Chapter 15
TESSA
The air in my room feels heavy, suffocating, and no matter how hard I blink, I can’t erase the memory of Daisy’s tantrum yesterday.
Her shrill voice cutting through the walls of the ranch house, “You’re not my mom!
You can’t tell me what to do!”, tears brimming in those innocent eyes before she stormed off.
All because of me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could rewind, so I could’ve said the right thing, done the right thing. But the truth gnaws at me: I don’t know what the right thing even is. I’m not her mom. God, I’m not cut out to be anyone’s mom. I hate that she even had to compare me to that.
Dragging myself out of bed, I pad across my room, arms wrapped around myself protectively, like I can hold my insides together.
The closet door gapes open, half my clothes already spilling out in messy piles.
I stare at the space on the rack where a suitcase could fit, and my throat tightens.
Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that I can do this, that I belong here.
My fingers hover on a hanger, ready to pull it down and start folding.
Just pack and go. The thought makes my stomach twist, because as much as I want to believe leaving would solve everything, I know it won’t.
Out there, Richard is still waiting. Out there, I’m a target.
I hate to admit it, but Iron Stallion may be the only place I’m safe, and yet here I am, ready to sabotage myself because I don’t know how to handle a little girl’s tears.
I sink onto the floor, head in my hands, staring at the open closet like it’s daring me to make a choice. Stay or run? Try or give up? And I don’t know which hurts more.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the vibration loud in the quiet room.
For a second, panic spikes in me, the irrational, familiar fear that it could be Richard somehow finding his way through the line.
But when I get up and see the name flashing, relief softens the tightness in my chest. It’s just my best friend.
I swipe the call open. “Hey.” My voice is hoarse, heavy with everything I haven’t said.
“Tess? You sound like crap. What’s going on?” Her voice is bright but sharp, as if she can see through the mess of my thoughts even from states away.
I flop backward on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. “I messed up, Si.”
“With what? The ranch? The kid? Jace?”
“All of the above,” I mutter. My throat burns, but the words keep spilling.
“Daisy had this… this meltdown yesterday. Over homework. And I—I couldn’t fix it.
I just made it worse. And now she’s avoiding me, and Jace probably thinks I’m some useless city girl who shouldn’t have set foot on this ranch.
Maybe I should just leave and prove him right. ”
Sienna sighs, patient but pointed. “Okay, first of all, you’re not useless.
Second, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
Kids are complicated. And third, where exactly do you plan on going if you leave?
You want to walk straight back into Richard’s arms?
Because last I checked, he’s still looking for you. ”
I press my palms over my eyes, trying to block out the reminder. But she’s right. She’s always right. “I know I can’t leave. But what am I supposed to do about the situation here? I can’t stay if there is no work for me to do.”
There’s silence on her end, a weighted pause before she says, softer now, “Tess, you’re safe there. You just have to let yourself believe it. Stop punishing yourself for not being perfect.”
“Yeah. Easy for you to say.”
Before she can reply, a sharp knock rattles my door. I jolt upright, heart racing. Sienna’s muffled voice is still in my ear, but my whole body goes still at the sound.
“Tessa?” Jace’s deep drawl cuts through the wood, steady and grounded, and somehow it makes my pulse jump even harder.
“I gotta go,” I whisper into the phone.
“Don’t run, Tess. Just breathe. Call me later.” Sienna hangs up before I can answer.
I tuck the phone under my pillow, inhale once, twice, then push to my feet and face the door, pulse hammering as I call out, “Yes?”
The knob turns slowly, and then Jace steps into the doorway. He fills it in that easy, commanding way of his, broad shoulders brushing the frame, hat in one hand. His eyes flick over me, the open closet, the mess of half-folded clothes.
My stomach drops. He sees it. He knows.
“I was about to knock again,” he says, voice low, controlled. “Thought maybe you didn’t hear me.”
“I heard you,” I manage, but it comes out too fast, too small. I force my arms across my chest, trying to maintain some composure.
