“I’m going back to Indiana. Don’t come for me. I won’t be bothered. We are through Wyatt! My love will not go to waste,” Charlene cried, absolutely distraught that the hope he loved her was squandered.

Charlene stormed out of the dining room of the Whitman diner and into the kitchen. She wiped angrily at her eyes. Audrey wrapped an arm around her, soothing her with kind words and a gentle pat on her hand. Her heart felt shattered. She felt every nerve in her rattle and cry out in anxious agony. She had hoped beyond hope, if she could have had a moment alone with Wyatt, he would love her in the same fashion she loved him. He was the one man who ever showed her a modicum of kindness, yet it seemed so distant and dashed now.

She broke free of Audrey, storming out the front doors of the Whitman Hotel, and dashed down the stairs. The sidewalk and city bustled with the cattle auction preparation, since the event would be happening this Thursday afternoon. Charlene breathed deep, attempting to regain some of her composure since she was now in public view.

Charlene crossed her right arm across her chest, grabbing her left and sniffled. She had made a fool of herself back inside the dining room of the Whitman Diner. She had gathered everyone, including the reverend, in hopes Wyatt would love her back. Getting rejected in front of everyone had not been in her plans. The stinging rejection brought her back down to God’s holy ground and slapped her across the face in the most turbulent wake up - Wyatt would never love her and she was certain at this point, no man ever would.

She held her head in her hands, palms resting on her cheeks to cover her eyes. How could I be so silly, so audacious? she thought, inhaling sharply and sucking in her sniffles. All of this is my own fault. Never again will I do something so profoundly and blatantly monstrous. I give up on love. I give up and give it over to God, though I disbelieve even He has someone for me.

Charlene sniffed, ambling up the sidewalk, not caring to change out of the wedding attire she’d bought. Her heart clenched, constricting and twisting as if it wanted her to give up and quit breathing. The pain she felt was more than a loss of a loved one. It was utter despair. She had strived so hard to get Wyatt to love her.

I could nearly die of a broken heart, she thought. I just want someone to love me. God gives everyone around me someone to love, and then up and forgets me. Charlene crossed her arms over herself, losing herself in the warmth of the tears tracking down her cheeks and the utter loneliness in her heart. I shouldn't have ever come here and now I have no way back, she cursed herself. I’m almost out of money.

She glanced over her shoulder at the Whitman Hotel and internally cringed. She was staying there and would be forced to head back for her belongings, no matter what she decided to do. She cursed herself a fool for believing any man, let alone a strong, upstanding fellow such as Wyatt, would love her.

Her mother once called her “unique to a fault.” Growing up, she always thought it was a very interesting compliment. Now she realized after her poor public behavior, her uniqueness was a fault. She was outspoken, bold, and tenacious; all traits her mother warned her repeatedly to reign in, yet she ignored her advice, thinking this uniqueness made her stronger, independent, and more desirable.

My desire to be loved by anyone had just overrun me completely, she thought. She patted her eyes with the back of her hand again. She spun around, ready to head back and gather her things to move out of the hotel. She paused a moment, closing her eyes and taking a ragged breath. Reverend Kester politely cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. Her eyes shot open while her cheeks flushed from the embarrassment she brought upon herself.

She had known Wyatt Pearson didn’t love her, though she had hoped, prayed, wished, and whatever else she could do, that somehow his affection for her would grow. He was a good man, a kindly patient one, and someone she greatly admired not only as a person but as a potential husband. And in her experience, good men were few and far between.

“Ms. Brandt,” Reverend Kester said softly, directing her attention to him again.

They’d stopped in front of his church on the right-hand side. The whitewashed walls were a stark contrast to the plainness of the city of Denver. Large double oak doors greeted her eyes.

“Yes, Reverend?”

“I hope you realize now you have to let the idea of you and…”

“Yes,” Charlene said softly, cutting him off. “I’m aware.”

