Page 23 of Peaches & Pistols

The room is spotless. Unlived in. Like a hotel attendant has been through the room and cleaned it after check-out for the next guests.

Mia and Everly’s backpacks sit on the dresser I bought as soon as I knew the nanny would be living here. They’re unzipped, and the contents are pristinely folded and packed. The bins of Harper’s clothes I brought up from storage sit right where I left them, days ago.

A quick pop of the lid shows me what I already know—she didn’t even open the bins to look. I’m already snooping, so it’s all too easy to open the dresser drawers to find them empty.

She hasn’t unpacked. She has no intention of unpacking. She needs to be able to run at a moment’s notice.

My new nanny’s a fuckin’ flight risk.

I grab the uni-horse and slam the door behind me harder than necessary.

Mia took Everly to the market a while ago, they should’ve been back by now.

My hand unconsciously pats my pocket for my phone, fingers itching to text her. I shouldn’t. She doesn’t technically start work as Harper’s nanny until tomorrow. I wanted her to get her feet planted before piling on responsibilities.

“Alright, woman, let’s get going,” I say, handing the toy to my daughter.

Her giggle lights my soul. She always gets a kick out of it when I call her “woman”.

I have to pick up an order for the store from Steamboat Springs, so I figured I’d take my girl for a daddy-daughter day.

“Can we go to the cowboy store, Daddy?” I lock the door behind me and follow Harper down the stairs to the truck.

“We always do.”

F.M. Light & Sons has been a Steamboat Springs hallmark for over one hundred years. Harper loves trying on the cowboy hats and hell if I don’t end up buying her something most trips.

Her glee puffs my chest that every once in a while, I do this “dad” thing right.

“Everly!” Harper squeals, running to hug her new best friend. The three-year age gap means nothing to them, and I couldn’t be more grateful my girl has someone to hang around with other than my tornado of a sister and the rest of these yahoos.

“Somethin’ smells incredible.” Looking through the open living-dining-kitchen area, I don’t see Mia, but the counter’s lined with dish after dish of what looks like a gourmet meal.

“Everly, where’s your mom?”

“She said she needed to get herself together. She went to our room.” I don’t miss Everly’s parroting of Mia’s words and am immediately wary.

The girls settle in at the dining table, coloring in coloring books I’ve never seen before, with brand new crayons, one at each pristine place setting. I try to cook most nights, but even then, we eat in front of the TV more often than I’d like to admit.

For the second time today, I dare to enter Mia’s room without permission. At least this time, I knock as I swing the door open.

What I find is beyond anything I could’ve prepared for. I quickly shut the door behind me, careful not to alert the girls.

Mia’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the bedframe, hysterically crying. I gingerly step toward her and crouch in front of her, careful not to get too close.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She startles so badly she fumbles behind her to get off the floor, pressed as tightly against the bed as she can get. I stand with her and take a step backwards.

“You scared me,” she heaves, wiping tears from her face.

“Sorry. Everly said you were in here.” I scan her face for any sign of injury and find nothing but defeat and tear-stained rosy cheeks. “What’s goin’ on?”

Her eyes frantically take me in, as if gauging my mood.

“You can talk to me. Don’t have to by any means, but you can if you want.” After a few tortuous beats, she sighs and sits on the mattress.

“There were some great steaks on sale at the market. I wanted to thank you for everything: this job, the room, trusting me with your daughter.” I nod for her to continue.