His gaze lingers on me a moment, then he exhales, slow and heavy, like he’s weighing his words. “About yesterday.”
There it is. The axe dropping.
I brace for it, jaw tight. “I—“
“You don’t need to explain.” He cuts me off, tone steady, no heat in it. “Daisy acted out. That’s on me, not you.”
The words hit me sideways. I blink. “What?”
His mouth quirks to almost a grimace. “She’s been through a lot, so she tends to test people. Especially when she’s scared of losing them.” His eyes lift to mine, sharp and steady. “That tantrum wasn’t your fault. And it damn sure isn’t your job to fix it.”
I don’t know what to say. My throat clogs, because this isn’t the script I rehearsed in my head.
“Still,” I whisper. “I… I thought maybe you didn’t want me here anymore.” I gesture weakly at the closet, at the half-packed evidence of my panic. “I thought maybe—“
“Don’t.” His voice drops, firm but not unkind. “You’ve got a job here, and I don’t take back my word once I give it. You’re not going anywhere.”
Something hot prickles at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow it down. “Even if I’m screwing this up?”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You’re not screwing up. You’re learning. Same as Daisy. Same as me.” He dips his chin, that quiet intensity rolling off him in waves. “I need you here. She needs you here. Don’t let one bad day talk you into running.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. Just tips his hat back onto his head, gives me one last look—something unreadable flickering in his eyes—and then he’s gone, boots thudding down the hall.
He’s gone, but my heart’s still pounding, ears ringing with his words: I need you here. She needs you here.
I sink onto the bed again, staring at the closet like it can tell me what the hell to do. I’m still torn, still aching with doubt, but his voice lingers.
I don’t move for a long time. The quiet hum of the house fills the space Jace left behind, but it’s not enough to drown out his words.
I need you here. She needs you here. I press my palms into my eyes until colors bloom against the dark.
It’s easier than staring at the closet, easier than admitting I was ready to run again.
That’s what I do, isn’t it? Run. From Richard. From the conference in D.C. From my own mistakes. And now, from a little girl who just wanted to be heard.
But what does running fix? Out there, Richard is still waiting, teeth bared, waiting for the moment I make myself vulnerable. Leaving here doesn’t solve anything; it just hands him the opening he’s waiting for.
I’m still unsure of everything, but for the first time since yesterday, I let myself feel the sharp edge of wanting. Wanting to stay. Wanting to belong. Even if I have no idea how.
A soft shuffle outside my door makes me freeze. Not heavy boots like Jace’s—these are lighter, hesitant. Then a knock, barely more than a tap.
I quickly fix my face and straighten my spine. “Come in.” My voice comes out rough, but steady enough.
The door creaks open, and Daisy’s head pokes around the frame, her eyes cautious, guarded in a way no seven-year-old’s should ever have to be. She doesn’t come in right away, just stands there, small fingers curling around the edge of the wood, eyes darting to the half-open closet, then to me.
My pulse thuds in my ears. I don’t know if I should speak first, or if I should wait her out. Yesterday’s tantrum is still a fresh bruise between us, and I don’t know the right way to reach across it.
“Hey,” I finally say, my voice softer than I mean it to be.
“Hi.” She scuffs her socked foot against the floor, looking down.
The silence stretches. I tug at a loose thread on my blanket, wishing I could string the right words together. Wishing I knew how to talk to her without making it worse.
“You, um…” Daisy frowns, kicking a little harder at the floorboard. “You were packing?”
The question hits sharp, but her tone isn’t accusing. Just wary.
My throat tightens. “I thought about it.” The truth slips out before I can dress it up.
I wait for her to flinch, to snap, to storm off again.
But she doesn’t, so I keep going. “Not because of you, Daisy. Not really. More because I don’t know if I’m good at this.
Being here. Being someone you can even stand to be around. ”
Her eyes flick up to mine, quick and sharp, like she’s testing whether I mean it.
