Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 5

5

Alexander

I glance at my watch and mumble, "Great." Then I race back to the house. I yank open the door and run toward the bedrooms.

Phoebe steps out of the bathroom at just that moment. A towel covers her hair, and another one wraps around her body. Her dewy skin seems to glow brighter in the dull light.

"Whoops! Sorry," I offer.

She smiles. "Where's the fire?"

My heart pounds harder. "I have to wake the boys up."

"I already did. They're in the kitchen, eating cereal," she states.

Disappointment hits me. I blurt out, "I'm the one who wakes them up in the morning."

She arches her eyebrows. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. You said they had to get up at six thirty, and I saw you outside. I figured you would want me to wake them up so you could work."

"You were watching me?"

Pink crawls up her neck and into her cheeks. She shakes her head. "I… I wouldn't say watching."

I laugh, but it comes out awkwardly. "I was just kidding."

"Right," she says, smiling.

I'm seriously an idiot.

A moment of silence fills the air between us.

She tilts her head and states," It's five after seven right now."

"Yes, I'm aware," I respond, gruffer than I intend.

Hurt briefly appears in her expression, but she quickly asks in a confused tone, "Going forward, you don't want me to wake the boys up if you're not here?"

"No... Yes... No. It's my job," I ramble.

Why do I sound like I can't form a coherent sentence this morning?

She puts her hands in the air and offers, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep."

I take three deep breaths, realizing I sound like a moron. I add, "I should have looked at my watch."

Her lips turn to a small curve, and the extra room below my belt vanishes. She says, "Stuff happens when you're busy working. And that's why you have me here, right?"

I groan internally. The last thing I want to do is admit to Phoebe I need her here.

I don't need her here.

I declare, "I forgot to set my alarm on my watch. It won't happen again."

"Okay..." She stares at me, and I can tell she wants to say something else.

"Don't leave me hanging. Spit out whatever you're dying to say," I order, once again sounding rough when I intend it to be funny.

She replies, "If by any chance you are late, do you want me to wake them up?"

"I won't be late again."

"But if you are?—"

"I won't be," I vow to her and myself.

Disbelief fills her expression, but I'll prove her wrong. She slowly nods. "Okay. You're the only one on wake-up duty, then." She smiles and lightly scratches her collarbone.

My eyes drift to the top of her towel. Her cleavage and part of that damn tattoo are on display, making my lower body ache. And I hate myself for reacting.

This woman is too young, not my type, and not here past Monday, I remind myself. Then I order myself to stop staring at her, but I can't.

The D and the A of her tattoo are clear as day.

She claims, "I had to shower because Wilder ran into the bathroom around six o'clock and didn't come out until twenty minutes later. Then he crawled back into bed, and it was a nightmare getting him back up. I'll have to get up earlier to shower so I'm better prepared."

I shift on my feet, but I can't think about her words. There's only one thing going through my mind, and it's driving me nuts. I ask, "What dude's name did you tattoo on your chest? Danny Boy? David? Damon?"

Amusement fills her expression. She teases, "Didn't we go over how I can't tell you?"

I should let it be, but once again, I can't control my mouth. "Is it your current boyfriend or ex?"

She bites on her smile. "Why do you assume it's a boyfriend?"

A new thought hits me. I assess her, wondering how I could have gotten it so wrong, and a new wave of disappointment floods me.

She has a boyfriend, but she must be into men and women.

Embarrassed, I apologize. "Oh crap! I'm sorry to assume things. It's your girlfriend's name?"

Shock fills her expression and then she starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" I question.

She wipes at some tears running down her cheek, then takes control of her outburst and declares, "I don't date women."

"Well, that's good," I blurt out as relief replaces my disappointment.

"Why is that?"

"Oh, I didn't mean anything would be wrong with it if you were into women. I just meant—" I stop, tongue-tied, realizing I'm sounding like an idiot talking about who she does or doesn't date.

Her blush reappears, darker than before, and my cock aches.

What is this woman doing to me?

She's the enemy.

Get her off the ranch and move on with life.

"I should get my clothes on," she declares.

