Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 3

3

Alexander

Three Days Later

M om shouts, "Alexander, it's time to pick up Phoebe!"

Anger resurfaces, and I groan. I point to Calypso, the horse I've been training the last few weeks, and order Jagger, "Run him again."

"Have fun on your excursion," he mocks.

"Have your fun while you can, little brother. Mom's going to focus on you next."

He grunts. "No way."

"She will. Your day is coming," I caution, knowing that my single brothers will be on the chopping block next. If my mother had her way, each of her eight children would be married with a dozen kids.

Plus, Mason's thirty and Jagger's twenty-eight. Knowing my mother, she'll soon turn her sights on them, relentlessly trying to fix them up with any single girl around. So soon enough, she'll give up on me and realize I'm telling the truth—I can handle the boys on my own. I don't need a wife or a nanny.

Clara's face pops into my mind, and I internally cringe. It's been eight years, and it still hurts. The sting has faded, but the memories of cancer treatments and watching the only woman I've ever loved—the mother of my children—shrink away to barely anything but skin and bones, still haunt me.

Images of my young boys fill my mind, especially Wilder, who was only two years old and watched his mother deteriorate. He was young, but he still remembers it.

Ace was only an infant. All the fears and grief I had while rocking him to sleep on nights my mother and sisters didn't, reappear.

I reiterate to myself, I'm never getting married again.

Jagger snickers. "You better get moving."

I swallow the lump in my throat, hating how the bad memories sneak up on me at strange times. I mutter, "I'm remembering this when Mom sets her focus on you." I spin and stomp toward the truck.

"Wait for me!" My twenty-five-year-old sister Willow screeches, darting out the front door and jumping into the passenger side of the truck.

I approach the driver's seat, yank open the door, and state, "You aren't coming. Get out."

She smirks. "Mom said to go with you. Ask me why."

"Don't care. Get out," I order again.

"Nope." Willow buckles her seat belt.

I groan and start the truck. "I'm tired of no one ever listening to me."

"Sorry," she chirps.

I ignore her for a few minutes, then ask, "Shouldn't you be running after a bull rider or something?"

She laughs. "Is that what you think I do all day? Run after them?"

I shrug and grin. "Yep."

"I'll have you know, they line up to see me . There's no running to do on my part." She beams at me.

"I'm sure they do," I reply with disdain.

Willow got her law degree and decided to become an agent for bull riders. She's always been obsessed with them. No matter how much my father, brothers, and I warned her to stay away from them, she never listened. Over the years, she's dated several local guys. Now, she's representing whatever rider she thinks has the talent to win, and the floodgates of rowdy, cocky men are open even wider.

In my eyes, it's a nightmare brewing. Several of her clients are past flings of hers. Whenever I watch them interact, it's clear Willow's moved on, but they still hold a sweet spot in their hearts for her. And I can't blame them.

Willow's beautiful, has a bubbly personality, and can run circles around most people. She's business oriented like Sebastian, and just as intelligent as him, if not more so, and she's fearless.

It's a recipe for drama, and I want nothing to do with it. At some point, her naive bubble is going to burst. She's going to have to deal with jealous men who thrive on testosterone and winning. And when it happens, my brothers and I will have a hard time not saying, "We told you so."

Willow leans closer, stating, "I hope you'll be nice to Phoebe. I heard you were nasty last time she was here."

"I wasn't nasty," I claim, although some guilt hits me.

It's not Phoebe's fault my family set her up to fail. They should know I can handle my sons on my own. But this is what happens when they stick their noses into my business. Innocent people, like Phoebe, get hurt.

"Not what I heard," Willow declares.

"Why are you here?" I ask again, annoyed she's butting into this situation.

She grins. "Someone has to be friends with this poor girl so she learns how to navigate around you. Mom said we'd get along really well too."

I snort. "You seem to be delusional, along with the rest of our family. Phoebe's only here for the week. Then she'll be on her way."

"Sure. Whatever you say, brother." Willow pats me on the shoulder.

I jerk away from her, wishing I wasn't annoyed.

We all have great sibling relationships. Even Evelyn, who intrudes way too much, I normally don't mind. So, on a typical day, Willow and I wouldn't have any issues.

But I'm tired of my family insisting on the boys having a nanny. This Phoebe woman isn't capable of keeping them on track anyway, and I doubt she'll be able to instill any sense of discipline in them.

I know my sons better than anyone, and they're going to run all over her. She'll soon regret ever accepting this position. Once she leaves, my family needs to accept that I'm the boys' father and I know what's best for them.

I pull into the airport and follow the signs for the tarmac. I park next to the jet, and the door opens. The staircase gets stabilized, and Phoebe appears at the top.

"She's gorgeous!" Willow exclaims.

I stay quiet. Phoebe's not my type, but I wish I could deny Willow's statement. Phoebe's magenta hair blows in the breeze. Her sun-kissed legs, displayed from her cut-off jean shorts, are as perfect as I imagined. A purple, oversized sweater hits the top of the frayed hems. The right side of her thigh has a streak of hearts and flowers running up it. I can barely make out the letters M-A-R.

