Chapter 14 JACE
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.
And yet, she doesn’t quit. She was stubborn enough to volunteer for the nanny position, something she’s not built for. She’s so stubborn, and I find that very sexy.
Stop it, Jace!
I rub a hand down my face, muttering a curse under my breath.
I can’t let myself get pulled into this.
Not again. I’ve already crossed a line once, and I’m still kicking myself for it.
I can’t afford to tangle myself up in someone like her—not with Daisy involved, and especially not with the kind of past she’s dragging behind her.
She’s temporary. That’s all she’s supposed to be. A quick fix until I find someone steady. Someone safe.
But hell, if she hasn’t proven herself.
She came here as an outsider, soft where this land is hard, clueless about ranch life, but she’s still standing. More than that, she’s showing up for Daisy, even when Daisy makes it hard. Even when I make it hard.
I take a slow breath, swallowing the knot in my throat. The truth is, right now, I need her. Not as a distraction, not as the woman who keeps me up at night replaying every stolen look, but as someone Daisy can lean on until I get my shit together and bring in a real nanny.
That has to be enough.
“Jace.” My name cuts over the table. Ella’s looking at me now, one eyebrow lifted. “You good? You’ve been staring at the porch the whole meeting.”
I give what passes for a shrug. “Just watching the weather come in.” It’s an obvious lie, and they can all tell. My brothers exchange looks. Beck’s amused, while Zane’s more like a clock resetting as if he’s just realized something.
Dad clears his throat, pulling our attention back to the meeting, which I’m grateful for.
We discuss schedules, who’s taking care of what, and I answer when I have to. My words are clipped and useful, but half of me stays on that porch, watching the slow choreography between the woman who doesn’t belong and the kid who does.
Tessa looks up and, without meaning to, catches my eye through the window.
She doesn’t look startled. She only gives the smallest tilt of her head, an acknowledgement of my presence.
That simple look and something shifts in my chest—want, worry, and a dozen small alarms. I push the feeling away before it burrows into my heart and drives me crazy.
The meeting wraps up, and I pick up my coffee mug and the pot to treat myself to a refill when, through the glass, I see Daisy’s pencil skid across the page of the workbook in front of her.
Her little face bunches, mouth twisting like she’s tasting something sour.
Tessa leans closer, calm as ever, pointing to the problem. Daisy shakes her head defiantly.
Even from here, I can tell it’s not just math that’s bothering her. It’s Tessa.
Daisy jerks back, mutters something I can’t hear, and pushes her workbook onto the porch boards with enough force that it skids under the railing.
Tessa blinks, startled, then softens her face, trying to coax Daisy back.
My girl doesn’t budge. She stands, fists clenched at her sides, cheeks red with a fury too big for her small frame.
Her braid swings like a whip when she shouts—this time loud enough I hear it clear as a bell:
“You’re not my mom! You can’t tell me what to do!”
The whole table freezes. Beck’s grin drops, Zane sets his pen down, eyebrows shooting up as if he’s heard something wrong, while Ella gasps before covering her mouth. Even our old man, who has weathered storms and four sons, looks like he’s been blindsided by lightning.
I launch myself out of my wheelchair so fast I get dizzy, but I push through.
“Jace—“ Ella starts, but I’m already gone, shoving the screen door open so hard it slams against the wall.
On the porch, Daisy’s chest is heaving while Tessa stands frozen, the workbook forgotten at her feet. My girl’s eyes are wide and wet, an unmistakable fire behind them. She turns toward me, and I feel it—her hurt, fear, and grief all tangled up into something sharp.
“Daisy Haven Morgan! What is wrong with you?” My voice cuts across the porch like a whip crack.
Her chin jerks up in defiance, but I see her lower lip trembling. Behind me, I hear the shuffle of boots as the rest of the family follows. They don’t push past me; they just hover at the door, watching.
“Daisy, you will not speak to her that way,” I tell her, steady and low. “Apologize to Tessa. Now!”
She refuses to budge, biting down on her lower lip until it goes white. Then she spins, her braid whipping again, and bolts inside, disappearing into the house.
Everyone turns to me, waiting for my next move. I glance at Tessa, who looks guilty as if this is her fault when it’s not. It’s mine for not raising my daughter better.
“Are you okay?” I ask even though it’s clear she’s not.
She nods and bends to pick up the workbook. “I am. You should go after Daisy.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Ella offers, jumping in.
“No.” The word leaves my mouth fast before she can make a move.
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 be out 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.”
She hesitates, then nods, small and shaky. “Okay. I’ll try. I’ll be nice and do my best to get along with her.”
Relief loosens the knot in my chest. I kiss the crown of her head, breathing in her scent. “That’s all I ask, Bug. Just try. She might surprise you.”
She leans against me, her small weight pressing into my side, and it damn near undoes me.
“Thanks, Bug,” I murmur into her hair. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
She settles down, her breath evening out, her small hand wrapping around my arm like she’s anchoring herself. I keep still, letting her weight sink into me. The fight’s burned out of her, leaving only the raw edges of a kid who misses what she can’t have back.
I stare at the floor, the pile of crayons under her desk, anywhere but the door. Because on the other side of it, Tessa’s waiting—probably replaying Daisy’s words in her head, wondering if she made a mistake stepping into our lives at all.
And here’s the truth I can’t say out loud: my girl softening, agreeing to give Tessa a chance? That terrifies me more than the tantrum did. Because once Daisy lets her in, once she gets used to the sound of Tessa’s voice in this house, once she starts depending on her…
I’ll have to be the bastard who rips her away when it’s over.
I press a kiss to the top of Daisy’s head and shut my eyes, letting the ache settle in my chest like a stone dropped in water.
The more we let her in, the harder it’ll be to push her out.
And God help me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.