"Oh...right." I step aside, and she disappears inside her bedroom.

I close my eyes and shake my head, wondering why I'm acting like a schoolboy with a crush, especially toward a woman who is anything but good for me. After I beat myself up a bit, I take a deep breath and go into the kitchen, just in time to hear Wilder and Ace arguing.

"Good morning," I boom out, then kiss both of them on the head.

"Dad, tell Wilder I can run my horse as fast as he can run his," Ace whines.

I groan. "Doesn't this same breakfast argument get old after a while?"

Wilder sits back in the chair, a cocky grin on his expression. It always reminds me of Jagger. They have a lot of the same features. And Wilder loves getting under Ace's skin and always knows how to do it. He states, "It's okay to admit I'm a better rider than you."

"You aren't!" Ace claims.

"Isn't that an easily solvable question?" Phoebe interjects, stepping into the kitchen, wearing skinny jeans, a tank top, and a flannel.

"How?" Ace asks.

"We can have a race after school," she answers.

"That's a good idea. Then we can put this argument to rest so I don't have to hear it every morning," I grumble.

Wilder crosses his arms. "I've already proven it."

"No, you haven't!" Ace shrieks.

"Sure I have," Wilder claims.

Phoebe softly laughs.

We all stare at her.

"What's so funny?" I question.

She assesses Wilder and then questions, "Are you scared to race your brother?"

"No!"

"You are! Scaredy cat!" Ace accuses.

"Am not!"

Phoebe calmly says, "Then we'll have one more race. We'll do it after school so we can solve this argument about who's faster. But after today, you're not allowed to debate this. The loser of the race can rechallenge the winner only once a month, and it's the only time you're allowed to discuss this topic. The winner can't brag either. Understand?"

"Fine. I'll beat him," Wilder declares.

"No, you won't," Ace retorts.

Phoebe continues, "Shake hands on the deal. No more discussing this topic unless it's once a month to rechallenge. And if anyone breaks the rule, your dad will hand out the punishment, which will be..." She glances at me.

Shocked I never thought of this, and happy I won't have to keep hearing them argue every morning, I answer, "Barn duty for a week."

"A week?" Wilder spouts.

"Would two be better?" I ask.

He huffs. "Fine. A week."

"Great. Problem solved. Go brush your teeth so you can get to school on time," Phoebe commands.

The boys obey.

"That was a good idea," I praise her, impressed with her quick thinking.

She beams. "I figured a once-a-month debate was better than daily."

I grunt. "That's the truth."

She scrunches her forehead and glances around the room. "There's not a lot in the kitchen to make the boys' lunches."

Guilt hits me. I rely too much on my parents, but I don't have time for grocery shopping, so I admit, "My mom makes it for them."

"Ah. I see."

I try to explain. "I'm working all day, and when I get to town, it's typically for work stuff, so the grocery isn't a priority since my kids won't starve when my parents' place is right next door."

Phoebe nods. "Gotcha."

I continue to babble. "They get all the food they need. Promise I'm not starving my kids."

"Nope! They definitely aren't malnourished."

"My mom's a way better cook anyway. I'm good with horses, not stoves and such. Well, unless you want to see my microwave skills. I have mad microwave skills."

What the heck is wrong with me?

Shut up!

I take my cowboy hat off and scratch my head.

Humor fills Phoebe's expression. "I'll remember that the next time I need popcorn. But, since your mom won't be here over the next few months, is it okay if I grab some groceries when I drop them off today?"

"Well, you're only here for a week," I remind her.

Her face falls.

I'm hit with a stab of guilt. I don't usually try to be a dick when it comes to anyone. And it's not Phoebe's fault that my family has it all wrong about me.

She quickly recovers with a smile and chirps, "Still, I'd like to make a few things, and I can freeze some as well."

I stare at her.

She leans closer and lowers her voice. "I'll even show you the trick to reheating something in the oven."

I laugh. "I'm not that bad."

"Good to know. I've got the go-ahead on getting groceries, then?" she asks.

The stubborn part of me wants to say no, but having a kitchen full of food is nice. It's been several months since I could do a grocery run. So I cave. "If you want to. Let me get you a credit card."