My mouth turns dry. My dick strains against my zipper, and I curse myself.

She tattooed another man's name on her body.

What's his name? Mark? Martin? Marcello?

Willow opens the door and bounces out of the truck, rushing toward the steps and calling, "Phoebe!"

I tear my eyes off them and stroll toward the back of the jet. Dale, the runway employee, has boxes loaded onto a cart. He wheels them to the truck and I help put them into the bed.

"And you've met my ornery brother, correct?" Willow chirps.

I shoot her daggers with my glare.

"Sure have. How are you, Alexander?" Phoebe asks, meeting my gaze.

I force myself to be polite. "Fine. Let me help unload the rest of your boxes, and we'll be on our way."

"That's everything in the jet," Dale states.

I glance at the handful of boxes, questioning, "Did you put things in storage?"

Phoebe shakes her head. "No. That's all my stuff."

I arch my eyebrows. Since when don't women have way too many things?

Phoebe proclaims, "I'm a minimalist. Don't like a lot of clutter."

"Very California of you," I tease, but it comes out sounding rude.

"Alexander! Behave!" Willow reprimands.

Guilt fills me, but I'm not admitting anything to my sister. "It was a joke. Phoebe knows that, right?"

I'm unsure why I expect her to have my back, and for a moment, I'm sure she'll call me out. Yet she doesn't.

She straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and smiles. Her blues beam brighter. She replies, "Of course."

"See?" I tell Willow, then open the passenger door. "Let's get out of here."

"You can have the front," Willow says to Phoebe, and climbs into the back.

Phoebe grasps the grab bar, hoists herself onto the seat, and asks, "Any chance we can stop in town first?" She crosses her legs, and the letter I is revealed next to the M-A-R.

I stare at it, a lump forming in my throat.

Not Mark. What guy's name is M-A-R-I?

"Is that okay?" Phoebe asks.

I snap out of my trance, look up, and realize she caught me gaping at her thigh.

Her lips twitch and pink crawls around her cheeks.

I quickly answer, "Fine," shut her door, and go around the truck, scolding myself. The last thing I need is to have the nanny thinking I'm interested in her.

I start the truck, pull out of the airport, then ask, "Where in town do you need to go?"

"Any art store will do. I want to get watercolors for the kids."

"Oh! Let's go to Lilac on Main! They have art stuff but also other crafty things," Willow declares.

I snap, "Willow, this isn't a shopping spree. I don't mind stopping, but I need to get back to work."

"Oh, shush. Jagger and Mason have it under control," Willow states.

"Because I do nothing all day?" I blurt out.

My sister laughs. "You know they can handle it when you're gone."

"Willow, I have a lot going on. I don't have all day to wait for you to spend money."

"I like it better when you're fun, Alexander," she says.

I groan.

Phoebe pipes up, "Actually, if we can run in and run out, I think that's best. I want to unpack before the boys get home from school. We can go shopping another day if that's okay?"

Once again, I'm surprised she seems to have my back, but I remind myself not to let her fool me. She wants to stay for two months, and I don't need her.

"If that's what you want," Willow replies.

Phoebe nods. "It is. But I definitely want a rain check on the shopping trip."

"Deal," my sister agrees.

I focus on driving, trying to keep my eyes off Phoebe's sun-kissed, toned legs, but it's hard. A few times, she catches me. I know because of her blush.

I grip the steering wheel harder and pull up to the store. I shift the gear to park and beg, "Please don't take all day."

Willow snorts.

Phoebe meets my gaze. "I'll be quick."

"Thank you."

"Sure," she softly says. She opens her mouth, as if she wants to say more, then shuts it.

I want to ask her what she wants to say, but she leaps out of the truck. I stay in the cab, staring at the back of her killer calves and thigh tattoo.

Maybe his name is Mario.

Is she still with him? Or is she with the D guy?

Maybe she dumped both of them.

I'm stumped, trying to think of more M-A-R-I male names, when she pops out of the store. She's carrying a big shopping bag, and Willow's in tow.

"That was fast," I praise.

"I'm known to have laser focus at times," she claims.

"That's a good trait to have," I admit.

Willow shuts her door, declaring, "Why don't we return on the weekend?"

Phoebe turns and replies, "Let's play it by ear if you don't mind. I want to make sure the boys have my full attention."

"Alexander isn't a total tyrant. You don't have to work 24/7," Willow informs her.

I shoot my sister a dirty look in the mirror. No matter how much Phoebe doesn't need to be here, she is here for a job. At least her priorities seem to be in the right place—on my sons.

Phoebe chirps, "I think it's important the boys know they can rely on me. Why don't we talk about going a few weeks from now?"

Good answer.

But you won't be here in a few weeks.

Willow huffs. "Alright. But you have to keep Saturday night open. There's a huge rodeo. I can introduce you to all the bull riders."

My pulse quickens. I can imagine all the riders swarming around Phoebe like she's fresh meat. I glare daggers at my sister through the rearview mirror and grip the wheel so tight I see stars.

Phoebe says, "I've never been to a rodeo."