“I’m scared most of the time,” I admit, my voice low. “Scared I’ll mess up, scared I’ll make things harder for you instead of easier. Yesterday, when you got upset… I didn’t know what to do. And I hated myself for that.”
The silence that follows is thick, but not hostile. Daisy shifts her weight, chewing on her bottom lip the way I’ve seen Jace do when he’s lost in thought. Finally, she whispers, “I didn’t think you liked me.”
The confession knocks the air out of me.
“What?”
She shrugs, eyes back on the floor. “You’re always so…
nervous around me. And you tell me to do my homework and brush my teeth and all that stuff, but it feels like you don’t…
want to. Like you’d rather be anywhere else.
” Her little voice wavers. “So I thought maybe if I yelled loud enough, you’d admit it. ”
My chest squeezes. I press my hand to it like that might keep it from breaking. “Daisy… no. I don’t dislike you. I—God, I don’t even know if I’m doing this right, but I do want to be here. With you.”
Her head tips up, finally meeting my eyes. There’s a shine of unshed tears there, fragile but fierce.
“You do?” she asks, small and disbelieving.
“Yes.” The word comes out steady this time. “I just… don’t know how to do this properly yet, but I promise, I’m trying.”
She blinks at me, long and searching, like she’s trying to see if I’ll flinch or take it back. I don’t. I sit still, even though every nerve in me is buzzing, waiting for her to decide if I mean it.
“You’re not gonna pack and leave?” she asks finally, chin tilting toward the closet. There’s a tremble under her words, like she’s bracing for the answer she doesn’t want.
I shake my head slowly. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
She chews on that, literally biting her lip until it goes pale. Then she climbs up onto the bed, legs folded under her. It feels huge, her choosing to come closer instead of standing at the door like she might bolt.
“You don’t know ranch stuff,” she says, matter-of-fact.
I huff a laugh, the tiniest smile tugging at me. “You’re right. I don’t. I’m hopeless out there.”
Her eyes narrow, but not unkindly. More like she’s measuring me. “And I don’t know school stuff.” She hugs her knees to her chest. “I’m not good at school,” she blurts, almost too fast. “Dad says I’m smart, but… I don’t get things like other kids.”
There it is, the crack in her armor. She doesn’t meet my eyes, her voice wobbling at the edges.
“Hey. You’re plenty smart. Sometimes it just takes finding the right way for things to click. And if you want, I can help. We’ll figure it out together.”
I reach out before I can stop myself, resting my hand lightly on her arm. “So maybe we could help each other out. You teach me the ranch stuff. I’ll help you with homework.”
Her head jerks up, eyes wide. “Like a trade?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Like a trade. Partners.”
She stares at me for a heartbeat too long, then finally, finally lets a grin crack through. “Okay. But only if you don’t cry when you fall off a horse.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but real. “I’ll try my best not to.”
And for the first time since yesterday, the knot in my chest loosens, just a little.
Daisy’s grin lingers as she hops off the bed, already buzzing with plans I can’t quite keep up with.
Something about showing me how to muck a stall, how to tell the horses apart by their markings.
She’s halfway to the door before she spins back and adds, “And you have to help me with fractions tonight. No excuses.”
I give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She giggles and disappears into the hall, leaving the door wide open behind her. For a long moment, I just sit here, staring at the space she left, the faint echo of her laughter still bouncing inside me.
It’s not much. Just a pact, a silly little trade between two people who don’t quite know how to fit into each other’s worlds. But it feels like something. A bridge. A start.
I glance at the open closet again, the mess of clothes I was ready to fold and shove into a suitcase. My chest tightens, but this time not with panic. More with the unfamiliar ache of wanting to stay.
For the first time since I got here, I think maybe I don’t have to keep running. Maybe I can figure this out. Maybe, in some strange, impossible way, I belong at Iron Stallion.
I get up and push the closet door shut.