"Perfect!" she exclaims.

I reach for my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hold it out, warning, "This is only for groceries. It's not for any shopping sprees with Willow."

It was supposed to be a joke, but it comes out sounding as awkward as everything else I say around her.

Her expression changes. In a stern tone, she replies, "That would be stealing. I've never been a thief and don't plan on starting anytime soon."

I sheepishly admit, "It was a joke since Willow wanted to go shopping. I didn't mean to offend you."

She stares at me, then releases a breath and smiles. "Okay. Sorry I took offense."

"It's okay. Sorry everything I say doesn't seem to come out right."

"It doesn't?" she questions.

Way to dig myself deeper in the hole!

I ignore her question and state, "I better get back to work. My mom will meet you near her truck." I exit the house before she can reply.

I rush toward the corral where Mason and Jagger are running two horses. A small dust cloud fills the area.

Jagger gives me the same cocky grin Wilder had on his face earlier. "How's it going with your lady friend?"

I smack the back of his head.

"Watch it!" he warns.

I spout, "She's not my lady friend."

"I'd make her mine if Mom handed her to me on a silver platter," Mason adds.

My hand automatically flies toward his head, but he ducks, laughing.

Jagger whistles. "She even looks good with wet hair."

I spin and watch her and the boys walk toward the truck. Mom's waiting near it with two lunch sacks.

Guilt eats me again.

I should be making those lunches.

I have to step up these next two months.

Once Phoebe gets groceries in the house, it'll be easier to restock, I lie to myself, knowing my work habits won't allow me to stick with my intentions.

Mason adds, "I wonder if she needs any help with the soap."

I turn and smack him a good one. His cowboy hat goes flying.

"Jesus!" he cries out.

I grab him by the shirt and yank him toward me, threatening, "Don't disrespect the boys' nanny."

"So you're keeping her?" Jagger asks.

I release Mason and answer, "No. She's here for the week. But regardless, she's the boys' nanny, not some floozy you'd pick up in town. You'll respect her, understand?"

Mason taunts, "You seem to have a soft spot for her now."

"No, I don't. You should know better than to disrespect a caregiver for your nephews," I reprimand.

The truck engine revs, and I turn toward it.

The boys and Phoebe wave as they drive away from the house.

I wave back and watch it disappear through the gates.

Jagger mocks, "You've got the hots for your nanny."

"Shut up, you idiots," I order and then stomp away from them. I step into the barn, and the scent of hay flares in my nostrils. I grip a wooden pole and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself.

"Immature idiots," I mumble, then open the gate.

"Hey, buddy," I coo, grabbing Calypso's bridle. He nuzzles my shoulder, relaxing me.

I spend a few minutes with him, then lead him out of the barn, taking him to the other corral so I don't need to deal with my brothers.

Like always, I lose myself in my work. At one point during the day, I spot Phoebe carrying in groceries. At other times, she's with Mom. I'm careful not to give her any attention.

When the boys arrive home, they race to the barn and saddle up their horses.

Phoebe appears and stands between two stakes with red T-shirts wrapped around them. She has a big stick and drags it through the sand.

The boys ride over on their horses, and I join Phoebe.

She points to a thirty-foot-tall river birch. "Race to the tree, steer your horse around it, then rush back here. The first to cross this line is the winner. Understood?"

"Easy-peasy," Wilder claims with the same cocky grin on his face he wore at breakfast.

Ace's expression turns serious. He leans forward on his horse and mutters, "Eat my dust, Wilder."

Phoebe arches her eyebrows at me, biting her smile. Then she asks, "Do you know how to whistle?"

I grin. "Can you be a cowboy if you can't whistle?"

She laughs. "Is that a rule?"

"Yep."

Her smile expands. "Good to know. Boys, you can start when your dad whistles on the count of three. Ready?"

"I was born ready!" Wilder exclaims, positioning his horse next to Phoebe.

"Count down!" Ace orders, and moves his horse right to the line, then focuses on the tree.

Phoebe catches my eye, steps back, and counts. "Three. Two. One."

