Page 14 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
I set the phone down and turn my head, staring out at the sprawling ranch. The sun is relentless, the air heavy, but I can survive this. I have to.
It’s all so overwhelming, but Sienna is right. I am here to survive, do the job, and leave before anyone figures out who I really am. But every fiber of me wants to turn tail and run. I’ve seen what following trails like this can lead to. And yet running isn’t an option. Not this time.
I know I’m on his turf now. And worse, he remembers me. How could he not after that magical night we spent together? I almost slipped multiple times today, but I cannot let him know me. Not my real name. Not my past. Not anything.
Okay, think. Pros: I get paid, I stay alive, I keep my cover. Cons: I slip up, he fires me, and I’m back to square one.
My chest tightens. I can do this. I have to do this. One slip, one reaction, and everything crumbles. But I can control myself—voice, expressions, the way I move, even the way I think around him.
I breathe in, slow and deliberate, letting the air-conditioned hum of the massive ceiling fan do its best to calm me. Feeling much calmer, I stand, straighten my shoulders, and give myself one last mental pep talk. “Keep your head down. Keep your story straight. Don’t get distracted. Focus. And survive.”
I take a deep breath and step toward the massive closet. Time to unpack, blend in, and continue the lie that might just keep me alive.
I’m midway through unpacking—my laptop and the small stack of security tools I’d brought—when there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Miss Carter? Lunch.” The same maid from earlier says in a gentle voice. She’s carrying a tray, steaming, perfectly arranged—a spread that would make any five-star restaurant jealous.
I blink at her, caught off guard. “Oh. Thank you,” I manage, my voice tighter than I intend.
She smiles, unoffended by my abruptness. “Mr. Morgan said you might be too tired to join the others, so he asked me to bring it here.”
I freeze for a second, my heart skipping. Mr. Morgan. That’s Jace. He’s already assumed I wouldn’t join the family for a meal? That’s thoughtful of him. Or is it? Maybe he just wants to keep me away from his family, which is okay too. The further I stay away from them, the easier it’ll be to keep my story straight.
“Right. Thank you. That’s very considerate of him,” I say, trying to be casual. I move aside to let her set the tray on the desk.
“Enjoy your meal. I’ll be back later to get the dishes.”
I nod, forcing a small smile. “Thank you.”
The door clicks softly behind her, leaving me alone with the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and herbs so perfectly balanced it almost makes me forget where I am. Almost.
I sit at the desk, tray before me, but I don’t reach for the food right away. My fingers hover over the cutlery as I glance toward the windows, sunlight still harsh but softened by the massive panes. Focus. Blend in. Survive, I tell myself again. Eat. Set up your gear. Keep your story straight. Those thoughts run through my mind as I pick up the knife and fork, slicing into the perfectly roasted chicken.
Let’s see how the next few weeks pan out.
6
JACE
From my wheelchair, I scan the ranch through the monitors in front of me. Cattle are moving slower than usual in the heat, horses swatting away flies with their tails, the ranch hands fanning themselves with hats, their boots kicking up dust as they move about their different duties.
I roll forward, the whirr of the motor on my chair echoing softly against the floor. My laptop is open on my desk, security reports stacked neatly beside it. The ranch’s cybersecurity audit is on my mind, and so is the new hire. The “consultant” I brought in last week. Tessa, or Sienna Carter, as she’s pretending to be.
Everything about her feels wrong, from her fake name to the secrets she is hiding. She’s good at her job; everything she’s done so far has met my expectations—there is no denying that—but Icannot ignore the red flags. Maybe it’s the perfect résumé, too clean and polished references, or maybe it’s the way she keeps looking at me—polite, professional, but with an edge.
I swipe the screen of my laptop and open her file again. Sienna Carter. Her picture stares back, all smiles and professionalism, but my memory fights against it. This Sienna Carter has the same face as the woman I slept with in D.C., but they have different names. The details are not adding up, and I need to keep my family safe. I just hope I didn’t invite the wolves in, thinking I was hiring a security expert instead.
Zane walks in while I’m in the middle of my turmoil and leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his face. “You look like shit,” he comments.
“I feel like it,” I mutter back.
I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since Tessa got here, and it’s messing with my performance.
“What’s eating at you? You’ve been a restless mess ever since Sienna got here,” he questions.
I’ve been keeping her busy and away from the family, but her name got back to them. I consider lying, but rethink it as he might help me get some perspective on all this.
“I don’t know, Zane,” I say, my fingers tapping against the armrest of the wheelchair. “Something about this girl doesn’t sit right. She’s too perfect—it just feels off.”