Reverend Kester nodded. “A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot,” he said. “It’s a good verse from proverbs if you catch my meaning.”

Charlene hadn’t a clue how to respond to the remark. It had been years since she read or picked up a Bible after her mother’s passing. Ever since, she had been searching for someone, anyone really, to love her. She poured all her love into her mother in hopes of saving her from tuberculosis, but her love wasn’t strong enough and her mother passed soon after her diagnosis, leaving her empty and directionless.

After drifting aimlessly for a few months, she tried to make the local deputy fall in love with her, but he skedaddled quicker than a hard wind blew by, leaving her feeling empty, anxious, and afraid no one would ever find her worthy enough to be their wife. She tried overly hard to get anyone in the local town to be her friend, to find any single man who would give her the time of day and give her a place to call her own, a meaning to life. Giving up, she followed the one man who had always been kind and civil to her, apparently mistaking the gentlemanly courtesy of love.

She turned on her heel, facing the tall, thin reverend. “I agree,” she sniffed, willing her eyes to stop creating tears. “It is a good verse.”

“Are you planning on staying in Denver or are you headed back to wherever it is you came from?”

Charlene shook her head. “I’m not headed back to Indiana. I sold everything.”

Reverend Kester nodded, pulling at the collar around his neck. “Do you need a place to stay? I know of someone who is looking for a live-in nanny for his three kids,” he offered, clearing his throat. He stared at her with eyes a mixture of sadness and decisiveness. “I’m leaving for Oregon soon. My cousin will be taking over. So, if this is something which interests you, then it needs to happen soon.”

Charlene made a moue, not entirely certain of children and their needs being she was an only child. She was a decent cook learning from her mother and grandmother, but she cooked for herself. How would I even go about making enough? she thought.

She chewed it over, pursing her lips from side to side. Children, and three of them to boot! What was she to do with them all day? What did children even do? Growing up, she had some dolls her grandmother had made for her out of random pieces of fabric and dried grass. One particularly special one her grandmother made was stuffed with cotton, and she still had it with her.

Charlene sighed. This is all happening so quickly. Though I’m certain I brought all of it upon myself. Goodness me. She patted her eyes and reined in a last sniffle.

“It’s not a terrible proposition,” the good reverend added.

Charlene nodded. Indeed, it wasn’t a horrible arrangement considering how she came here and made a ruckus of her life and those around her. Being isolated, a nanny would afford some time to perhaps forget what she had done. Maybe even forget her altogether. She wasn’t sure if she liked that idea. In any case, her lack of money was an issue. Might as well give it a try. I have no other ideas at the moment. How hard could taking care of kids be anyway?

“I will be most pleased to be this caretaker,” Charlene replied.

The reverend nodded. “I will inform the man immediately. Please gather your belongings as he needs someone post haste.”

Charlene didn’t think it would have been arranged so quickly. Then again, it was for a good reason. The sooner she got out of the Whitman Hotel, the better for her and Wyatt both. Reverend Kester was politely allowing her to save face and escape the continued sting of embarrassment.

“I will gather my things,” she said softly, turning around to head back in the direction of the hotel.

“You may want to consider changing your attire into something a little less… pretty. We are headed into the country and a more practical dress will be required,” Reverend Kester advised.

Charlene hung her head and nodded. “Allow me a few hours to… to make arrangements for simpler clothes.”

“I will get you in three hours then, if the time works for you. It would put it around one in the afternoon,” he turned on his heel without waiting for a reply and marched back to the church, shaking his head.

Charlene internally cringed. She made a mess of things in her delusional quest to be loved, to find kindness and a place and purpose. She’d made a mess of things since before leaving Indiana.

Taking a deep breath, she strode back down the slight decline of the hill toward the Whitman Hotel. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be staying here. Keeping her eyes fixed on her destination, she glided past people to head to her room.

