Page 35 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
“Tessa?” Jace’s deep drawl cuts through the wood, steady and grounded, and somehow it makes my pulse jump even harder.
“I gotta go,” I whisper into the phone.
“Don’t run, Tess. Just breathe. Call me later.” Sienna hangs up before I can answer.
I tuck the phone under my pillow, inhale once, twice, then push to my feet and face the door, pulse hammering as I call out, “Yes?”
The knob turns slowly, and then Jace steps into the doorway. He fills it in that easy, commanding way of his, broad shoulders brushing the frame, hat in one hand. His eyes flick over me, the open closet, the mess of half-folded clothes.
My stomach drops. He sees it. He knows.
“I was about to knock again,” he says, voice low, controlled. “Thought maybe you didn’t hear me.”
“I heard you,” I manage, but it comes out too fast, too small. I force my arms across my chest, trying to maintain some composure.
His gaze lingers on me a moment, then he exhales, slow and heavy, like he’s weighing his words. “About yesterday.”
There it is. The axe dropping.
I brace for it, jaw tight. “I—“
“You don’t need to explain.” He cuts me off, tone steady, no heat in it. “Daisy acted out. That’s on me, not you.”
The words hit me sideways. I blink. “What?”
His mouth quirks to almost a grimace. “She’s been through a lot, so she tends to test people. Especially when she’s scared of losing them.” His eyes lift to mine, sharp and steady. “That tantrum wasn’t your fault. And it damn sure isn’t your job to fix it.”
I don’t know what to say. My throat clogs, because this isn’t the script I rehearsed in my head.
“Still,” I whisper. “I… I thought maybe you didn’t want me here anymore.” I gesture weakly at the closet, at the half-packed evidence of my panic. “I thought maybe—“
“Don’t.” His voice drops, firm but not unkind. “You’ve got a job here, and I don’t take back my word once I give it. You’re not going anywhere.”
Something hot prickles at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow it down. “Even if I’m screwing this up?”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You’re not screwing up. You’re learning. Same as Daisy. Same as me.” He dips his chin, that quiet intensity rolling off him in waves. “I need you here. She needs you here. Don’t let one bad day talk you into running.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. Just tips his hat back onto his head, gives me one last look—something unreadable flickering in his eyes—and then he’s gone, boots thudding down the hall.
He’s gone, but my heart’s still pounding, ears ringing with his words: I need you here. She needs you here.
I sink onto the bed again, staring at the closet like it can tell me what the hell to do. I’m still torn, still aching with doubt, but his voice lingers.
I don’t move for a long time. The quiet hum of the house fills the space Jace left behind, but it’s not enough to drown out his words. I need you here. She needs you here. I press my palms into my eyes until colors bloom against the dark. It’s easier than staring at the closet, easier than admitting I was ready to run again.
That’s what I do, isn’t it? Run. From Richard. From the conference in D.C. From my own mistakes. And now, from a little girl who just wanted to be heard.
But what does running fix? Out there, Richard is still waiting, teeth bared, waiting for the moment I make myself vulnerable. Leaving here doesn’t solve anything; it just hands him the opening he’s waiting for.
I’m still unsure of everything, but for the first time since yesterday, I let myself feel the sharp edge of wanting. Wanting to stay. Wanting to belong. Even if I have no idea how.
A soft shuffle outside my door makes me freeze. Not heavy boots like Jace’s—these are lighter, hesitant. Then a knock, barely more than a tap.
I quickly fix my face and straighten my spine. “Come in.” My voice comes out rough, but steady enough.
The door creaks open, and Daisy’s head pokes around the frame, her eyes cautious, guarded in a way no seven-year-old’s should ever have to be. She doesn’t come in right away, just stands there, small fingers curling around the edge of the wood, eyes darting to the half-open closet, then to me.
My pulse thuds in my ears. I don’t know if I should speak first, or if I should wait her out. Yesterday’s tantrum is still a fresh bruise between us, and I don’t know the right way to reach across it.
