Chapter 2
Tate
I stomp the mud off my boots on the mat and then push the front door to the ranch house open. May in Montana means rain, mud, and more mud. And as a ranch foreman running the day-to-day operations of a billion-dollar cattle ranch? It’s about as muddy a job as you could get.
I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the hook inside the foyer, taking my cowboy hat and placing it overtop it next. I glance at my watch. I’ve got ten minutes until the next interviewee shows up.
Dread forms in my stomach at just the thought. When I’d first considered hiring live-in help for Fern, my three-year-old daughter, I assumed it would be easy. Find the best nanny in the area, pay them a substantial fee, give them free room and board, and Fern would be taken care of.
I should’ve known that nothing is ever that easy.
Not to mention that Mom keeps insisting that live-in help is unnecessary.
Ever since Fern’s biological mom, Katie, ran away barely a month after Fern was born—claiming raising a baby and being tied to me for life was simply too overwhelming—my mom and dad had stepped up to the plate to help me raise her.
Katie and I had had a drunken one-night stand which resulted in Fern.
I don’t regret what happened—Fern is the light of my life.
And as much as being left alone to raise a child would hurt anyone, I harbor no ill will toward Katie.
I haven’t heard from her since, and I have sole custody over Fern. My focus is on nothing but Fern now.
Mom and Dad were the best grandparents a kid could hope for.
And it was all working out perfectly. I’d never actually moved out of the home I’d grown up in—the house and cattle ranch my father had built from the ground up.
The Thatcher Ranch home is huge, and all the work is done on the property, so I’d never really seen the point.
And especially after Fern arrived, it just made sense to stay.
So I’d work Thatcher Ranch during the day while Mom and Dad kept Fern entertained at home.
That was until Dad died last winter. And aside from it being devastating and tragic, it also left Mom without an anchor.
And her age is finally showing. In her late sixties, she has no business running after a toddler full time, regardless of what she says.
She deserves to relax. To be supplemental care for Fern—not the entirety of it.
And I have more than enough funds to pay for help.
I just never thought help would be so hard to find.
I’ve conducted almost ten interviews, and none of them have felt …
right. I don’t even know what I’m looking for exactly, because some of them were truly qualified.
But the thought of leaving Fern—my light, my life, my everything—in the hands of just anyone?
It makes me physically sick to my stomach.
But I try to push aside my fears and be hopeful for the interview in just a few minutes. I don’t know much about the person—Mom had set up the interview.
I head into the kitchen, washing my hands in the sink and trying to make myself look at least somewhat presentable. Mom’s old golden retriever, Danny, wiggles up to me for pets, and I lean down to give him a few pats.
A knock on the front door catches my attention, and I glance at the clock. Five minutes early. Punctual. Nice.
I stride to the door, swinging it open before glancing through the peephole, and what I see nearly stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s not exactly the “what” of what’s before me. A young woman—seemingly in her mid-twenties—wearing jeans and t-shirt, here for an interview. It’s the fact that the woman standing before me is stunningly beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings.
“Hi—welcome,” I stutter, stepping aside to usher her into the house.
She doesn’t seem to notice my state—thank god—and simply walks in, heading to the dining room table where I’d gestured.
With her back to me, I physically shake my head, honestly shocked at myself. I’m not normally one with a wandering eye. In fact, I don’t typically notice women period. Like I’d said, I have one priority now: Fern. Despite only being thirty, my dating days are long behind me.
I clear my throat, following the young woman into the dining area and taking a seat across from her at the table. Now that I’ve had a few moments to clear my head, I take her in in a much more professional way. And I’m … slightly less impressed.
She’s wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a t-shirt that’s wrinkled beyond comprehension.
Like she slept in the damn thing. Shouldn’t she have dressed slightly nicer for an interview?
For a job where I’d be trusting her with my child?
Not that she needs to dress like a princess while watching Fern, but first impressions do matter.
“I’m Tate Thatcher,” I introduce myself with a curt nod.
“Lucy Adler,” the woman says with a bright smile. She straightens her shoulders, sitting upright. Danny sidles up to her, placing his hairy head in her lap. She pets him softly.
“My mom, Theresa, set up the interview. She said you spoke briefly on the phone this morning?” I ask, and Lucy nods. “I didn’t get a resume though …”
Her smile falters. “Yeah, I … don’t have one.”
I raise an eyebrow. Scuffed jeans, a wrinkled shirt, and no resume? Why is she even here? I sigh, trying to keep the disappointment off my face, but honestly, after the search I’ve had so far, I’m starting to feel pretty fed up.
“I’m good with kids,” Lucy cuts in. “I spent my teenage years babysitting—”
“So has everyone,” I can’t help but interrupt.
A twinge of guilt hits me at the sight of her face falling, but I can’t help myself.
I’m not looking for a babysitter for Fern.
If I was, I’d hire a teenager from town.
No, I’m looking for live-in help. Someone to teach her, play with her, take care of her, love her.