Charlene stared out the side of the wagon. She was fairly certain she’d ambled up this road before with Audrey and Natali. The sight looked familiar, but she wasn’t truly paying attention to the changing landscape before too busy plotting to get attention. Her heart hurt. Not so much so over Wyatt, but over resigning herself to be a spinster - old lady with no prospects taking a job she was grossly under qualified for.

She ran her hands along the dark blue of her plain wool dress. She spent the afternoon selling all her dresses at either Mrs. Birch’s or Madame Comtois’ stores and exchanging them for simpler garments. The only item she did not sell was the doll her grandmother had made her.

“Zed Oliver is a good man. His wife died in childbirth several years back,” the reverend explained, shaking his head. “She was a kind woman.”

Charlene nodded. She didn’t know any of these people and now she was going to be caring for the children. She wasn’t nervous over the man not liking her. Not many did, and she was used to the physical and communicative rejection. What she was nervous about were the children, who, by her observations of them in general, would and could hate people based on an innate gut feeling.

She didn’t want children, this man’s or any of them, to hate her, though she figured they might since everyone else seemed to. Surely children were innocent enough to at least tolerate her for a bit?

“Do you have any questions before we get there?” Reverend Kester asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Zed Oliver is a good man. He will treat you decently. He took a job at the mill for extra work since a disease wiped out most of his cattle. Luckily it didn’t spread to the Elk Creek ranch.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, looking ahead. The horses picked up their pace, moving them along the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Elk Creek Ranch. She didn’t move to gaze at the homestead. She kept her eyes forward and willed the jitters inside of her to cease.

Those who worked on Elk Creek were back in town preparing for the giant cattle auction and whatever else ranching cowboys did. It was all the town was talking about. She shuddered, thinking of the cattle that would undoubtedly be on the ranch. Smelly creatures larger than a cat were abhorrent to her. How men and women alike adored large animals was beyond her.

Charlene shuddered at the abysmal thought of a horse touching her. She avoided it so far in town and was hoping to avoid it out here, too. The road winded to the left, going down a small slope then back up and to the right, following a path in between jutting rocks. Up ahead the road split and went off to the left while the reverend kept to the right of the road.

“Supposedly a rich man bought that homestead,” he said, nodding toward the left.

“Very good for him,” she replied without inflection.

The awkwardness between them was palpable, even for her. She brought it upon herself. She created this mess and the good reverend was trying to help her find a way out of it.

“Almost there. Zed Oliver’s place is beside his brother’s, though he had a cut through from his place to Graham’s,” Reverend Kester explained. “I just took the long way for you to gather yourself.”

“I appreciate it very kindly,” Charlene replied, dipping her head.

She pursed her lips and looked out to the side. Her mind reeled with every indication that Wyatt and other men politely tried to tell her they weren’t interested, and she ignored it. She internally cringed, but outwardly closed her eyes and sighed.

I had constantly made a fool of myself in a selfish desire to be loved and found worthy, she thought. How terrible of me to put upon them. Never again will I do such a thing.

More than anything, she felt embarrassed. Time and God willing, the town and people would forget and question if it ever happened. Being out here will allow how she felt to dissipate while she found herself. She wasn’t entirely in need of gathering. If she did need gathering, she didn’t know how to go about doing it. In all, she felt devoid of any emotion other than regret for her actions and anxiety at the children judging her.

The homestead came into view, cresting over a low hill and revealing the top of a peaked roof. Two giant windows were the first to catch her eye. She curled her lip at the nasty horse tied to the porch post outside. Charlene cringed.

The house was beautiful, set in a backdrop of rolling hills and tall pines. A porch cover extended out, giving the ranch home a cozy, welcoming feeling.

A large barn was to the left of the house, mere feet apart. And off to the left of the barn, a wooden fence corralled several other animals she didn’t particularly ever care to go near. Across from the barn was a small, fenced-off garden with late summer and early fall vegetables growing sturdily.

