Chapter 21 TESSA
TESSA
A smile stretches across my face as I lean against the kitchen island, dressed in jeans and a soft flannel, watching Daisy pile strawberries on top of her oatmeal like she’s building a masterpiece.
“Are you sure you packed your toothbrush?” I ask, trying to sound stern.
She rolls her eyes, unimpressed by my tone. “Yes, Mom.”
She freezes, as if the word has slipped out by accident. My breath catches, just for a second, then I pretend not to notice and smile instead. “Then I guess you’re ready for our big adventure, Bug.”
Mom? That’s a big word, and a butt load of responsibility I’m not ready for or even want to consider, so I let it go, for my own peace of mind.
Daisy grins, looking relieved. “It’s going to be amazing. We’ll go hiking, there’ll be a campfire, we’ll roast marshmallows, and Mr. Landers says we might even see deer!” She rants on, nearly running out of breath.
With her excitement, you’d think she’s a city kid on her first outdoors trip, not a ranch girl who knows more about horses and cattle than Barbie dolls. But I’m happy that she’s happy.
“Calm down, sweetheart. It is going to be fun, but we need you well fed first, so finish your breakfast,” I demand softly.
She nods and shoves a mouthful into her mouth, giving me a thumbs-up.
I chuckle as I walk over to the coffee pot to fill my travel mug with much-needed fuel for the day.
It’s been two weeks since the pink hair fiasco, and Daisy is officially done with detention, so she will be joining her classmates on a two-day camping trip for her geography class.
And because she wouldn’t be Daisy without a little mischief, the little rascal went ahead and volunteered me as one of the chaperones.
By the time I found out, it was too late to back out.
This will be the first time I’m leaving Wrangler Creek since I arrived, and I’m not exactly sure how I feel about it. I only leave the ranch to drop and pick Daisy up from school on the days she does not take the bus, and I’ve been to town a few times for supplies, but never further than that.
Yes, I’m scared and anxious, but also excited because Daisy is. We’ve grown a lot closer, and even though I should not be getting attached, I am. So for this trip, I’m choosing to leave the negative behind and take it as a bonding experience with my favorite Morgan.
I hear Jace’s wheelchair humming just before the man himself wheels in, freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looks every bit the handsome cowboy I’ve been fooling around with since his surprise birthday party.
Ever since things escalated that night, I broke my rule of keeping my distance, and things have been good between us. Really good.
Our eyes meet, and he sends a wink my way before he gets to Daisy and smothers her with kisses that send her into a fit of giggles.
“Are you two ready?” he inquires.
Daisy nods excitedly. “I’m ready. We’re going to have so much fun. Right, Tessa?”
“Yes, Bug, we sure will.”
She then turns to her dad. “Are you going to miss me?”
He kisses her forehead. “I always miss you.”
She giggles and kisses his cheek. Her oatmeal is getting cold, so I remind her to finish it while I serve Jace some coffee and breakfast. Our hands brush as I pass him his plate, my whole body lighting up at the contact. The kind of power this man has over me is scary.
I pull away quickly, suddenly too aware of the intimacy of it, the kind that takes you by surprise and leaves you breathless.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this. You’re braver than me. Two days surrounded by second-graders? I’d rather wrangle cattle with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m demanding a pay raise after this.”
He chuckles, tipping his coffee mug at me. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m sure I can afford whatever you throw at me.”
“Cocky bastard,” I mutter, but I cannot deny how attractive he is when he is so sure of himself.
And he’s right, he can afford it. If there is one thing I’ve learned since being here, it’s that the Morgans are extremely wealthy.
They have tapped into the ranching industry, with more land than they know what to do with.
Their horse breeding program is one of the best in the world, with clients as far as Asia and Australia.
This family is so rich, if they paused all operations today and stopped making money, they’d be financially set for ten generations to come.
Breakfast is filled with light banter, the rest of the family sifting in and out to wish us a safe and fun trip. In the midst of it all, it hits how ordinary this feels. Breakfast, small talk, the quiet hum of a home that doesn’t belong to me but somehow fits like skin I’ve already broken into.
But I don’t want to get too comfortable just yet, knowing very well that out there, I am still being hunted.
After breakfast, we head out. Jace drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, close enough that if I shift my knee an inch, we’ll be touching. I don’t. But I think about it.
Daisy’s in the back seat, chattering about camp songs, sleeping in tents, and all the marshmallows she’s gonna eat.
I let her talk because it’s easier than thinking about how natural this feels—the three of us, rolling down this familiar country road like it’s something we do every week. Like we’re a family.
By the time we pull into the school parking lot, the place is buzzing—buses lined up, kids with sleeping bags, parents with coffee cups and goodbyes on their lips.
Jace parks and gets out first, circling to open Daisy’s door. She throws her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you, Daddy,” she says against his shoulder.
“I’ll miss you more, Bug,” he says, kissing the top of her head, eyes soft in a way that always undoes me.
Our eyes meet over her shoulder, and he mouths, “I’ll miss you too,” which turns me into a blushing mess.
When Daisy pulls back, she glances between us with a smirk that’s far too knowing for a seven-year-old. “You two are being weird again.”
“Weird how?” Jace asks, setting her down.
“Like smiling too much.”
Jace laughs awkwardly, shaking his head, and for a split second, we’re just standing here, two adults pretending we’re not thinking about the nights we can’t talk about.
