Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 1

1

Alexander Cartwright

" W ilder! Ace! Go get cleaned up!" I shout across the ranch, wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead.

It's abnormally hot for the start of November. My sons have been riding horses all morning while my three brothers, Sebastian, Mason, and Jagger, break in six new racehorses we purchased.

Wilder and Ace run their horses harder away from the barn.

Sebastian chuckles. "Doesn't look like they heard you, Alexander."

"Like hell they didn't," I mutter, then put my fingers to my lips and whistle.

Ace, my youngest son, shoots me a mischievous smirk, then refocuses on Wilder and kicks his horse to catch up.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I swear Wilder is teaching him bad habits."

"No different from when we were boys," Sebastian claims.

I ignore his comment, whistle again, then shout, "Don't make me get on a horse to come get you two!"

My other brothers step next to Sebastian and me. They all find humor in my sons not listening to my orders, but I'm not amused.

I snap, "You're happy your nephews are turning into disrespectful boys?"

Mason grunts. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Yeah, they just want to keep riding. We were the same when we were kids," Jagger insists.

"We didn't ignore Dad when he called us in," I state.

"Your memory is fading," Dad bellows.

I turn my head. "Did Mom keep you in town all morning?"

"No. We've been back for a bit."

"You've been sitting inside?"

"Yep." A look passes over his expression. I can't tell what it is, and he whistles before I can question him. It's as shrill as mine.

My boys circle a tree and race toward us.

"Little shits," I mutter.

Sebastian chuckles again and pats me on the back.

It irritates me even more. My boys are good kids and have always listened to me. Yet Wilder's been pushing boundaries lately, and Ace is too happy to try anything his older brother does.

A cloud of dust trails them, and they stop several feet in front of us and then jump off their horses.

Mason opens the gate, and the horses trot past the fence.

"You need to lean into those turns," Dad instructs Ace.

"I told him," Wilder interjects.

I warn, "The next time you two want to ignore me, you'll skip lunch and spend the rest of the day doing chores. Understand?"

Wilder and Ace don't say anything.

"Well?" I push.

Dad interjects, "Boys, answer your father."

"We were finishing our ride," Wilder states.

"Yeah," Ace follows.

I point at them. "Don't push me right now."

My sons sigh and reply, "Yes, sir."

Before I can say anything else, Dad steps between them. "Let's go wash up." He turns them toward the house and guides them away.

"Unbelievable," I grumble.

"Chill out. They're just being kids. We were like that," Jagger reminds me.

"We wouldn't have ignored Dad," I repeat.

He grunts. "Sure we did. Stop insisting we didn’t. We were hellions."

"You're wrong," I insist, stomping toward the house. The last thing I'm going to put up with are my sons turning into little disrespectful brats.

"Georgia! I did it!" Ace shrieks, breaking away from my father and running toward the porch.

All day, the women in my family have been taking down Halloween decorations and putting up Thanksgiving ones. Orange and gold lights wrap around the posts and hang from the awnings along with pumpkins and turkeys. A huge autumn wreath with burlap, acorns, pine cones, reddish-orange berries, and multicolored fall leaves hangs on the front door.

"Yay!" Georgia praises Ace, then ruffles his hair.

I can't help but smile. Our family fell in love with Sebastian's wife, and my sons weren't immune to her beaming personality.

She shouts, "Hurry up, guys. Lunch is ready."

"We're coming," Sebastian yells back.

Ace and Wilder disappear inside with Georgia, and the rest of us follow. We remove our boots, then take turns washing our hands in the kitchen.

I'm the last to enter the huge dining room.

Years ago, my parents had a custom-made table so the entire family could fit around it. It has several extra leaves, so it expands. My parents were smart and anticipated needing room for future spouses and grandkids. But even now, there are times we have to pull out kiddie tables. Today, we don't need one, since only my sister Evelyn and her three kids are here. Her husband and my other sisters, Ava, Willow, and Paisley, aren't home.

Before I step inside the room, an animated voice declares, "This looks amazing, Mrs. Cartwright!"

"Please, dear. I told you to call me Ruby," my mom insists.

