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“Why not? You need help, and I don’t mind assisting. Plus, I love kids.”
“You love kids?”
“Yes. I don’t want any of my own but I like being with other peoples’. I’m a modern-day Mary Poppins.”
“What about your dating life?”
“I assume I’ll be able to go home on the weekends. I do have to get back to Newbury from time to time for my actual job.”
“Almost forgot. You’re a kickboxing instructor.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m an accountant. Kickboxing is what I do on the side.”
His face twists in confusion. “You’re an accountant?”
“You don’t always have to seem so surprised by the things I say. Trust me, if I wanted to make up a career, accounting wouldn’t be one of them.”
“Why would an accountant, who also teaches kickboxing classes and apparently babysits her friends’ kids all the time, want to add summer nanny to her already-full schedule?”
It’s a valid question with a valid answer. Rob needs help, and I need some breathing room from Newbury before I do something stupid, like egg Patrick’s new house or give it a termite infestation.
“Maybe I just want a change of scenery for the summer. Plus, I have these boots and nowhere else to wear them.”
He groans. It’s not a grunt. It’s a sound of submission. “I think I’ve had too much to drink because I’m considering this.”
“Question is, do you trust me enough to watch your kids? ”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
Add this to the top of the list of bad ideas I have and seem to follow through on even though the red flags are waving vibrantly in my face.
“Start with me,” I say, as if conceding and begging at the same time. “Let’s do a trial run. Maybe I’ll regret even offering this. You might hate the notion of me being at your house all summer, but is it worth not seeing your kids?”
The sides of his eyes turn down as he moans. “Okay.”
“Wait, seriously?” I jump up and clap my hands with giddiness. The thought of spending the summer on a ranch seems fun and so very convenient. No Patrick. No fruit. A chance to figure out my next move because if the Murphy family is infiltrating Newbury, Tara Parsons is moving out. “This is so exciting. I have the cowgirl boots, but I’m gonna need a hat, some spurs, oh, a lot of those cute floral dresses and jean jackets. I must raid my closet. I don’t have a ton of ranch-chic looks.”
“I already regret this.”
Looks like I’m going to live with Rob on his ranch for the summer. What could go wrong?
CHAPTERFIVE
When I think of a ranch, I picture a rustic yet modern estate sitting on sprawling acres of lush greenery. Trees should hang over the long road creating a tunnel-like feeling. Fences line the pastures, keeping the cattle from escaping. Chickens and hens roam, and men on tractors drive through to maintain the growing grass. There should be an oversize wrought iron sign above the road leading up to the property with the name of the ranch.
And there should be cowboys. Lots of hunky cowboys on horses with Stetsons and straw dangling from their mouths.
This ranch has none of those things.
The drive here was scenic. Houses spread far apart and a farm or two that had me turning my head. About five miles from the house, it became nothing but wheat fields and the occasional deer crossing the road.
My navigation gives out, as it doesn’t even register the road I’m on. I look at the directions Rob sent me and follow them to a metal gate, rusted and weathered, and make a right.
I drive up a long dirt road toward a blue house at the top of a hill. There’s plenty of land for sure, but it’s more dead grass than grazing pastures. There’s an old truck parked on the side of the drive. It’s faded and full of rust with a tire leaning against the fender.
As I get closer to the house, I notice a large barn-like structure way past the house. It’s brown and red, and it looks dingy next to the house that is freshly painted with white trim and a matching deck.
I park my car between a shiny black pickup truck and an SUV—not an oversize monstrosity, but a solid American-made family car.
