Page 44 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
When we walk into the school office, Daisy’s sitting outside the vice principal’s door, small and slouched, eyes red. Her backpack is on the floor, one of her braids half undone.
Tessa rushes to her side. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
Before Daisy can answer, Mrs. Lambert steps out of her office, looking like she’s been waiting all day to be judgmental. “Mr. Morgan.”
I nod stiffly. “Mrs. Lambert.”
“Let’s talk inside.”
Tessa stands, ready to follow.
Mrs. Lambert’s gaze flicks to her. “I’m sorry, and you are?”
“Tessa Monroe,” she says evenly. “Daisy’s nanny.”
I catch the quick lift of Mrs. Lambert’s brow, a mix of surprise and disapproval. “Very well. You can sit in.”
All four of us step inside, and she closes the door behind us with a little click that sounds like a verdict.
“Mr. Morgan, we had to bring Daisy in today because her hair violates the school grooming policy.”
I blink. “Her what?”
“Her hair.” Mrs. Lambert gestures like it’s obvious. “Students are not allowed to have unnatural colors. Pink, blue, green—it’s all clearly outlined in the handbook.”
And that’s when I take note of the pink edges my daughter is sporting that were not there yesterday morning when we hung out in the corral. I turn to Tessa, who looks both relieved and amused by this whole situation. I’m glad she finds it funny because I do not.
“We consider this a violation serious enough to warrant suspension,” the vice principal hammers on.
Tessa gasps. “Suspension? She’s seven!”
Mrs. Lambert’s mouth tightens. “And yet, she still needs to learn accountability.”
I take a slow breath, letting my calm authority settle over the room. “I understand the rules, but Daisy is under my supervision. This isn’t a safety issue or a behavioral problem.I suggest a compromise: after-school detention for one week. That will satisfy the rules without unnecessarily punishing her education.”
The vice principal hesitates, clearly uncomfortable, and I push gently with a soft, persuasive tone I’ve honed over the years. “I assure you, Daisy will learn from this, and she’ll follow the rules going forward. This will be a lesson, not a punishment that derails her learning.”
After a tense moment, she sighs. “Very well, Mr. Morgan. One week of after-school detention. But no more dyed hair, understood?”
Daisy’s shoulders slump with relief, and Tessa exhales quietly beside my daughter, her fingers brushing against hers in a small, comforting touch.
I get off my seat and crouch slightly to meet Daisy’s eyes. “Understand? One week of detention, and no more bright colors, okay?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but full of promise.
I thank the vice principal and motion for Daisy to grab her things.
The drive home is tense, the silence thick enough to choke on. Daisy sits quietly in her seat, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, while Tessa’s hands are clasped tightly in her lap, eyes on the dashboard. I can feel the anger building, and it’s not justat Daisy; it’s at both of them for letting this happen in the first place.
I grip the steering wheel and look between the two of them. “I don’t even know where to start,” I mutter.
Daisy sinks lower in her seat.
And for once, Tessa doesn’t have a smart comeback. She just looks guilty, pink hair glinting in the sunlight, proof of the crime.
I grip the wheel tighter, trying to keep my voice even. “Do either of you want to tell me what the hell that was about?”
No answer.