I freeze outside the doorway, peek inside, then groan internally. My mother has an annoying habit of bringing home women and trying to set me up with them. She did the same thing with Sebastian, then once he married Georgia, she pinned her unwelcome matchmaking skills on me.

I've told her countless times to stop and to not bring them around my boys. The last time it happened, she claimed any woman I would get serious about needed to be great with my sons.

It only infuriated me. We got into a heated conversation, which rarely happens. I reiterated that the last thing I want is to replace the boys' mother.

She reminded me that my wife passed away eight years ago and that I didn't need to be alone forever.

Every statement cut deeper into my still-raw wounds. So I fired back harsher than ever.

That was about eight months ago. I thought she learned her lesson, but she's at it again.

The stranger with long, magenta hair, a diamond stud nose ring, and tattoos peeking out above her pink tube top says, "Sorry, Ruby. So I assume this is Ace and Wilder?"

Oh no you don't.

I take three long strides and step in front of my chair. I glare at my mother, stating, "We're not doing this."

Mom smiles at me. "Sit down, Alexander. We have some things to discuss."

"Like hell we do."

Dad orders, "Sit down, son."

I ignore him and pin my gaze on the stranger. She's wearing enough jewelry to stock a store. She rises, and I can faintly make out hearts and the letters D and A before her tattoo disappears.

I wonder, does she already regret inking some dude's name on her chest?

What's his name? David? Daryl? Dannie boy?

Doesn't matter, I tell myself.

My gaze drifts to her perky tits, the tanned inch of her skin between the top of her skinny jeans, and on to the rip on her thigh, exposing another tattoo I can't make out.

Where does that lead?

I raise my gaze back to hers, finding she hasn't flinched under my staredown.

Mom really got it wrong this time. This woman is definitely not my type.

She pins blue fuck-me eyes to my sneer, and smiles. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Phoebe."

Great. She thinks she has a chance.

"I'm sorry my mother wasted your time. She's delusional sometimes. I think it's best if you go now," I state.

"Alexander!" Evelyn, my bossy older sister, scolds.

"Stay out of this," I say to her in warning.

"Jacob," Mom says, imploring Dad to intervene.

Dad's stern voice cuts through the air. "Alexander, sit down!"

I take a deep breath, my insides shaking with anger. I'm tired of my family interfering in my life. Nothing says I need a wife to raise my children. They're surrounded by grandparents, aunts and uncles, and their cousins. I assume there are only a few moments in their lives when they don't feel love.

Dad repeats, "Sit. We have things to discuss."

I cave and take my seat, then refocus on Phoebe. "Appreciate your time, but my mother once again overstepped. I'm not trying to be rude to you. I'm sure you're a lovely girl, but it really is best if you leave."

Her eyes widen. She glances at Mom and says, "Maybe this isn't a good fit?"

"Nonsense." Mom pats her hand. She pins her glare on me. "Alexander, I just hired Phoebe to be the boys' nanny."

I jerk my head back. "Nanny? They don't need a nanny."

"Just for two months while your father and I are gone."

Wilder asks, "Where are you going? Can I come with you?"

"I want to come too!" Ace exclaims.

Dad answers, "Sorry, not this time, boys. Your grandmother and I are taking a mission trip to South America for a few months."

"Mission trip? What's that?" Ace asks.

"It's where you help people who are less fortunate than you," Mom responds.

"You're going over the holidays?" Georgia asks with surprise and disappointment in her voice.

Mom smiles. "We're flying home for part of Thanksgiving week and also December 23rd through January 2nd."

"But you'll miss a lot of the fun stuff," Wilder says.

"Agreed. Why would you go over the holidays?" Sebastian asks.

Mom's eyes brighten. "They needed more help. Not many people want to go at this time of year, and your father and I have always wanted to help. Now that he's retired?—"

"Semiretired," Dad interjects, as he still doesn't like the thought of being retired.

"They don't want to go because it's the best time of year!" Isabella, Evelyn's oldest daughter, chimes in.

Mom slides her arm around Isabella and tugs her closer. She replies, "Yes, but we'll be here for the main events."

I rise and focus on Phoebe. "Sorry, I misunderstood why you're here."

