Page 6 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant (Shared by the Carter Brothers #1)

GRANT

T he road back to Carter Ridge winds through hills dusted with golden brush and early fall light. Normally, it calms me. Clears my head.

Not today.

Today, my brain is a minefield—and every step leads back to Ivy Walker.

The way her arm brushed mine in the reading nook.

The soft curve of her mouth when she looked up at me.

The smell of her hair. Citrus and something warmer.

It had been one second—barely that. Nothing happened.

And yet… it happened.

I replay it in my head like a damn teenager with no self-control.

What is wrong with me?

She’s Emily’s nanny. Her nanny.

I grip the steering wheel tighter and blow out a sharp breath. No. Absolutely not. That’s a line I won’t even toe.

For Emily’s sake.

If anything went sideways between me and Ivy—anything even close to inappropriate—Emily would pay the price. She’s already lost enough. She needs consistency. Trust. Not a father who can’t keep his head on straight around the babysitter.

Employee, I remind myself. She’s an employee. A smart, capable one—but that’s it.

And ten years younger.

Jesus.

I still remember Ivy as a scrawny little thing, darting around her parents’ orchard in pigtails and muddy sneakers, tagging along after Caleb and Ben like she had something to prove.

And now I’m—what? Letting my brain go places it absolutely should not?

Despicable.

I shift gears harder than I need to. The engine grumbles in protest.

This is why I didn’t want a nanny. Not just because I don’t trust anyone with Emily—because I don’t trust myself to let anyone in.

Especially not someone like Ivy.

Too sharp. Too bright. Too young.

I have to pull myself together. This isn’t some romantic comedy. It’s real life. And in real life, the man who lets feelings get in the way of protecting his daughter is a fool.

I focus on the road.

The curves ahead. The sun flashing through pine branches. The turnoff for Carter Ridge just a mile ahead.

I breathe in deep and tell myself to get it together.

By the time the truck rattles over the stone archway at the ranch entrance, I’ve shoved Ivy Walker into the far corner of my mind.

Where she damn well needs to stay.

The Carter Ridge sign creaks gently in the breeze as I pull into the gravel lot. A dust plume trails behind me, catching sunlight like smoke.

It’s late morning, but the retreat is already humming.

A pair of tourists in matching windbreakers wave as they make their way toward the trailhead.

Off to the side, Caleb is leading two horses from the paddock, reins loose in his easy grip, chatting with a couple from Austin who booked the two-hour scenic ride.

I park near the barn and kill the engine. For a moment, I just sit there, listening to the quiet tick of the cooling motor.

She’s probably unpacking Emily’s lunch now. Maybe helping her pick a book.

Maybe smiling.

I drag a hand over my face and climb out of the truck before my thoughts can go any further.

“Hey, you made it,” Caleb calls out, handing off one of the horses to the guest. “How’s it going?”

I grunt. “Got here, didn’t I?”

He raises a brow but doesn’t press. “Everything okay with Emily?”

“She’s good.” I pause, shifting my weight. “Ivy’s there.”

He lifts the saddlebag on the second horse and gives me a look—half amusement, half challenge. “What made you change your mind?”

I pause, wiping a speck of dust from my sleeve. “I guess I don’t want to be a full-time nanny myself.”

Caleb chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you she was the right call.”

I grunt. “Let’s hope she thinks so too.”

I head toward the lodge, where Cole is leaning against the front porch railing, a to-go coffee in one hand and a cooler in the other, helping a woman skinny jeans and mirrored sunglasses unload her van.

Of course he is.

“Hey, Boss Man,” Cole says. “Any more pipes burst, or are we catastrophe-free this morning?”

I brush past him. “Don’t jinx it.”

Inside, the lodge smells like wood polish, trail dust, and coffee. Lisa, the front desk assistant, waves nervously as I pass. I nod once and head for the back office, flipping open my laptop as I sit.

Spreadsheets. Bookings. Maintenance logs.

I try to focus.

But instead of payroll numbers. But instead of payroll numbers, I find myself remembering the way Ivy sits on the rug, playing with Emily. The way Emily lit up around her. The way Ivy didn’t rush or fake a smile—like she actually enjoyed it.

