Chapter 3
Lucy
I stare up at the wooden beams above me, breathing deeply, settling into the bed. The house is constructed in typical ranch style—large, but only one floor, and made entirely from gorgeous wood logs.
The room I’ve been given is spacious, clean, and nicely furnished. The queen-sized bed is comfortable, there is a dresser against the far wall, and a window overlooking the nearest pasture, although Tate had assured me there was miles and miles of Thatcher Ranch property beyond it.
I pull the quilt tighter around me. While it might be May, the nights are still cold.
I think back on the events of the day. How I’d been so certain Tate Thatcher was going to throw me out, and then meeting Fern—the sweetest little kid in the world.
I think that’s what did it. What are dads if not wrapped around their little girls’ fingers?
Fern’s approval of me is what landed me this job.
And I’m not about to blow it.
And while Tate might have seemed a little gruff, his mom, Theresa, more than makes up for it.
She’s who’d I’d spoken with briefly on the phone when I’d set up the interview, and she introduced herself to me after putting Fern down for her nap this afternoon.
We spent the rest of the day with Theresa showing me around the ranch, explaining Fern’s daily routines, and then simply hovering around while I spent my first evening hanging out with Fern.
Fern and I had hit it off so well that Theresa had had to practically pry her off of me to go to bed.
The gig seems to be a pretty good one too.
My room here at the ranch is fully covered, and I’ve got my own little corner of it—a nice room and bathroom all to myself.
I’ll be in charge of Fern from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. on weekdays, with help from Theresa if needed.
I’ll have evenings and weekends to myself, but Theresa had stressed that I’m more than welcome to join her and Tate for any meals and activities.
While the idea of hanging out with Theresa seems nice, I’m still unsure about Tate.
The way he’d grilled me earlier? That scowl of his?
It almost takes away from how handsome he is.
Sure, I’d noticed. He looks to be in his early thirties, and he’s got that rough, cowboy look really going for him. I’d honestly be interested if it weren’t for my current situation and … past. I’m definitely not here for anything other than a refuge.
I turn over in bed, staring out the window at the full moon in the sky. It’s so bright, I consider closing the curtains. But instead, I simply bask in the glow. I take a deep breath. Montana. Two full states away. I’m safe, I try to remind myself. Safe. He can’t find me here.