Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Cowboy (Cedar Falls: Cowboys #1)

Chapter 1 - Vincent

I pace the worn hardwood floor of the ranch house kitchen, checking my watch for what must be the fifteenth time in the past few minutes. 15 minutes late already. Not a great first impression.

Aaron sits at our family's ancient oak table, silently nursing his black coffee. His weathered hands wrap around the mug like it's an anchor, keeping him here with me instead of wherever his mind tends to wander these days.

"You think this was a mistake?" I ask him.

Aaron's eyes shift up from his coffee, steady and unreadable as ever. Since coming back from his last tour, my older brother has become a man of few words. The ranch suits him now—wide open spaces, minimal conversation, predictable rhythms.

"Hiring someone I've never met to help with Lily," I clarify, though I know he understood the first time. "Some stranger watching my daughter."

Aaron takes a deliberate sip. "You vetted her. Recommendations checked out."

That's practically a speech coming from him these days.

I run my hand through my hair, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion settling on my shoulders.

"Yeah, but still. It's different having someone in our space. In Lily's space."

The sound of my five-year-old's footsteps echoes from the living room where she's setting up her toy horses in what she calls her "ranch." I still can't believe it's been a year since Sarah walked out on us, claiming motherhood was "suffocating" her. One year since I had to explain to a four-year-old why Mommy wasn't coming home anymore.

"You need the help, Vince," Aaron says, his voice gruff but gentle. "We all do what we can, but..."

He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. My brothers try, Lord knows they do, but none of them signed up to help raise a little girl. Jackson's too busy running the business side of the ranch, Aaron's still fighting battles only he can see, Cole's barely home between rodeo competitions, and Ethan... well, Ethan's still figuring out how to be an adult himself.

"I know," I sigh, leaning against the counter. "I just—I want to be enough for her."

Aaron sets his cup down with a definitive click. "You are enough, but being enough doesn't mean doing it all alone."

I glance over, surprised by the insight. He meets my gaze with a shrug, then returns to his coffee.

The calendar on the fridge mocks me with its mess of scribbled obligations—veterinary appointments for the horses, Lily's kindergarten schedule, fence repairs on the north pasture, a meeting with our cattle buyers. Something had to give, and it couldn't be Lily.

"Twenty minutes," I mutter, looking at my watch again. "If punctuality was on her resume, I'd be requesting a refund."

"Roads out to the ranch can be tricky for city folk," Aaron offers, which is as close to defending a stranger as he's gotten in years.

I snort. "If she can't find her way to the ranch, how's she going to manage everything else?"

The truth is, I'm looking for reasons to call this whole thing off. Having a nanny feels like admitting defeat, like I've failed at being both mother and father to Lily. When Sarah left, I swore I'd make sure Lily never felt the absence. Foolish promise. As if I could somehow fill the void a mother leaves behind.

But I don't miss Sarah. If I’m being honest with myself, that ship sailed even before she did. But Lily does. She still asks sometimes, her little voice so hopeful it cracks my heart clean in two.

"Do you think Mommy will visit for my birthday?" "Does Mommy know I lost a tooth?" Each question is like a knife, because what kind of mother just walks away from her child?

Aaron looks up at me, a rare half-smile touching his lips. "Lily’s worth it."

"Worth what?"

"Swallowing your pride. Letting someone help."

I exhale slowly, nodding. "When did you get so wise?"

He hums, and that sound could mean anything or nothing at all.

"Uncle Aaron!" Lily appears in the doorway, her dark curls wild around her face. "Can you come see my horses? I named one after you. He's the serious one."

Something in Aaron's expression softens, the way it only does for Lily. She has that effect on all my brothers —a tiny whirlwind who somehow makes this old ranch house feel like home again.

"On my way," he says, and she beams like he's promised her the moon.

As she skips back to her masterpiece, I check my watch again. Twenty-three minutes late.

"This nanny better be Mary Poppins herself to make up for this," I mutter.

Aaron stands, stretching his tall frame. "Give her a chance, Vince. For Lily's sake."

He's right, of course. This isn't about me or my comfort or my pride. It's about making sure Lily has what she needs—a female presence, someone who can answer the questions I fumble through, someone who might ease the ache of her mother's absence in ways I simply can't.

"Fine," I concede. "But if she's not here in the next ten minutes, I'm calling the agency."

Aaron hums again as he follows Lily's path to the living room. I'm left alone in the kitchen with all my doubts, and waiting for a stranger who's about to barge into our carefully balanced lives.

I pour myself another cup of coffee, black and bitter, just the way life's been serving me lately. The kitchen clock ticks away, loud in the quiet between Lily's distant chatter with Aaron. Twenty-eight minutes late now. I've about made up my mind to call the agency when a hesitant knock sounds at the front door.

"Finally," I mutter, setting my mug down with more force than necessary.

I stride through the hallway, rehearsing the lecture on punctuality and first impressions that this would-be nanny is about to receive. Professional relationships start with respect, and respect starts with being on time. I've got it all lined up, ready to establish boundaries right from the get-go.

I swing the door open, mouth already forming the first cutting words—and stop cold.

The woman on my porch is nothing like the seasoned, maternal figure I'd been picturing. She's young—much younger than I expected—wearing a simple blue dress that brings out eyes the color of the sky in summer. And she's a mess.

Her chestnut hair has escaped whatever style she attempted this morning, damp tendrils clinging to her flushed face. She's literally sweating from every pore, her dress showing dark patches at the collar and under her arms.