She asks, "Why did you think I was here?"

Evelyn answers before I can speak. "He thought our mom was trying to hook you up."

A flush crawls up Phoebe's cheeks.

To my surprise, my dick hardens. It makes no sense. This barely-out-of-college woman isn't my type.

Get her out of here.

I ignore my cock, hoping no one can see it, and explain, "I'm sorry my mom wasted your time. We don't need a nanny."

"You do," Mom insists.

"No, we don't," I hurl back.

"Alexander, sit down. You're making a fool of yourself and being rude to our guest," Dad scolds.

"We don't need a nanny," I reiterate.

"Sit down," he orders, pointing to my chair.

I release a frustrated breath and plop down, objecting, "I can manage the boys alone."

"Really? Who's going to help when you're working?" Mom asks.

I point out, "They spend all their free time outside where we can see them."

"Who's going to help with their homework?"

"I can."

Mom snorts. "You're working past dark almost every night."

Guilt hits me. I haven't been the best at helping the boys with homework. I hated school when I was their age. And my sons take after me. They'd rather be out in the pasture riding horses or playing Cops and Robbers. So they whine as much as I did. It frustrates me. But my mom is great with homework, so I've been happy to let her take on those duties.

I insist, "I'll do it."

Evelyn snickers. "Sure you will."

"Stay out of it," I snap.

She adds, "They have to do their homework. Plus, you're horrible when it comes to school stuff."

"I said to keep your nose where it belongs."

"She's right. The boys' schoolwork can't suffer," Dad declares.

"I'm good not doing homework while you're gone. No offense, Phoebe," Wilder states, then gives her his dazzling smile.

"Not funny," I warn.

"I don't need to do homework either," Ace proclaims.

Phoebe laughs and replies, "You're both doing your homework. But don't worry. We'll make it fun."

"Homework is never fun," Wilder mutters.

"It will be with me," Phoebe claims.

I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose, my heart racing faster. I assess Phoebe again, wondering how my mother could be so off base with her judgment. This woman is wild; I can tell. Surely, she won't be a good influence on my boys. They'll run right over her.

"She's very qualified," Mom says, as if she can read my mind.

"How?" I question, truly curious how this stranger could handle my sons, who are starting to push the boundaries any chance they get.

Phoebe's voice is confident when she smiles and states, "I've taught art for the last three years."

"Three years! And art! That's a lifetime of lessons there," I sarcastically declare.

"Alexander!" Mom reprimands.

"What? It's a fair assessment."

Phoebe straightens her back, narrowing her eyes on me, divulging, "Not really. I started babysitting when I was twelve. I nannied through college for a family with five children, and the parents were absent."

"I'm not an absent father," I snap.

She tilts her head. "I didn't claim you were."

I stare at her, and tension builds around the table, but mostly between the two of us.

Sebastian clears his throat. "Why don't you give her a chance?"

I jerk my head toward him. "Since when do you stick your nose in my business?"

He holds his hands up. "Mom and Dad interviewed her, so she must be overqualified."

Surprise hits me. I turn toward Dad. "You interviewed her?"

"Of course."

I ask Sebastian, "How did you know? You were outside with us."

Guilt fills his expression.

I glance around the table. More anger fills me. I realize I'm the only one who was kept in the dark besides the kids. "You all knew?"

Evelyn answers, "We didn't realize they were leaving over the holidays. Mom told us it was supposed to be in February."

Mom interrupts. "Your father and I didn't know how desperate they were for extra help. We couldn't turn them down."

Evelyn continues, "We assumed you'd try to claim you can handle everything on your own."

"I can. They're my children, after all," I remind her.

Georgia puts her hand on mine. She softly says, "Hey."

I glance at her.

She smiles, and I calm a tad. It's hard to be mad at her. Maybe it's because she's not blood but has always treated my kids like her own since the moment she met them. So while she's just as much a part of us now, she has a different perspective on things without the years of history of annoying me at times like the rest of my family.

She suggests, "Why don't you just have Phoebe nanny this next week and then you can decide if you need her?"

