Page 33 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
My sister stills, Beck and Zane exchanging a look behind her. Zane is a new dad himself; his daughter is only a couple of weeks old. Beck will be soon, too; his wife Quinn is already far along, so I hope they are learning from my mistakes.
Dad is quiet, watching how this plays out. He’s already raised his kids; now it’s my turn.
I straighten, the muscle in my injured leg screaming. Today is one of those days, but my spine is locked in iron. My hand grips the railing until my knuckles burn. “She’s my daughter. I’ll handle her.”
Ella studies me for a long moment, lips pressing together as if she wants to argue but knows better. Finally, she gives a small nod and steps back. I push into the house, my mind racing as I consider what to say to Daisy. One thing is certain, though—I can’t keep letting her treat Tessa like she’s an intruder.
She’s just a kid, but she’s mine. And it’s my job to teach her better.
If I expect Tessa to hold down the fort, Daisy has to meet her halfway. Right now, they’re circling each other like cats—Daisy with her sulking silence, Tessa with her too-bright smile that never quite reaches her eyes. And today, Daisy acted out in a way she never has before.
That won’t work. Not for me. Not for Daisy. And definitely not for Tessa, who is doing her best.
It’s been too long since I sat Daisy down for a proper heart-to-heart. Most days, it feels like she’s slipping through my fingers, growing faster than I can keep up with, testing boundaries just to see where I’ll bend. But this isn’t one of those moments I can afford to shrug off.
This is about family. About trust.
And if there’s one thing I need Daisy to understand, it’s that sometimes you’ve got to give people a chance, even if they don’t fit the picture you had in your head.
But she’s still my baby girl, so when I get to her door, I take a few calming breaths before I knock gently. “Hey, Bug.”
No answer.
I press my palm to the door, voice lower now. “It’s me. Open up.”
The crying on the other side of the door hitches, followed by small footsteps shuffling closer. Then the knob turns. She cracks the door an inch, red-rimmed eyes glaring out at me.
“You mad at me?” she asks, voice breaking.
My throat goes tight. “Yeah,” I admit. “But I’m more worried than mad.”
I push the door gently and step into the small room that smells like crayons and lavender shampoo, with walls covered in drawings. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and pat the space next to me. “Sit with me, Bug.”
She hesitates, then climbs up beside me, knees pulled to her chest, her small shoulders jerking with the last of her tears. I let the silence breathe a while. She won’t listen if I charge at her like I did on the porch.
Finally, I rub my palm over her back, slow circles. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
Her chin juts forward, stubborn even through the snot and tears. “She’s not my mom. She keeps bossing me around like she is.”
My heart cracks wide open. My poor girl. She’s never had a mom, only aunties, uncles, a grandpa, and a broken dad. I have no idea where the comparison is coming from, but I need to try and understand her.
I nod. “You’re right. She’s not your mom. Nobody ever will be. Your mom was… your mom. That’s not something anyone can take away from you.”
Her lip trembles, eyes glossy. “Then why does she act like—like she knows everything?”
I swallow the first sharp reply and force myself to soften. “She doesn’t know everything. She’s figuring this out just like we are. But you know what I see? I see a woman who didn’t have to beout there with you, but she was. She’s here because I asked her, Bug. Because I trust her to look out for you when I can’t.”
Daisy twists her fingers in her blanket. “She doesn’t belong here. She looks… different.”
“She does.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “She’s not from here, doesn’t know our ways. But different doesn’t mean bad. Sometimes different is exactly what we need.” I tilt her chin so she has to look at me. “And I can promise you this—she has a good soul. I wouldn’t let anyone near you who didn’t.”
She blinks, thinking hard, the way she does when she’s weighing if I’m telling the whole truth. “She makes me feel like… like I’m doing everything wrong.”
I sigh, thumb brushing her cheek dry. “That’s not her intention. And I’ll make sure she knows she’s gotta be careful with that. But it doesn’t excuse you shouting at her, throwing your homework, and running off.”
Her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Don’t tell me.” I tip my head toward the door. “When you’re ready, you tell her. Because she deserves at least that much.”