A man, smaller in size than the red headed man looming in the front doorway, came out of the house and leaped onto his animal, urging the beast to take off past them at a gallop. Charlene kept her eyes on the red headed bear of a man, standing in front of the door and nearly taking up the entire door frame. His arms were crossed over himself. Eagle like eyes narrowed, taking her and the buggy in.

Children poked their heads out around what she assumed was their father. Charlene swallowed. The smallest child, no more than three by her guess, went through his father’s legs grinning. Before she could stop herself from smiling, they were at the house. She pulled her smile to a stop, watching the children watch her with tilted heads and perked brows.

“Zed,” Reverend Kester greeted with a grin. The reverend threw the brake to the wagon, clambered out, and went toward the back of the wagon. “I brought you some help.”

“Reverend Kester,” Zed greeted.

Charlene swallowed. His bright blue eyes were locked on hers, staring warily at her. Zed went to the back where Reverend Kester was and grabbed her suitcases. Charlene cleared her throat and clambered out of the wagon, nearly falling backward and off as her foot slipped off the metal rung. She steadied herself and smiled tersely.

“Kids,” Zed’s large voice boomed. “This is Charlene. She is going to look after you while I work at the mill with Jeffrey.”

“No cattle for you?” Reverend Kester asked.

Zed shook his head. “I ain’t got the time nor the man power for it like Graham does. Not after the cattle sickness. He’s using the east pasture of mine since his herd expanded with his purchase from Indiana.”

Charlene stood off to the side while Zed and the Reverend spoke. She felt completely like a third wheel. Charlene glanced over her shoulder to the children, watching her expectantly.

Swallowing and giving an awkward wave, “Hello,” she offered, going toward the children on the front porch.

The smallest boy, looking so much like his father, crossed his arms and stared fiercely at her with bright blue eyes. Her eyes went to the next boy, looking much the same in appearance and countenance. Their stance widened, arms tucked further over themselves, and stood protectively in front of their sister. The little girl, a cute little strawberry blonde, poked her head from around her oldest brother and smiled; the mirth reaching her blue eyes.

“My name is Charlene,” she said softly, “What’s yours?”

The eldest boy stepped forward, looking at her up and down. The little girl nudged him with her elbow. He dropped the act.

“I’m Rowen, ma’am,” he said politely.

The strawberry blonde little girl came out from behind her brother and grinned. “I’m Keeley,” she said. “Kee-eeee-ley. You gotta drawl out the E. And I’m six.”

“Thank you,” Charlene replied with a slight grin. “I will remember to do that, Keeley.”

Keeley grinned and shrugged her little shoulders. “You said it great, so I think you're good.”

“And who is this?” Charlene asked, bending down toward the littlest boy.

He shirked behind his sister, hardly poking his head out. His once defiant demeanor changed to one of cautious curiosity and hesitation. His blue eyes, like those of his siblings, watched her warily.

“That’s Ryan,” Keeley explained. “He has the shyness. I don’t think it’s a disease though because I haven’t gotten it.”

“For the last time, Keeley, being shy, isn’t a disease,” Zed said, coming over to her.

Charlene smirked. “How old are you all?”

“I’m eight,” Rowen replied, “and Ryan is three.”

Keeley scowled, scuffing her boot. “I’m six. You forget things quick, but I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Keeley.”

Charlene straightened, keeping her hands clasped and in front of her. She tried her best to keep her face stoic while her insides trembled. So far, with the children, everything was going swimmingly. Though she was petrified of the later assessment they would give. Zed motioned with his head at her, his eyes meeting her briefly.

“Kids, go check on the chickens. I’m going to show Ms. Brandt her room and have a chat.”

“Take care, Zed,” Reverend Kester said, clambering back in the wagon. “Ms. Brandt.”

She tried to hide the wince she felt in her gut at the sharp tone of her name. Zed opened the door, motioning for her to head inside first. The door hardly slammed shut when Zed strode past.

