Page 10 of This Broken Heart

Not really my type.

Ana was my type. She was a tomboy. Sporty. Quiet.

This girl’s very appearance is loud.

Mom sidles up next to me, a grin stretching her face. “She’s just perfect.”

I look at her, surprised. “She is?”

Mom nods enthusiastically. “The kids are going to love her. Oh, look. Trace is taking her over to meet Betsy.”

Betsy is a black and white heifer. She’s thirteen years old. My sisters developed a fondness for her back when they were kids, and my dad never had the heart to send Betsy to the slaughterhouse. She just hangs out in the feedlot. My dad swears she’s a good influence on the other cattle.

Trace drags Erin over to the fence, pulling her through a good foot of snow. She follows gamely behind him, though I’m sure those pumps are filling with icy muck.

She leans down to listen while Trace points at the cattle. He says something and the two of them burst out laughing.

A tiny fragment of skepticism flakes away from my heart. I need a nanny. Ana was always adamant about the kids being raised at home. So, a daycare is out of the question. And it’s not like nannies are falling from the sky around here.

“Maven is going to love her.” Mom says.

We watch Maven point with an imperious, tiny finger. Dad relents, obediently taking her over to meet Erin. Maven lunges out of dad’s arms and Erin is ready to catch her. She smiles at my daughter, letting Maven grab a handful of red hair.

“This is what they’ve been missing, honey.”

I glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

“They need a woman in their lives.”

I frown. “They’ve got you.”

She shrugs. “I’m not like… that.”

She means she’s not overly feminine. My mom never messed with makeup and almost always wears blue jeans and a work shirt.

“I like you just the way you are.”

Mom grins at me. “You’re sweet.” She sighs. “But I just can’t keep up with them anymore, as much as I want to. This girl is young and full of energy. And look how she’s ankle deep in the snow, like it's not a big deal.”

“She seems passable.” I admit, ignoring mom’s raised brow. “I’m just not sure, though.”

“Why?”

I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I don’t think I thought this through. She isn’t what I pictured.”

“What did you picture?”

“I don’t know… someone more like you?”

“Old, you mean?”

I laugh, biting my lip. “No… just… she can’tlivewith us.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s young. People will talk.”

“You didn’t realize she was young when you hired her?”