But it's her expression that catches me off guard—determined despite her obvious distress, and genuinely apologetic.

"Mr. Covington?" she pants, trying to catch her breath. "I'm so sorry—" She stops, gulping air. "My car broke down—about three miles back—tried calling but no service—I walked—" Each phrase comes between desperate breaths.

I stand there, momentarily stunned. "You walked? Three miles? In this heat?"

She nods, attempting to smooth her hair back with shaking hands. "I didn't want to be any later than I already was. I'm Charlotte Wilson. Your new nanny." She extends her hand, then seems to think better of it, noticing how sweaty her palm is. "Sorry, I'm a mess. Not exactly the first impression I was hoping to make."

The lecture I had prepared evaporates. This woman walked three miles down a dusty country road, in what must be ninety-degree heat, just to not stand me up. I'm unsure whether it's admirable or concerning.

"You could have heatstroke," I say instead of introducing myself properly. "Come in before you collapse on my porch."

I step aside, and she murmurs a thank you as she crosses the threshold. Up close, I can see how her makeup has mostly melted away, revealing a scatter of freckles across her nose. She's trying so hard to look composed, but her legs are visibly trembling.

"Kitchen's this way," I say, leading her through the house. "You need water."

"I'm really very sorry about this," she says to my back, her voice steadier now that she's catching her breath. "I left with plenty of time, but my car just... died. Completely dead. I tried the engine over and over but—"

"What kind of car?" I interrupt, my mechanical side curious.

"A 2010 Honda Civic. It's been reliable until today, which is just my luck."

We reach the kitchen, and I gesture for her to sit at the table while I grab a glass from the cabinet. "Probably your starter. Those models had issues with them."

I fill the glass with ice water and set it in front of her, noticing how she's trying not to look too eager as she reaches for it. She takes several long gulps, and I find myself watching the line of her throat as she swallows.

"Thank you," she says, setting the glass down. "You know cars?"

"Enough to get by. Can't always wait for a mechanic out here." I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "So, Ms. Wilson—"

"Charlotte, please."

"Charlotte. You walked three miles to be here."

She nods, a hint of pride flickering across her features. "I did. And I'd do it again. I don't back out on commitments, Mr. Covington. Even when things get... challenging."

There's something in the way she says it, a quiet determination that rings true. It's a quality I respect, even if I'm still not sold on this whole arrangement.

"Vincent," I offer. "Or Vince."

A small smile touches her lips.

"Vincent," she repeats, and for some reason, the way my name sounds in her voice makes my collar feel too tight.

The silence that follows stretches a beat too long, and I clear my throat. "I should call someone to tow your car. Can't leave it sitting on the county road."

"Oh, you don't have to—" she begins, but I'm already pulling out my phone.

"My brother Jackson knows every mechanic in two counties. We’re getting you the best one." I send a quick text to my brother. "In the meantime, you look like you could use a minute to... freshen up."

Her cheeks, already pink from exertion, flush darker. "That obvious, huh?"

For the first time since opening the door, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch.

"You walked three miles in this heat. I'd be worried if you weren't sweating."

The sound of pattering feet interrupts us, and then Lily bursts into the kitchen, Aaron following at a more sedate pace.

"Daddy, Uncle Aaron says—" She stops abruptly, eyes wide as she notices our visitor. Her gaze travels over Charlotte with the unfiltered curiosity of a five-year-old, taking in the disheveled appearance and the blue dress. "You’re the nanny!" she says bluntly.

Charlotte's entire demeanor changes, softening as she turns to Lily. She slides from the chair to kneel at my daughter's level, messy appearance forgotten.

"I am. My name is Charlotte. And you must be Lily. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Lily tilts her head, considering this newcomer with the serious assessment only children can get away with. "Me too! But you're all wet."

Charlotte laughs, "I am. My car broke down, so I had to walk to meet you. I didn't want to be late."

"But you are late," Lily points out, ever the timekeeper's daughter.

"Lily," I start, but Charlotte shakes her head.

"She's right," Charlotte says. "I am late, and I'm sorry for that. I promise to do better tomorrow."

Lily nods, accepting this apology more quickly than I would have. "Okay. Do you know how to braid hair? Daddy's terrible at it."

"Hey," I protest mildly.

Charlotte's eyes flick up to meet mine, amusement dancing in them. "I'm excellent at braids. All kinds."

I notice Aaron watching this exchange with his typical silence, but there's something assessing in his gaze as it moves between Charlotte and me.

"You can practice on my horses first," Lily decides, reaching for Charlotte's hand. "Come see."

Charlotte looks at me, silently asking permission. Despite my lingering reservations, I find myself nodding. She stands, allowing my daughter to tug her toward the living room.

As they leave, Aaron moves to stand beside me.

"So that's the nanny," he says, his first full sentence about her.

"Apparently."

"Younger than you expected."

I shoot him a look. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I heard her. She walked three miles not to let you down. That counts for something."

I watch as Lily chatters away to Charlotte in the other room, already showing her the toy horses that make up her prized collection. Charlotte's listening intently, her exhaustion seemingly forgotten as she engages with my daughter.

"We'll see," I say, but even I can hear that my tone has softened. "Still early days."

I watch the young woman in the blue dress who walked three miles up a dusty road to keep her word, now sitting cross-legged on my living room floor while my daughter introduces her to plastic horses with names like Sparkle and Thunderbolt.

Not exactly what I had in mind when I hired a nanny.

But maybe, just maybe, exactly what we need.