Page 65 of Nanny for the Cowboy

We walk through the large living room toward the kitchen and dining room at the back of the first floor. It’s clean and tidy, but the open shelves with their imperfect charm and brick-surrounded oven make the place feel that much more cozy.

Plus, the table is apparently included with the house because there’s a little sign on it that says, “Have a seat. I’m part of the home.”

I sit down, looking around at all the rustic country charm, and my heart aches a little. I know how much Mom would’ve loved this, and it stings.

“Hey, you alright?”

My dad comes and sits by me. Clearly, he’s damn good at reading me. I sigh, shaking my head with a crooked grin.

“Mom would’ve loved this.”

With a similar sigh, Dad nods. “She would have, yeah. It’s just like the kind she always talked about.”

Before I can stop myself, I sniffle through a brief sob, sucking in air to try and force the emotions away.

“Oh, honey.” Dad circles his arms around me. “I miss her, too.”

I let myself fall apart a little—just for a moment—and then I sit up, shaking myself. “You should buy it. It’s just right.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Dad glances around the house, his grin widening with each second. “I like to think your mom would approve. I can see her in this kitchen, putting on a kettle for tea and humming a little song. Maybe she’ll come and visit me here.”

Dad doesn’t stop the tear that drips down his face, and I squeeze my arms around him, letting the moment just…be.

“Well, let’s check out the rest. I want to see the upstairs,” Dad announces, and I follow him up.

We peruse the small but uncramped bedrooms, the master being the largest of the four total rooms. One is currently set up as an office, and Dad remarks that he likes that idea.

I peek into the master, walking into the space and dragging my eyes across every surface. There are a few more hand-me-down furniture pieces included in the house in here, with little signs on them all.

The room is still that warm white color, and the wrought-iron bed on the far wall has white sheets. It’s included, apparently, and I notice the small patchwork chair next to it—faded from the sun but in good condition— is included too.

There’s also a closet in the master bedroom. It sits beneath the steepled part of the roof, and it offers a rack for clothes on the right with a dresser on the left of the narrow passage. At the back, there’s another smaller dresser, and they even put a rug in here—cream and tan and blue, all faded.

There’s a bathroom attached to the master suite, with a free-standing tub beneath a bright window—small panels in the glass framed by thin pieces of brown wood—and a bowl sink that looks just perfect.

I walk over to it, smoothing my fingers across the white porcelain that sits on top of a table-like base, the wood very worn, but purposefully so. Storage baskets sit on the shelf beneath it, and a mirror in a picture frame hangs just in front of me.

God, it’s so quiet here, so still in this beautiful empty house.

The other bathroom between the two rooms is on the opposite side of the house. And I join Dad over there having a look.

This one is very different than the master—much more ornate, whereas the other one was simple. The wood beams still run across the ceiling like they have everywhere, but here, they’ve been dusted with white paint.

“Look at the wallpaper,” Dad offers, a smile curving his lips.

I step closer, admiring the sweet wallpaper that depicts curving branches that are just sprouting flowers, making me think of spring. There’s a valance and curtain over the window that backdrops the tub, too.

It matches the wallpaper, except not exactly. It’s the same color scheme, same theme. Still, the flowers stand by themselves without branches, tiny little bundles set into diamond shapes.

The tub has actual feet—iron and intricately designed. The mirror in here is also framed, but this one has a massive trim along the top like you’d see over a doorway. The sink is set into a cabinet that perfectly complements the mirror, and everything in here is lighter.

There’s even a medium-sized chandelier in the ceiling, dark metal similar to the claw feet, the fixtures, and the small bars along the wall to hold towels.

“What were the other bedrooms like?”

Dad turns to me, holding out a hand for us to leave. “They were mostly empty, just some small beds, but really nice. Clean and bright.”

When we finish checking everything out, Dad and I walk back out onto the porch. The wind is warm, and I can hear the constant drone of crickets and cicadas singing.

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