Page 37 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
And for the first time since yesterday, the knot in my chest loosens, just a little.
Daisy’s grin lingers as she hops off the bed, already buzzing with plans I can’t quite keep up with. Something about showing me how to muck a stall, how to tell the horses apart by their markings. She’s halfway to the door before she spins back and adds, “And you have to help me with fractions tonight. No excuses.”
I give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She giggles and disappears into the hall, leaving the door wide open behind her. For a long moment, I just sit here, staring at the space she left, the faint echo of her laughter still bouncing inside me.
It’s not much. Just a pact, a silly little trade between two people who don’t quite know how to fit into each other’s worlds. But it feels like something. A bridge. A start.
I glance at the open closet again, the mess of clothes I was ready to fold and shove into a suitcase. My chest tightens, but this time not with panic. More with the unfamiliar ache of wanting to stay.
For the first time since I got here, I think maybe I don’t have to keep running. Maybe I can figure this out. Maybe, in some strange, impossible way, I belong at Iron Stallion.
I get up and push the closet door shut.
16
JACE
I’m leaning against the fence, arms crossed, trying to convince myself this isn’t a huge mistake. Daisy’s bouncing around the corral, practically vibrating with excitement, and Tessa… well, she’s staring at the horse in front of her like it might eat her on sight.
Somehow, in the chaos of their little truce, I’ve been volunteered—or more accurately, roped into teaching Tessa how to ride. My internal groan is loud enough that Daisy gives me a side-eye, like I’m letting my grumpiness ruin everything.
“This is gonna be fun,” she chirps. Her optimism is usually contagious, but today I’m immune.
“Yeah, sure. Fun,” I mutter under my breath.
Truth is, I don’t know who’s more nervous—Tessa or me. I’ve been around horses my whole life, sure, but teaching someone who’s never even touched a saddle? That’s a different kind of challenge. And Tessa is not like anyone I’ve ever taught. She’s a city girl through and through, and every instinct she has screams, “don’t get on that horse.”
I run a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus. This isn’t about me. It’s about Daisy, keeping their truce alive, and making sure Tessa doesn’t get eaten alive by her own inexperience.
Sighing, I step toward Tessa and Buttercup, the stallion she’ll be training on. He’s a gentle Appaloosa, recommended by Beck. “Alright,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Let’s see if we can survive this without anyone getting hurt.”
Tessa chuckles nervously, arms crossed like she’s trying to make herself invisible. Her heels dig into the dirt with every nervous shift of weight. I can practically feel her pulse from where I’m standing.
“First thing, never approach a horse from behind. They can kick,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Her eyes widen. “Right. Got it.”
I can’t help the small smirk at the tension in her shoulders. She’s terrified, and it’s adorable in a stubborn, infuriating way. “Step up here,” I instruct, pointing to the mounting block. “One foot at a time, slow. Don’t look down.”
She hesitates, then does it carefully, fingers clutching the saddle like it’s a lifeline. I step close behind her to steady the horse, hand brushing hers as I adjust the stirrup. My chest tightens at the contact, but I ignore it. Focus, Jace. Focus on the lesson.
“Good,” I mutter. “Now, grip with your thighs, keep your back straight, and relax your hands. Don’t pull on the reins like you’re trying to strangle it.”
She laughs nervously, and it’s like a spark in the tension. “Noted.”
I guide her gently, holding the reins close enough to correct her when she wobbles. Our hands touch more than once, lingering longer than necessary. I catch myself staring at her, really noticing how her hair falls across her face, how her brow furrows when she concentrates.
“Breathe,” I remind her, placing my hand lightly on her waist to steady her. She flinches slightly, then relaxes against my touch.
Fuck! This is going to be harder than I thought.
We go through the basics slowly. Mounting, dismounting, sitting properly, and controlling the reins. I correct her posture, my hands brushing her back or adjusting her grip. Every touch is necessary, but each one makes me acutely aware of the tension building between us.
Finally, after a few tries, she sits straighter, reins steady, eyes bright with accomplishment. “I think I’m getting it,” she says, a mixture of disbelief and triumph in her voice.
I can’t help the small grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah,” I admit. “You’re not… terrible.”