Then Daisy’s teacher calls her name, and just like that, she’s off, backpack bouncing, braid swinging.
We watch her climb the bus steps and turn to wave from the window. Jace waves back, and when she’s gone, he exhales.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. She’s in good hands,” I assure him.
He looks at me like he’s aware of exactly how much I mean it. “I know.”
I don’t know what makes me do it—maybe the warmth in his voice, the calm between us, or the ache of wanting something more—but I step closer. Just enough that his breath catches.
“See you when we get back?” I whisper, linking our hands.
He squeezes back, smiling. “You better.”
I turn before I can lose my nerve and walk toward the bus. My heart’s still thudding as I climb aboard. When I glance out the window, he’s still standing there, watching us drive away. Daisy and I wave until he’s out of sight.
The bus ride to the camping site is not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Kids chatter over each other, trading snacks and arguing about who gets the window seats. Daisy sits beside me, one hand around my arm, leaning on my shoulder, the other sneaking pretzels from the bag I packed.
“Save some for later,” I warn, laughing as she grins with her mouth full.
“I’m carb-loading. That’s what athletes do before big adventures.”
“Right, because an overnight field trip counts as the Olympics now?”
“Obviously.”
“Don’t you want to sit with your friends?” I ask, hoping she’s not feeling obligated to sit with me.
“Nope, I want to sit with you,” she asserts, and I don’t dare argue.
And so we sit together for the whole bus ride.
The teacher up front gets the kids to sing along to fun tunes, and chaos follows—the good kind—and somehow, I end up leading a camp song from memory. Daisy giggles so hard she gets hiccups.
When the bus finally lurches to a stop at the campsite, a chorus of cheers erupts. The air smells like pine and damp earth. I step down, stretching my legs, feeling that mix of exhaustion and adrenaline that comes with wrangling small humans.
We unload sleeping bags, duffels, and all our camping gear. After we set up all the tents, we settle in and the fun begins.
The afternoon passes in a blur of trail walks, camp games, and burnt marshmallows.
Daisy sticks to me like a shadow, something I don’t mind at all.
Watching her laugh, I feel something deep and unguarded open inside me.
Maybe this is what healing looks like: small, ordinary moments that sneak up and stay.
After dinner, the kids gather around a campfire while the teachers tell ghost stories that are more silly than scary. Daisy leans against me, eyelids heavy, her head tucked under my arm. When the fire and stories burn down, the teachers herd everyone toward bed.
After settling Daisy into her own tent, which she’s sharing with two other girls, I retire to my own, lulled to sleep by the distant hum of crickets.
Sometime later, I startle awake when I hear someone unzipping my tent. Before I can freak out, I feel a small tug on my sleeping bag, followed by a familiar voice. “Tessa?”
Daisy’s big eyes meet mine. “Hey, Bug,” I murmur, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t sleep.”
I unzip the sleeping bag, and she climbs in beside me without hesitation, curling up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her hair smells faintly of campfire and marshmallows.
I hold her against me, humming a lullaby under my breath, and we lie there for a while, staring at the shadows dancing on my tent.
My hand rests on her back, feeling each slow breath she takes.
She’s so small, yet she fills every inch of the space beside me.
After a long pause, she asks softly, “Tessa? Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you like my dad?”
The question lands so gently I almost laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
“Like… like like?” she presses, voice muffled in the blanket.
I bite my lip, smiling into the dark. Daisy is smart for a seven-year-old, so I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to commit to something with the truth, so I settle for something light. “Maybe a little.”
She quiets, thinking it over. “He likes you, too. I can tell. He smiles differently when you’re around.”
I swallow hard, keeping my voice even. “You think so?”
“Mmh,” she mumbles, then follows it with a quiet, “I wish you could stay, like forever. You could be my mom.”
The words hit something deep in me, a place I’ve been trying not to touch. Her trust is so absolute it hurts.
I press a kiss to her hair. “That’s a really sweet thing to say, Daisy.”
“Would you stay?” she whispers.
I breathe out slowly. “I want to. More than you know. But… life’s a little complicated right now.”
“Because of your work?”
Something like that. Because of the lies I told to stay safe. Because of Richard and the threat I still can’t shake.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “But I promise I’m not going anywhere right now. Okay?”
“Okay.” She yawns, burrowing closer. “You smell like marshmallows.”
I smile into the dark. “You too.”
Her giggle fades as sleep takes her. I keep my arm around her until her breathing evens out again.
For the first time in years, I feel something close to peace. Not the fragile kind that comes from hiding—real peace. The kind that grows roots.
I think of Jace. The way he looked at me in the parking lot, steady and sure, like he was already waiting for the rest of our story to unfold. I think of Daisy’s sleepy voice asking me to stay, and how easy it was to picture it—a home that doesn’t come with escape plans or false names.
I want that. God, I want it so badly it hurts.
And maybe that’s reason enough to stop being afraid.
Before I drift off, I tell myself that Jace and I need to talk when I get back.
It’s time to let him in on everything so he can decide if I’m worth keeping or if it’s time to kick me to the curb once and for all.
The latter makes my heart clench in pain, but it’s a possibility I cannot ignore.
“I’m done running,” I whisper to the darkness, holding his daughter tight. “When we get back, he deserves the truth. All of it.”