I whistle as loud as possible, and it cuts through the air.

The boys take off, their horses neck and neck.

Phoebe asks, "Who's going to win?"

"Not sure," I admit, not taking my eyes off the boys.

They get to the tree, and Wilder leans into his turn. Ace doesn't lean enough and loses ground.

"Damn it! I've been working with Ace on that turn," I state.

"What did he do wrong?" she asks as Wilder comes charging at us, Ace four feet behind him.

"He needs to lean farther when he turns," I answer.

Wilder pounds past us, and within a second, Ace follows.

Wilder turns his horse and stops next to us. He pumps his fist in the air. "I win!"

A disappointed Ace trots over to us.

"You didn't lean enough into your turn," I point out.

"Ha ha! I told you I'd win!" Wilder exclaims.

Phoebe interjects, "You did well, but no bragging, remember? Ace, you can challenge him again in a month, okay?"

"We need to keep working on your turn. You could have had him," I tell Ace.

"But he didn't!" Wilder points out.

Ace groans. "You're so annoying."

"Okay, boys. Time for a snack and homework," Phoebe orders.

"Aww, come on. We just got on our horses," Wilder whines.

She points across the yard. "Sorry. But no more riding until you finish your homework. Now, go wash your hands. I have your snacks on the picnic table. We can do homework there while it's still nice out."

Wilder huffs and takes off on his horse toward the barn.

Ace slowly follows.

"Poor Ace," Phoebe mumbles once they're out of earshot.

"He has to lean into his turns," I repeat.

"I still feel bad for him."

"Don't. Once he gets it, he'll ride better than Wilder," I declare.

"How do you know that?"

I chuckle. "I know my boys. Ace is further ahead than Wilder was at his age."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Okay. Good to know."

I stare at her for a moment.

She takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. Off to homework."

"I should help them," I say.

She stares back at me. "Is that what you want to do?"

No way. Homework sucks.

But I need to step up and prove she doesn't have to be here.

She suggests, "Why don't I get them started, and you can come over when you're free?"

"I'm free now," I insist.

"Great. Let's go do homework," she challenges.

I instantly regret my words as I follow her to the picnic table.

The boys join us, and she takes the lid off a bowl in the shape of a turkey, revealing cut-up apples and a side of dip.

Ace asks, "Is that Georgia's caramel cream cheese dip?"

"Yep. Your grandma said you love it," Phoebe replies.

"Yes!" Wilder exclaims, then picks up an apple and dips it.

Ace grabs one too.

Phoebe opens a binder and pulls out two worksheets. "Math first."

Wilder groans. "I hate math."

"I like it better than reading stupid books," Ace claims.

"Books aren't stupid," Phoebe states.

Wilder whines, "My teacher makes it too complicated. Two plus two equals four. I don't need to break it down into multiple steps. It's stupid."

"Agreed," I state, unable to keep quiet.

"Then I don't have to do it?" Wilder asks with hope in his eyes.

Once again, I regret my words. "No, of course you have to do it."

Wilder pushes, "But you just said?—"

"Your father meant he agrees two plus two equals four, correct?" Phoebe firmly declares, locking her gaze with mine.

"Ummm...yeah," I agree, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar but also happy she covered for my mistake.

Phoebe taps the pages, saying, "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can have fun. Plus, if you work hard, I'll give you a star for our beach party."

The boys take a few moments to settle, but they eventually do. Phoebe begins instructing them, and I know I should step in, but I don't.

I can't.

I don't understand Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills or TEKS, which is their new math standards. I’ve been told it’s similar to Common Core math. Not that I would understand that either. So I think the same as Wilder. Two plus two equals four. It's straightforward. I don't need to have it broken down.

Phoebe breezes through it, explaining things so the boys understand, yet I'm still lost.

I hate it. I run numbers for my business all the time, yet I can't wrap my brain around my kids' homework. It makes me feel stupid and useless.

The more I watch Phoebe in action, the more panic hits me.

I have a week to learn everything I can about how to help my boys do their homework.

And I have zero clue how I'm going to figure it out.