight change of plans. Our usual performer, Ben, is sick with food poisoning, but we’ve got a treat for you! All the way from New York City, the lovely Clover Joy has agreed to lend her voice and make this gorgeous summer day even brighter. Let’s give her a hand!”

Clover steps out, and I can just make out the tremble of her hand as she holds the microphone. She stands in the center of the stage, looking out over the crowd until her eyes meet mine.

I hold her stare, not looking away.

“Thank you. I…well, I hope you enjoy the song. It’s one of my favorites.”

The music swells behind her, the speakers a little scratchy with age.

No one is really paying attention, a hushed mumble flowing through the crowd, but the moment Clover opens her mouth and hits that first note in “I Love You,” everyone goes silent, their eyes pinned to the stage.

I can hardly blink as Clover sings, utterly enraptured by the way she takes the simple song and makes it so heartbreakingly beautiful.

It’s not your typical choice—especially not in a town of farmers and cowboys who probably don’t know who Billie Eilish is for the most part—but not even one person is left unaffected by Clover’s performance.

Each word in the song hits too hard, and I can’t breathe. I don’t know what made her choose the song, and as much as I want to look away, stop thinking about each fucking word, I can’t.

It’s this soft, pleading confession. And telling ourselves a “good lie” is too damn real.

Clover disappears into the song, her every move and breath given to the music. Tearing my eyes away requires more than I have, so I just stare, unable to escape.

As the notes fade from existence, there’s a hush over the crowd. Time stands still, and then, in a rush, everyone claps and cheers for Clover.

Without thinking, I head toward the stage stairs, Darby right behind me. We’re the first to greet Clover as she exits, and my son sprints to her, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce hug.

“That was so good, Clover!” He jumps, looking up at her with his arms still around her. “You were like totally amazing!”

“So,” Clover looks over at me, her smile a little unsteady, “I did okay for a city girl singing to a bunch of country folks?”

I can’t find the words. All I can do is smile, but it stretches my mouth wide, and it’s the most I’ve smiled in…years.

Clover’s eyes well up as I look at her, her expression melting into this look of gratitude and overwhelm. I take one step toward her, putting my hand on Darby’s shoulder.

“Pretty damn good.” I nod. “Even for a city girl.”

FIFTEEN

Clover

As far as ceilings go, the one above me is only slightly more fascinating than those in hospital rooms. It’s white, of course, and thankfully not made of those little square tiles.

No, this one is dry-walled and smooth, finished like the walls around me. And I’ve been staring at it, unable to sleep for too long to count now.

It’s not that I’m not tired or that the bed is suddenly uncomfortable after weeks of sleeping in it. It’s not even a nightmare or insomnia.

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