That last thing catches me off guard a bit. Love her? Is that too much to ask of hired help? But it’s what I want.
A pit forms in my stomach. Am I looking for someone to replace Katie? Be the mom Fern never had? Someone to replace Mom? Is that why none of these people are living up to my ideal?
“I have thirteen younger cousins. I know it’s a lot, but it’s true.
I spent every weekend with them growing up, and holidays too.
Starting at eleven years old, I was in charge of them.
I’ve helped with homework, tended wounds, stopped fights, soothed crying toddlers—everything.
I’ve done it all, and I’m good at it.” Lucy’s words pull me from my thoughts and back to the present.
Thirteen cousins? Jesus. While the idea of taking care of thirteen children all at once does seem impressive, it still doesn’t quite count as professional experience.
“Have you ever been paid for your childcare services?” I ask bluntly.
Lucy purses her lips quickly before responding. “Other than babysitting and camp counselor jobs as a teenager?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, other than babysitting as a child.”
Her face flushes pink, and again, I feel bad, but I can’t help it. “Um, I …”
I sigh, staring down at my hands in my lap. I really need to tell Mom to weed people out better when they call. This was obviously a waste of time. I stand, and I see a flash of panic fly across Lucy’s face. “I’m sorry, but I—”
“Daddy!” The shrill cry pulls all my attention away as three-year-old Fern comes careening into the room, throwing her arms around my legs and squeezing tightly.
I’m overcome with half joy and half irritation.
Joy because I’d spend every second of every day with Fern if I could, and annoyance because I don’t like the idea of Fern meeting the potential caregivers until I’ve hired one.
I glance above her head to see Mom entering the room, an apologetic look on her face. “She saw you down the hallway on the way to her nap, and there was no stopping her.”
My annoyance is short-lived. They say you make plans and God laughs? More like you make plans and your toddlers laugh. I kneel down to her height, about to try and persuade her to go take her nap, but she’s already taken a step back, her attention fully fixed across the table.
“I’m Fern,” she says. “Who are you?”
I glance up to see Lucy turning her chair and leaning forward. “I’m Lucy. Nice to meet you, Fern.” She smiles widely, and fuck she looks even prettier when the smile reaches her eyes. I just realize now that this smile—the one she’s giving to Fern—is much more genuine than the ones she’d given me.
Fern tiptoes the distance between them, and I fight the urge to pull her back. Despite the fact that this woman isn’t exactly a top-tier nanny, it’s not like she’s dangerous.
About a foot away from her, Fern points. “Our hair is the same color,” she states.
Lucy giggles and nods. “You’re right!”
Fern clasps a handful of her own locks, staring down at it. “Mud-colored,” she says.
Lucy laughs harder. “Oh, I wouldn’t say mud,” she replies. “More like hot cocoa.”
Fern’s eyes widen at that. “Hot cocoa?”
“Yeah.” Lucy nods. “Do you like hot cocoa?”
“I love hot cocoa. Do you?”
Lucy nods again. “We have so much in common.”
Just then, Fern grabs Lucy’s hand, pulling her from her seat and then racing as fast as she can across the room, pulling Lucy with her. “I want to show you my ponies!” she cries, beelining toward her room where her stash of plastic ponies are.
I open my mouth to stop her, but Mom is already doing the work, stepping in front of Fern and gently stopping her. “Sweetheart, it’s nap time,” Mom reminds her.
Fern’s face falls, and I see her grip on Lucy’s hand tighten. “But I wanna show Lucy my ponies.”
Mom’s eyes meet mine in question. “Well … maybe you can show Lucy your ponies later?”
I widen my eyes at her. Is she serious?
“Yes, yes!” Fern exclaims, jumping up and down. She turns back to Lucy. “I can’t wait to show you my ponies,” she says, her eyes wide with excitement.
And fuck, I know I’m screwed. Because the excitement on Fern’s face, the way she’s gripping Lucy’s hand like she’s her new best friend, the idea of telling my sweet little girl that she’s never going to see this woman again? God damn it.
I run my fingers through my hair as Mom gently leads Fern out of the room and down the hallway, waving her goodbyes to Lucy all the way.
When I finally meet Lucy’s gaze, her smile is gone, replaced with a worried, somewhat scared look. God, am I really that scary? I guess I was a little mean to her earlier …
Danny is wiggling at Lucy’s feet, begging for attention. God, does everyone in this house love her except for me?
“I’d like to offer you the job,” I say simply.
Lucy’s eyes widen, and she’s silent for a few seconds.
“If you still want it,” I fill in the silence.
“Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes. Thank you. Oh my god.” She grins. “Fern is the sweetest, I can’t wait to hang out with her.”
That last part tugs on my heart just a tiny bit, but I don’t let it show. “I’ll show you your room and lay out your responsibilities and expected hours.”
Lucy smiles and nods, and I hope against hope that I didn’t just make a terrible mistake.