"Really? Oh my gosh, you're going to love it! Just get ready to have lots of prospective dates!" Willow gushes.

Why can't my sister shut up?

Phoebe shifts in her seat. She announces, "I'm kind of in a relationship."

"Kind of?" I ask, unable to stop myself. I glance at her, wondering if she's like Willow, running through guys like they're water.

Phoebe's blush reappears. She slowly licks her lips, and my dick tries to burst through my zipper. My heart pounds faster, and she answers, "My boyfriend and I are taking a break."

"What does that mean?" I blurt out.

"It's a break. Don't you know what that is?" Willow chides.

More annoyance fills me.

Phoebe talks fast, stating, "We've been together four years, and I just think we need a break."

"So you broke up?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Not exactly."

"Sorry. I'm still confused. What does that mean?"

Willow interjects, "It means she still has feelings for him but she knows it's over. She isn't ready to give him up. Oh, and she's ready to see what else is out there without dumping him completely."

"So it's a way to string him along," I say with distaste.

Phoebe's face turns fire-engine red. She opens her mouth, shuts it, then shakes her head.

"Jeez. You're so out of touch, Alexander," Willow adds.

"Or maybe you treat guys like they're disposable and aren't worth some basic respect?" I challenge.

Willow scoffs. "You're delusional."

"Spoken from the queen of delusion herself," I retort.

"Whatever. So, Phoebe, you're free to come with me on Saturday night, correct?" Willow asks, leaning toward us.

"Umm..." Phoebe shifts in her seat.

My sister pushes. "Just say yes."

"Won't the boys need me Saturday night?"

I almost tell her yes so the riders can keep their drool in their mouths.

Willow orders, "Tell her she's free to have some fun, Alexander!"

She's only here for a week.

"Alexander!"

I cave and wave my hand in the air. "Nah. Go have fun with Willow."

"Yes!" my sister exclaims.

"Okay, but I'm not on the market," Phoebe says.

Relief hits me, but it's short-lived.

She still has a boyfriend.

Why am I thinking like this? This woman isn't here to date, nor is she my type.

I refocus on the road, barely hearing the rest of the conversation, trying not to imagine Phoebe with some smug Californian or one of the riders. Both situations irritate me.

I don't care who she's with unless it affects my kids. Since she's staying only a week, her dating life will never intrude on them, I remind myself, pulling through the ranch's gates.

"Do you ever get used to those?" Phoebe asks.

"The gates?"

She stares at the side mirror. "Yes. They're so grand and beautiful. Are you still awestruck, or has it worn off?"

"They've always been here, so I don't think any of us have ever been awestruck," I admit.

"That's a shame," she states.

Curious, I glance at her. "Why is that?"

She softly smiles. "Beauty should be appreciated, shouldn't it?"

I ponder her statement, then shrug. "I guess."

Her smile widens. "I know my first project with the boys."

I arch my eyebrows. "Oh? What's that?"

Her gaze darts across the ranch, and she declares, "We're going to find beauty in the places they take for granted. That way, they'll have a different perspective about the ranch."

"How are you going to do that?" Willow questions.

Phoebe's expression lights further. She confidently answers, "Not sure yet, but I'll find a way."

I park the truck and turn off the engine, wondering if maybe there's value in Phoebe nannying the boys, but then I shake that thought off.

My family underestimates me. I'm more than capable of taking care of my children on my own. If I don't prove them wrong, they'll never stop interfering in my life. Before I know it, Mom will be inviting all the single women to the house again, trying to marry me off.

I get out of the truck and go around to open Phoebe's door, but she jumps out before I get to it. A strange feeling hits me, and I realize it's disappointment.

What the heck is happening to me with this woman?

It's just her door.

She should let me open it for her.

Doesn't matter, I remind myself.

My family magically appears, and I ignore all the banter. I lift a box and move toward the main house.

Dad stops me, asking, "What are you doing?"

"Taking Phoebe's things to the guest room. What does it look like?"

He shakes his head. "Her room isn't here. It's in your house."

My chest tightens. "Why would it be there?"

"The boys are there."

"So?"

"Did you miss the memo that she's their nanny?"

I shake my head. "She doesn't need to stay at my place. She can stay here and still do her job."

"Not necessarily. Now, move her things to your guest room."

I stare at him, not moving.

"Did you not hear me?" he questions.

"You're overstepping," I state.

He crosses his arms. "Maybe so, but this is still my ranch. I'm the head of this family. So whoever's on it lives by my rules. Now, take her boxes to your place."

I still don't move. It's rare my father throws that card out, especially since I'm thirty-five and a parent.

Mason grabs the box from my hands and offers, "I'll take it."

"Stay out—" I spin and freeze.

Jagger and some ranch hands have already unloaded the truck, and boxes sit neatly stacked on my porch.

I glance at Phoebe, surrounded by my family, already fitting in like she belongs here. Her magenta hair flutters in the wind, and I wonder how I'm going to get through this. Not only is this young, carefree, surely wild woman taking care of my kids, she's now living in the room next to mine.

I have no way to get out of it except to suck it up for the week.