I take a deep breath, happy Georgia's on my side. It's not what I want, but she just gave me the green light to teach my family that I'm more than capable of handling everything on my own. I'll agree, then Phoebe can pack up and be on her way once everyone sees the boys and I don't need her.

I reluctantly turn toward Phoebe. "Fine. You can stay for the week. On Friday, we'll reassess."

"I need to go home and get my things first. My lease is up in three days," she claims.

"Where's home?"

"California."

Of course she's from California. That explains the piercings, tattoos, magenta hair, and tan.

I wonder what other tattoos she has hiding under those jeans.

What am I saying?

I scoff. "Let me guess. L.A.? Or is it San Francisco?"

She shakes her head. "Pismo Beach."

"You should take us to the beach!" Ace exclaims.

Phoebe smiles at him. "I saw you have a lake on your property."

"We do!"

"Why don't we have a beach party after you've earned your stars this week?"

He wrinkles his forehead. "Stars?"

She nods. "Yeah. You can earn all kinds of cool stuff with my stars."

"Like what?" Wilder asks.

"I want stars!" Isabella pipes up.

Phoebe laughs. "You can earn them too."

"It's going to be cold soon," I state.

Phoebe shrugs, then turns her gaze back to the kids. "So? We can still have a beach party, right?"

"Yeah!" Wilder pumps his arm in the air, and the other kids follow, chanting, "Beach party!"

My siblings and parents seem to find it funny, but it irritates me. The last thing I need is this woman putting ideas into my kids' heads when she won't be here to follow through. So I mutter, "Better do it this week, then."

The room goes quiet, and she says, "I can be back by Tuesday if that works?"

"It does," Dad answers.

Phoebe's lips twist. She arches her eyebrows as she asks me, "And for you? Tuesday through Monday will give you enough time to make your assessment?"

I wonder why she finds this funny. Come next week, she'll be hightailing it back to California, homeless. But I answer, "Yep."

"Great. Can we eat now? I'm hungry," Jagger states.

Trays full of lunch meat, cheese, and bread are passed around the table. Bowls with potato salad, Caesar salad, and fruit follow.

"Did you make all this, Georgia?" Phoebe asks.

"Evelyn and the girls helped. Didn't you?" she asks Emma, Evelyn's middle child, who seems attached to Georgia's hip lately.

"I washed the lettuce and broke it apart!" Emma exclaims, beaming.

"You did a great job too," Georgia says, and they fist-bump.

"Mmm, this lettuce is amazing," Phoebe declares, taking a huge bite and grinning at Emma.

Emma eats up her praise, and I internally groan.

Maybe this idea of Georgia's isn't so good after all. These kids are going to get attached to Phoebe and then I'll be the bad guy.

The conversation continues, but I barely hear it. I hardly taste my food either. Everyone around the table is eating and praising Phoebe like she's the most amazing person to ever stay at our home. It only convinces me further that this is going to be a disaster. Of all the things my mother has done, this is going to top the cake. Phoebe won't be needed, and these kids will be heartbroken once she leaves.

Better in a week than two months.

Two months.

What the heck were my parents thinking? My kids don't need to get attached to any woman who isn't family.

Warm apple pie crumble topped with vanilla ice cream gets passed around the table. It's another dessert hit by Georgia. She has a thriving cupcake business, but she can make anything. She even figured out how to make low-sugar stuff taste good for my brother, who's terrified of getting diabetes. Today is no different. She made the same dish but with reduced sugar for him.

"Who will do holiday stuff with us while you're gone?" Isabella asks my mom.

Mom points around the table. "Everyone here, plus your other aunties and Phoebe."

"Phoebe's only here for a week," I remind everyone.

"Alexander, you will give Phoebe a fair chance," Dad commands.

I grind my molars. I love my family, but this is one of those situations where I wished they'd stay out of my business.

This is what I get for still living on the ranch.

Maybe I should move out?

What am I saying? This is our home, and my sons would be devastated.

Phoebe pipes up. "It's okay. I'll prove to Alexander that I can add value while you're gone." She grins at me.

I stare back at her, my mouth turning dry. I'm not sure who this woman thinks she is, but if she thinks she can win me over, she's got another thing coming.