Page 46 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
So, to keep the peace and prevent the tension from escalating into a full-blown storm, I prepare myself to undo what I did. “Alright, Bug, time to restore things to normal. Daddy likes rules, so we follow them.”
Daisy pouts, clearly disappointed. “But I liked my pink streaks!”
“I know,” I say, ruffling her hair. “I did too. But sometimes, to keep peace with the big, scary, grumpy cowboy, we compromise.”
“Do you think Daddy’s still mad?” Daisy asks quietly, picking at the hem of her pajamas.
I crouch down so we’re eye level. “Your dad doesn’t stay mad for long. He just worries too much.”
“Because I’m little?”
“Because he loves you.”
She hums at that, processing it in her thoughtful, seven-year-old way. I tuck a stray pink strand behind her ear and say, “And because he secretly likes your hair. He’s just pretending not to.”
Daisy grins, gap-toothed and radiant. “You think so?”
“Oh, absolutely. He’s just scared you’ll have more fans than him.”
She laughs again. Her joy is contagious, and I feel it deeply, warmth spreading in my chest.
I’ve been in hiding for months, but somehow this bathroom, this little girl, and even her cranky cowboy of a dad have dragged me back to life.
I hold up a fresh box of blonde dye that Jace was more than happy to provide. “Time to turn your hair back to its natural color.”
She nods begrudgingly and lets me get to work.
Half an hour later, the bathroom looks like a shampoo commercial gone wrong. There’s conditioner on the mirror, streaks of dye on my shirt, and Daisy’s head is wrapped in cling film like a shiny science experiment.
She keeps squirming on the counter. “It itches!”
“I told you not to move.” I point my dye-covered brush at her. “Hold still, or you’ll end up with a patchy cow pattern.”
Daisy giggles so hard she snorts. “Like our cows outside?”
“Exactly like that. You’ll be Daisy the Calf Girl.”
She howls with laughter. “Daddy would hate that.”
“See? Motivation to stay still.”
We fall into an easy rhythm, me working carefully through her hair, Daisy talking about school, horses, and her secret plan to teach me to ride a bull. How did we go from horse riding to bull riding? This tiny cowgirl wants to kill me. But I still find myself nodding along. She’s so full of light it almost hurts to look at her.
By the time we finish, her hair is back to the normal blonde curls, neat and rule-abiding. She sighs dramatically, but I see a sparkof mischief in her eyes. Same as me. And somehow, I think Jace will never truly tame that spark in either of us.
We migrate from the bathroom to the kitchen once the hairdryer war ends. Daisy plops into her usual seat at the counter, munching on animal crackers while I scrub the last of the dye off my hands. The mirror-cleaner and bleach smell still clings to me, but her grin makes it worth it.
“See?” I tell her. “Crisis averted. Daddy won’t even know you ever joined the Punk Rock Rebellion of 2025.”
Daisy crunches another cracker. “He’ll know. Daddy knows everything.”
She’s right. Jace has that way of looking at people—steady, unblinking, like he’s peeling back your excuses and reading your soul at the same time. It’s infuriating and unfairly attractive.
I clear my throat and focus on wiping down the counter. “Well, then we’ll just distract him.”
“With what?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.
“Hmm.” I tap my chin theatrically. “A distraction so brilliant, he won’t even remember the word pink.”
