Page 31 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
Sometimes it’s on the porch, hat pulled low, arms crossed like he’s carved out of oak. Sometimes it’s across the dinner table, his gaze flicking to me when he thinks I won’t notice. Other times it’s in the barn, his voice carrying low as he gives orders, and the sound of it crawls over my skin until I want to scream.
He doesn’t say much to me. Sometimes it’s a grunt that could mean anything from good morning to get out of my sight. Other times it’s just a sharp nod, like he’s ticking off a mental checklist: Tessa’s alive, Tessa hasn’t set the place on fire, Daisy still has both arms.
I hate it. Hate the way it makes me feel exposed, like he can see straight through me, right down to the part that hasn’t stopped replaying that night in his office.
It doesn’t matter where I go on this ranch—he is always there.
But it’s the way he looks at me that gets under my skin.
Not soft, not warm. Sharp. Assessing. Like he’s waiting for me to prove I can’t hack it out here. Or worse, like he’s regretting what happened that night and trying to convince himself it didn’t mean anything.
I catch myself overthinking every glance, every silence. One minute, I’m sure he’s furious with me. The next, I swear I catch his eyes lingering on my mouth, and my whole body betrays me, buzzing, restless, too aware.
It drives me insane.
So I cover it with sarcasm. I roll my eyes when I catch him watching. I mutter under my breath about cowboys with control issues. But underneath the act, I feel raw, exposed, like one wrong step and I’ll give myself away.
And I hate that part of me wants to.
“Please tell me you have good news for me,” I plead with Sienna, perched on the dressing table, drying my hair after a shower.
“I’m sorry, girlie, nothing good,” she apologizes.
I groan, drop the towel on the chair, and plop myself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“When is it ever gonna end?” I lament, willing myself not to cry.
It’s been a week since Richard got out, and I’ve been living on edge ever since. I know I’m safe here, but the part of me that has been running the past couple of months cannot help but overthink.
Sienna does her best to reassure me, but by the end of the call, I do not feel any better. I need to get out of this ranch, but I can’t yet, not when Richard is still out there.
It’s just all starting to get to me, and I’m scared that one of these fine days, I’ll crack.
My body is aching from chores I was never meant to take on, my skin still carries the sting of Jace’s stare, and all I want is my old life back—air conditioning, noise, city lights. A place where I felt like myself.
But that life doesn’t exist anymore.
Richard is out there. Free. And if I’ve learned anything about him, it’s that he doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Not after what I did. He’s out for blood, and mine is at the top of his list.
The thought makes my stomach twist, but it also sharpens everything. No matter how suffocating Iron Stallion feels, no matter how much mud and judgment and grumpy cowboys I have to wade through, this place is still my fortress. Richard can’t get to me here. Not with the Morgan brothers and their watchful eyes. Not with Jace’s constant, maddening presence.
So I swallow the ache, the shame, the restless pull toward a man who already made it clear that what happened between us was a mistake. None of that matters. Survival matters.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, whispering into the dark as if the words can make it true.
“I can handle this. I have to.”
14
JACE
I sit at the long oak table, surrounded by my entire family. We’re gathered for our monthly strategy meeting. Dad sits at the head as usual, a coffee stain on the ranch map in front of him. Ella is to his left with her notebook, Beck leaning back on two legs of his chair, and Zane tapping a pen against his teeth.
“The North Fence needs to be replaced. If we don’t get on it before the rains, the calves will push through,” Zane informs us.
As the foreman, he manages the daily operations of the ranch. Beck is our resident horse trainer, Ella handles the finances, and Dad is the overall boss—though he’s delegated most of his duties to me.
After planning when and how to fix the fence, we move on to the next item. But even as I listen, my eyes keep drifting to the porch, where Tessa sits with my daughter, helping her with her weekend homework. Daisy’s shoulders are tense, her little face set in a stubborn line, while Tessa looks… out of place, like she’s been dropped onto the wrong stage. Too neat, too polished, too damn bright against all this dust and grit.