I shake it off. Refocus.

I pull up the guest roster. Three cabins turning over today. One new couple arriving from Boulder, and the Prescott group. I send a quick text to housekeeping.

Then I glance at the time.

Is Emily eating lunch yet? Should I text Ivy to remind her?

God. This is ridiculous.

I close the screen and stand, pacing to the window that overlooks the trailhead. Caleb is helping a kid onto a pony, his easy smile in full effect. I know that look. It’s the one that wins over guests and gets him free baked goods from every café in town.

He doesn’t push people away. Not like I do.

I wonder—just for a second—what he sees when he looks at Ivy. Probably what Emily sees too.

I rub the back of my neck and exhale hard. There’s no use obsessing over what’s already done. Ivy’s there. I made the call. Now I just have to stay out of her way and do my job.

Easier said than done.

Because no matter how many tasks I tick off the list, no matter how many guests I smile at or pipes I fix—I can’t stop wondering what’s happening back at the house.

And why the hell part of me wants to get back in the truck and drive home.

The lodge’s kitchen is too quiet, save for the rhythmic clinking of silverware and the distant whinny of horses outside.

I’m halfway through a plate of reheated brisket and potatoes when Cole finally shows up, looking like he just strolled off a photoshoot for Rustic Chic —worn-in jeans that somehow look intentional, a Henley shirt with the sleeves rolled just so, and that perfectly tousled hair like he’s been out riding all morning but still managed to make it look good.

He slides into the chair across from me and takes one look at my face.

“What happened?” he asks. “You win the lottery or just remember a really good steak?”

I blink up at him. “What?”

“You’re smiling at your lunch like it complimented your beard.”

“I’m not smiling.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Right. So the relaxed shoulders and general lack of grump aren’t symptoms of… anything?”

I stab a chunk of potato. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He leans back, sipping from his coffee. “Let me guess. It’s a woman.”

I look up sharply. “It’s not.”

His grin widens. “Uh-huh. So… who’s the new nanny? Must be smoky hot if she cracked that fortress you call a personality.”

I drop my fork. “It’s not about the nanny.”

He leans in, elbows on the table. “Okay, then who is the nanny?”

I hesitate just long enough for him to catch it.

“Ivy,” I mutter. “Ivy Walker.”

Cole whistles, long and low. “Ben Walker’s little sister? The spitfire?”

I grunt. “She’s not a spitfire.”

“Oh, come on. I remember her—sixteen and already scaring off half the boys at the feed store. Didn’t she punch that kid Travis because he called her ‘farm fresh’?”

“Slapped,” I mutter. “And he deserved it.”

Cole laughs. “I liked that kid. Feisty. I’m definitely saying hi next time I see her.”

“No,” I say, too fast. Too sharp.

Cole blinks. “No?”

I clear my throat. “I mean—just leave her alone, okay? She’s not here for chit-chat. It’s hard enough to find someone good with Emily. I don’t want you charming her into quitting.”

His smirk falters. He squints at me. “Relax, man. I’m not going to proposition your nanny.”

“She’s not—” I stop myself. Exhale. “I just need this to work.”

He watches me for a beat, then shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

We eat in silence for a minute. I stare at my plate, not tasting a damn thing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Cole meant nothing by it. Ivy’s not even his type. But the second he said her name with that easy grin, something twisted in my gut like a warning bell. It wasn’t about professionalism or stability or what’s best for Emily.

It was something else. Something territorial and irrational.

And completely unacceptable.

I take another bite of cold brisket, chew hard, and tell myself to get a grip.

She's the nanny.

That's it.

That's all she is.

Right?

I glance up and catch Cole still watching me with one eyebrow raised.

I exhale. “Just kidding,” I mutter, stabbing the last piece of potato. “Say hi whenever you like. She’s at the house everyday on weekdays.”

Cole grins like he’s just won a bet I didn’t know we were making. “Noted.”

I grunt and go back to eating, pretending I’m not already regretting it.