“A live-in nanny?” I ask dubiously.
“We talked about this,” Quinn reminds me. And we did, several months ago. The only way for me to be the Sheriff around here requires having someone at home to watch Jackson, and while I agreed to it back then, I’m having second thoughts. “It sounds more pretentious than it is.” She tips her head toward Archer. “You know we’re willing and ready to contribute to our town by enabling you to be our Sheriff. Just say the word and we can move forward.”
I take a long drink of my beer, not answering, but not saying no either.
“I want absolutely nothing to do with this.” I put my arm around Jackson, who rests his head on my chest. I rake my fingers through his hair, dark and slightly wavy like mine, and hope I remember to take him to get a haircut this weekend. He needs it. Then again, so do I. I’ve grown used to having longer locks, and it’s one less thing to worry about. Maintaining a short cut requires too much work.
“I’ll handle it,” Quinn promises, nursing Emma with one hand while she opens her computer with the other. “Bethany from my old job swore by this site, and so did the CEO of our company.”
“Sounds expensive,” I grumble. Having invented and sold an app to Apple and then taking a high-paying position at a prestigious software company, Quinn has plenty of money. She cut back her hours of work now that she has Emma, but she’s engaged to a surgeon for fuck’s sake.
Quinn waves her hand in the air, dismissing me. “Think of this as us investing in our beloved community. Lots of people give big donations to the city, you know.”
“If I don’t like this, you’re dealing with it,” I go on. “Which means firing the nanny.”
Quinn does a good job of ignoring me. In her defense, when we talked about this the first time, I was much more open to the idea. But that was because it was so far in the future I was able to not actually think about it. “Jackson is in school Tuesday and Thursday, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay.” She types away with impressive speed for someone one-handed, and a few minutes pass before she looks up, smiling. “I put up your profile and, in a day or two, we’ll get applications from nannies who are fitting.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll screen the applications—Owen made me promise I’ll let him help, which we both know means he’s going to pick the prettiest one.” She looks up from her computer with a hopeful smile. “Which really isn’t a bad thing. Who knows what could happen?”
“You too?” I ask dryly.
“What?” She shrugs, acting like she has no idea what I’m talking about.
If Jackson weren’t here cuddled up with me, I’d remind Quinn—again—that I’m technically still married. I haven’t seen Daisy in years, which means she hasn’t signed any divorce papers. I know I could push the issue, file something with the courts, and could be a single man in a few months. But what’s the point?
Daisy was my high school sweetheart. Yeah, we broke up and got back together several times over the years, and I know my deployment was hard on her, but if over a decade of dating wasn’t enough to see we weren’t right for each other, then nothing is. I’m done dating. Done with women.
I’ve gone back and forth on my feelings for Daisy since she left that morning. She put us all through the wringer, worrying about her physical and mental well-being. I scoured the county for her, leaving our newborn with my parents while I drove around in a panic looking for her.
Her sister hadn’t heard from her.
Her parents hadn’t seen her.
Something terrible had happened. I was sure of it.
And then I found out she was partying in Chicago with a group of friends she met online in some sort of chat room.
She told me she didn’t want to be tied down. Being a mom wasn’t her thing. She spent years living on a military base, away from friends and her family, and felt like she deserved time to herself. She even thought I should give her credit for not cheating on me while I was overseas.
I spent the first year of Jackson’s life hating her. Cursing her name. Wishing I could forget everything related to her—except Jackson, of course. She showed up on his first birthday, played the part of perfect mother for a few days, and we haven’t seen or heard from her since.
“All I’m saying is having a good-looking woman around might not be a bad thing.” Quinn readjusts Emma, who’s done nursing now and is pulling on Quinn’s hair, and closes her computer.
“I second that,” Logan says, coming into the living room. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a tiny nod, knowing how much I can’t fucking stand it when Mom and Quinn get on me about dating again. He sits next to Quinn and takes Emma from her arms, holding her up and making a silly face. “And while you’re feeling generous, Quinn, how about hiring a maid for me?”
“I think most of them prefer to be called house-cleaners now, and no. Owen’s capable of cleaning.”
Hearing his name, Owen rounds the corner. “Are you insinuating that I’m the messy one?”
“We all know you are, Uncle Owen,” Jackson quips and makes us all laugh. He pushes himself up and wiggles his way in between Logan and Quinn, cooing and talking like a baby to Emma.
“Ready to head home, buddy?” I ask Jackson, knowing he’s going to protest. We have about half an hour before we have to get home, and I’m buying my time to avoid a meltdown. We’ve gone back and forth a lot this week, and while my parents and Jackson enjoy the time they get to spend together, it would be nice to keep him home during the week, especially now that he’s in preschool.
Admitting I need help has never come easy for me, but I know deep down that this might be exactly what we need.
Chapter Three
Scarlet
I pinch the bridge of my nose, gripping my phone so tight in my other hand I think it might break. I sink down on a creaky kitchen chair, looking at the bills laid out on the table. I’m behind on everything, like usual, and I don’t have enough to cover the bare minimum this time.
Trying to get Heather the best outcome possible, I skipped the public defender and hired a lawyer, who was able to cut her sentence in half. But the lawyer fees weren’t cheap, and I’ve been without TV or internet all month, making me go over on my data plan, but hey—that bill’s not due until next month. The next to go will be my electric and water, though not by choice.
And now I’m dealing with insurance, who randomly decided to stop covering several of Dad’s medications that he’s been taking for the last three years. I’ve been on the phone for over an hour, mostly on hold, of course. I rest my head in my hands, zoning out as I continue to listen to crappy elevator music through the speakers on my phone.
Finally, I get through to a new person, whose accent is so thick I can hardly understand a word they’re saying. I argue some more, but in the end, there is nothing I can do. The insurance company no longer deems the blood pressure medication necessary and will no longer cover it.
I hang up and let my phone clatter to the table. The fall is cushioned by the million bills covering the surface. Seething, I close my eyes and clench my jaw. I want to beat someone up, preferably Steve at the insurance company who has as much empathy as a pile of dirt.