“Alright,” he began with an irritated sigh. He ran a hand over his face, widened his stance, and rocked back on his heels. “No nonsense,” he said pointedly. “I won’t put up with it.”

She nodded.

“Anything to say?”

“No, Mr. Oliver,” she whispered, hanging her head.

“Ms. Brandt,” he paused, giving a sigh while he swiped a hand over his face. “Word travels fast. By the time you got your first bag packed, I heard about your interesting declaration while building a stall at the auction. Anything silly will get you a one-way ticket out of my house and away from my kids.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She didn’t even bother to lift her head. It was by Godly kindness alone she was given a job and a roof over her head. The hotel manager all but sang a happy song when she refunded her room. She had money to her name, just not enough to leave Denver.

“I understand,” Charlene said, hardly lifting her head.

“You sure you do?” Zed began, heading toward the back of the house. “What were you even thinking?”

His tone softened slightly, and it confused her. She lifted her head, staring at him in his startling blue eyes. He met her gaze, steady and focused, gauging her and waiting for an honest answer.

She cleared her throat, opening her mouth to say what she felt, then snapped it shut. Lesson learned, no man would care, could care about her or her feelings. No one desired to know her reason, let alone understand it.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, needing to give him some kind of answer.

Zed nodded, allowing it to drop.

She had learned as much from her mother, who only wanted to be loved in return. Her mother gave her all to men and in return received nothing but bitterness, heartache, destitution, and a disease. Charlene glanced out the window to the children playing, hoping it would take her mind off what she did. It didn’t work.

Her father had died when she was no bigger than Keeley. She watched her mother desperately try to replace the love she lost with the death of her father. And it cost her in the end, dying alone with no one around who loved her in return. Granted, she was there, but she discovered it wasn't the same; it wasn't what her mother wanted.

True love smiles on us all, but only once, her mother used to say. Charlene didn’t know what she had found. She had thought she found it with Wyatt. And before him, she thought she found it with Gavin, the deputy of her small town.

I’m beginning to think it doesn't even exist. Who on God’s green grass would want me now? she thought. Charlene met Zed’s piercing gaze and shook her head in further acknowledgement to his query.

Zed nodded. “This way, Ms. Brandt,” he stated, his voice firm in tone.

Charlene followed, feeling more alone and depressed than she had ever been.

She settled in her room, no bigger than a broom closet, or so it felt. There was a bed, and pegs on the door to hang up her dresses. There wasn’t even a washstand, basin, or mirror. She shrugged, having been spoiled at the Whitman Hotel.

The stomping footfalls of Zed faded away and the front door slammed shut, leaving her in an empty house, in an empty room. Charlene plopped on the bed, exhaustion taking over. The day had been emotionally draining, and she still had hours until it was over and an evening meal to make.

I have made a fool of myself over and over again, she thought as a tear slid out of the corner of her eye. I have made my feelings known in the most abhorrent ways. Never again will I do such a foolish thing. She turned on her side, curling up in a ball. More than anything, she was embarrassed she behaved so poorly. Having Zed confront her only furthered her embarrassment, and she resolved to never do anything to that likeness again. Tears poured from her eyes and soaked the quilt she lay on.

Reprimanded by the reverend, then Zed… Oh Lord, how wrong I have been, she sniffed. I’m sure there is more to come. She patted dry her tears while her eyes remained fixed on the barren spot where a blue stitch was missing in the quilt. How foolish for me to promise myself that once I had reached Denver, everything would simply work itself out. How foolish that I convinced myself of false friendships and relationships. The man at the mercantile in St. Louis had called me a beautiful oddity of the queerest sort. Whoever he was, he was correct. I am. And no man wants it.

Charlene sat up on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. She sighed deeply. All the trouble she’d found herself in, she’d brought forth upon herself. She thought if she was exuberant enough, happy enough, cheerful and refined enough, someone would find her worthy enough to call their own. She was wrong.

