Page 43 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
I told myself I could keep a distance, be grateful, safe, and then disappear when it’s time.
But safety feels like this now: laughter, hair dye, and a little girl trusting me enough to let me near her heart.
And that makes it dangerous.
Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run.
18
JACE
I’ve noticed it ever since the horseback lesson. The way she avoids lingering too close, the quick little glances that dart away when I catch her looking, the way she always makes up excuses to avoid being in the same room as me, or the way she uses Daisy as a shield against me.
At first, I thought maybe I did something wrong, but the truth hit hard when I realized what was happening; she’s been pulling back, deliberately.
And I get it. Hell, I respect it. She’s here to do a job, and I’m a distraction she doesn’t need. So I stay away. I keep my distance, careful not to hover or make my presence too heavy. I give her space, even though every fiber of me wants to lean in, tease her, steal those small smiles that make my heart flutter.
It’s frustrating, but I don’t push. I tell myself this is about her boundaries, her comfort. I can survive a little ache of longing. I also know it’s best for the two of us. I can’t afford to get attached when she’s not a permanent figure here.
Still, I catch myself watching her out of the corner of my eye, the way she laughs with Daisy, the small, quiet pride she takes in her little victories. She’s something else. And maybe that’s why it hurts a little to keep my hands to myself.
I’m checking on the cold storage when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Checking the caller ID, I’m caught off guard when I see that it’s Daisy’s school.
My chest tightens instantly. Something’s wrong. They wouldn’t be calling otherwise.
“Hello?” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Mr. Morgan, this is Vice Principal Lambert,” the voice on the line says, clipped and professional. “I’m calling regarding your daughter, Daisy. There’s been an incident, and we need you to come in as soon as possible.”
“An incident?” My stomach drops. “Is she hurt?”
“No, no physical harm, but it’s serious in terms of school policy. Please come in immediately.”
My pulse quickens. “Right. I’m on my way.” I hang up, then wheel myself out of the cold storage.
I run into Tessa, who’s just walking out of the generator room where she was doing some maintenance.
“What is it?” she asks, concern lacing her voice, after noticing the worried look on my face.
I hesitate, then decide honesty is the only choice. “Daisy’s in trouble at school. I’ve just been called in.”
Her eyes widen, and she steps closer. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“Physically? Yes, but I need to get there.”
“I’m coming with you,” she says before I can even respond. Her voice is firm, protective.
I open my mouth to protest, but the truth settles in: she’s not asking, she’s insisting. And I can’t argue with that. Not where Daisy is involved.
“Alright,” I say, already moving toward the garage. “Let’s go.”
We hop into my truck with her in the passenger seat. I reverse and drive out of the compound like a bat out of hell. Tessa’s eyes are on the road like she’s ready for anything. And I can’t help but notice that despite her distance, her pull-back, she’s still fiercely involved in my daughter’s life. And I’m not sure what to feel about that, but I’ll dissect it later.
We don’t say anything during the drive; both of us are worried in our own way. The vice principal said Daisy is not physically hurt, but I still can’t help but overthink.
The school parking lot is unusually quiet when we pull up, but my pulse is hammering anyway. Tessa walks stiffly beside me, hands clenched by her sides, eyes darting between me and the administration block.
“Don’t worry,” I say, more to calm myself than her. “Let’s find out what’s going on and fix it.”
