Page 18 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
I turn back toward the windows, the clouds twisting into dark, violent shapes. Rain lashes at the panes, and the wind whips the trees like they’re alive. Somewhere in the distance, a low rumble of thunder shakes the air. My fingers tremble as I hold onto mybag. This ranch, this storm, this man—it’s all bigger, wilder, and more terrifying than anything I’ve ever faced.
I find myself wandering into a section of the house I’ve never been in before, where it’s alive with movement. Doors open and close, women scurrying through the halls like they’re performing some well-rehearsed dance. I follow, clutching my bag like a lifeline, unsure of where to put myself.
“Here,” a cheerful voice says, and I look up to see one of the women—Quinn, Jace’s sister-in-law—gesturing toward a sitting area. “You can stay here with us until the storm passes. We’ve got blankets, snacks, and company, if that helps.”
I swallow hard, nodding. “Thank you.”
The house smells warm and welcoming, and yet I feel like an intruder. I’ve spent the last six months running from danger, hiding from threats I can’t even explain to most people. And now I’m in some palace of a ranch, with a man who just fired me under suspicion of being a spy, and his family.
A small, blonde head peeks out from behind a couch, big, curious eyes fixing on me immediately. She looks to be about six or seven years old, delicate, a little wary. And she’s watching me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m friend or foe.
Before she can say anything, someone calls out to her. “Daisy, come on, love, let’s put some socks on.”
“Yes, auntie El.”
Once she’s gone, I grab my laptop to research who’s who from the database Jace gave me. Ella is his sister, Ava, who is holding a newborn in her arms, is Zane’s wife, and Quinn, who is obviously pregnant, is Beck’s wife.
And the little girl—she’s Jace’s daughter. The discovery hits me harder than I expect. For a second, I can almost feel Jace standing over her, protective and watchful. There is no mention of a mom, so I assume she’s not in the picture.
The idea that this little girl is part of his world, and that I’m now in it, makes my stomach twist.
The women around me exchange glances and smiles, trying to make me feel welcome, chatting quietly about different things—work, family, and how the storm might affect the livestock. I nod and respond when I can, but I feel awkward, out of place. Every polite laugh feels forced. Every glance at Daisy makes my chest tighten.
I sink into the couch, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, watching the storm outside and the family around me, trying to convince myself that I can handle this.
“Do you want some water?” Ella asks, holding out a glass. I shake my head, too nervous to speak at first, my throat tight.
Daisy stops pacing and sits on the floor, cross-legged, her stuffed animal clutched to her chest. “Why are you here?” she asks, voice quiet but firm.
I freeze, caught off guard. Her question isn’t rude; it’s direct, curious, almost like a test. I take a slow breath. “I’m helping with the ranch,” I say carefully, keeping my voice even. “Just for a little while.”
Her eyes narrow. “Helping? But you’re not family.”
“I know,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s temporary.”
She studies me for a long moment, then shrugs and turns back to her stuffed animal. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, silently congratulating myself for surviving my first interrogation from a seven-year-old.
The other women continue their chatter, mostly ignoring me now, but I catch snippets of conversation that tell me more about Jace than I’d ever expected. There’s talk about his schedule, how he keeps a strict eye on the ranch’s security, his insistence on handling things personally, even with his injury.
I’ve done my research on that. He’s an ex-army ranger who got injured while on the line of duty in Somalia. He got an honorable discharge three years ago and has been running Iron Stallion’s security ever since.
Quinn leaves for a moment and comes back, handing out snacks. I politely take a granola bar, but my attention keeps drifting to the storm outside. A loud crack splits the air, like the sky itself has snapped. I jump, heart hammering. Daisy squeals, clutching her stuffed animal tighter.
“It’s okay,” Ella says, voice steady but low. “It’s just the storm.”
I nod, though my mind races. My gaze flicks toward the large windows that overlook the ranch. Through the sheets of rain, I can see movement—figures hustling about. Jace guides his father and brothers as they secure the livestock. He looks impossibly strong, in control, and yet there’s no denying the danger out there.
A sudden shudder runs through the house. The lights flicker. I freeze. The generator should kick in. It doesn’t.
“Uh-oh,” Ava mutters, frowning at the ceiling. “The backup’s not responding.”
The lights blink again, then die completely, plunging the room into darkness. Daisy gasps softly and crawls onto Ella’s lap. I grab my phone from the couch, but the signal is weak, almost nonexistent at the moment.
“We’ll be okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. For once, the lie feels necessary—not to anyone but myself.
I press myself back against the couch, feeling the weight of the dark house pressing in around me. For the first time since I arrived, I feel the true scale of this place, and the raw power of the man who owns it. Tonight, I remind myself, I am entirely at his and his family’s mercy.
8