She spent years learning what she could from books and other women willing to share their knowledge, praying, hoping if she did all she could, she could earn the affection of another. Charlene wiped her eyes and sniffed.

How foolish of me, she cried. Never again. I won’t be that way anymore. Starting today, I won’t ever do anything… she sighed, staring at the door. At some point, I need to apologize to Wyatt, but not just yet.

Getting off the bed, she pulled her dresses out and hung them on the pegs. She tucked her suitcase under the bed. Sitting back on her over-soft bed, she pulled at the skin on the back of her neck and stared at the ceiling, sighing deeply.

“Hey lady!” Keeley called. “Lady, woman ma’am!”

Charlene snorted, her lips slightly pulling upward at the child’s exuberance. “In here, Keeley.”

Without knocking, the child burst through the door. “Hey, you remembered me! Ya know what I just can’t stand?”

“What?” Charlene asked, pursing her lips to hide the smirk.

“Boys and their horses,” Keeley pouted. “They think their horse is something grand when, in fact,” she said pointedly, head dipping and eyebrows raised, “it’s just a darn horse. Ain’t nothin’ special.”

“Nu-uh, Keeley Oliver!” Rowen chimed. “Vinnie is the best horse. Better than a scrawny little sister!”

Hands on her hips, Keeley shouted, “You take that back, Rowen!”

Charlene stepped out of her room. “Don’t bicker at others’ opinions.”

Rowen glowered. Keeley stuck out her tongue. Ryan stood beside his brother, a bucket in his hands and new dirt smudges on his cheeks.

“What’s for supper?” Ryan asked, head tilted to the side. “Can you even cook?”

“I can cook,” Charlene affirmed.

“Papa says he hopes you cook better than you can talk,” Keeley said, scowling, with her hands on her hips. “I think you talk fine,” she shrugged. “Adults have weird sayings.”

Charlene blinked. “Yes, adults do have weird sayings. How does fried chicken and potatoes sound?”

Rowen shrugged. “Fine. Sounds better than Papa’s sandwiches.”

“Good, I’ll get started,” Charlene replied, rolling up her sleeves. She peered at Ryan, perking a brow as he kept wriggling his bucket. “What do you have in the bucket, Ryan?”

“Frog,” the little boy replied, grinning.

Charlene blanched. “Outside, now!”

She waved her hands, stomping her feet and cringing. Keeley giggled, her small laughs turning into gut busting laughter.

“It won’t bite,” Ryan said, reaching in the bucket and holding out the frog.

Charlene screamed, backing up against the wall. “Put it outside,” she commanded, tears streaming down her face from fright.

The frog leaped out of Ryan’s hands, landing on her dress. Charlene bolted down the hallway, heading outside and jumped around, trying to detach the creature from herself. The kids laughed uproariously from the doorway, watching her spin in circles.

Charlene’s hair came out of its bun style. She felt herself become dizzy from spinning, but was afraid to stop in case the frog was still clinging to her dress.

“Lady ma’am,” Keeley called. “I think it’s off now.”

“What’s off, Keeley?” Zed commanded, huffing for breath with his hands on his hips. Zed turned to her and scowled. “And I thought I told you no funny business,” he growled at her.

Charlene stopped, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The frog landed on the dirt covered driveway, hopping toward the safety of the shaded side of the ranch house. For good measure, Charlene took several paces toward Zed and to his right side, putting more distance between her and the frog.

“Why no funny business, Papa?” Rowen asked. “Charlene is funny.”

“Ryan had a frog, and it jumped on the lady ma’am,” Keeley explained.

Zed perked a brow at his son. “No frogs in the house, Ryan Oliver. And her name is Ms. Brandt. You can call her by her name, Keeley.”

Ryan huffed, holding up his metal bucket. “Bucket!”

Zed scowled to hide his laughter. “Go give the chickens some feed and water.”

Ryan hung his head. “Yes, Papa.”

“I’ll help you, Ryan.” Rowen said, setting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, heading to the barn with him.

Charlene crossed her arms, watching the exchange warily. She hadn’t been here for maybe an hour and already she made herself a fool again. Zed smirked, staring down at his boots.

“Don’t like frogs, Ms. Brandt?” he asked, a hint of a chuckle parting his lips.

“No, Mr. Oliver, I do not care for creatures,” she replied, arms crossed over herself.

“Well, it appears you’re fine now. If you’ll excuse me, I got to head to town to check on Graham,” he explained.

Charlene opened her mouth to ask something and promptly snapped it shut. She wanted him to kill an animal for their supper. She didn’t want to go anywhere near the chickens or their area.

“Yes?” he asked, adjusting the hat on his head.

“Mr. Oliver, could you, possibly, if you’re inclined…” she swallowed.

“Yes?” he replied gruffly, waiting for her to finish.

“Could you kill the chicken for tonight’s supper?”

Zed smirked. “You can do it, if you’re going to remain hired here.”

Charlene blanched, her jaw dropping as she gaped. “Well… Mr. Oliver,” she stammered, “could I request you to show me the process?”

“The process?” he repeated, a smirk on his lips. “You pick up a chicken and either wring its neck or chop its head off. Simple.”

Charlene put a hand to her mouth. Already her stomach cringed at the prospect and her nerves rattled. Her skin prickled as if chilly in the afternoon sun. She had killed a chicken when she was ten years old and fainted shortly after. Would she still faint? Would she miss with the ax and cut herself?

She swallowed. Zed stared at her with hard blue eyes, waiting for her to acknowledge the fact she would be killing an animal.

“O-of course,” she stammered.

Zed nodded. “See you tonight around seven, Ms. Brandt.”

She dipped her head, not trusting her voice to speak. She walked around to the left side of the ranch house, where she assumed the chicken coop would be. The noises of the animals reached her ears before her eyes caught sight of the spooky beasts. Charlene cringed.

She peeked over her shoulder, spying Zed grinning at her and shaking his head. Charlene whipped her head around, tears pouring from her eyes at what she would have to do. Fear consumed her. Shaking her head and her hands at the same time, she tentatively took steps toward the coop.

“Go on,” Zed encouraged from behind.

Charlene wiped at her eyes, looking confused at him being there since he said he was leaving. He gave her a wan look, striding past her into the coop and gathering one of the chickens. Closing the door, he came back out, thrusting the animal into her hands. Zed got behind her, overlapping her hands with his and wrung the chicken’s neck. The animal flapped its wings, beating against her body. She screamed, tears coursing down her face. When the animal finally went limp in her hands, so did she.

Zed barely caught her in time before she hit the ground. He sighed, giving a small chuckle, and he dropped the dead chicken to the ground to fully take Charlene in his arms. For a woman so small, she certainly made a lot of chaos. So far, he wasn’t too keen on having her here, but he needed to work, and his kids needed a womanly figure around. From what he heard of her, Charlene could talk their ear off and he would be gone most of the day to not hear it. He just prayed his children did not pick up on her dramatics. He already had enough with Keeley being the only female of their household and the boldness that came from her mouth.

What he didn’t expect were his kids to take an instant liking to her. He tried out several other local women as nannies, and Rowen wasn’t enthusiastic about them, saying the women gave him an off-putting vibe, or they treated Ryan differently than him and his sister. Keeley liked everyone who had a voice to speak back. Despite her liking everyone because they talked to her, and her young age, she was a good judge of character, often backing Rowen’s claims against the previous caretakers. What he really watched for was his littlest, Ryan. If the youngest, shyest, who was most adept at avoiding other people, liked a person, then Zed figured they must be good. Ryan took a shine to Charlene. So, despite his reservations toward the woman, he would give her a chance to prove herself for his children’s sake.