“Poppy’s down the hall,” she said after a moment. “We should go get her.”
“Sure...” Billy turned toward the door, and she could see the tension in his shoulders.
The hallway was empty, except for some stray boots—there seemed to be at least one every day, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how. She bent and picked it up on their way to see Poppy. She’d drop it off at Lost and Found.
Grace could hear a piano playing—something complicated and cheery. Then there was silence, and then a repetition of the same piece, much simpler—one note at a time.
“I felt better knowing Poppy had you in her corner,” Billy said. “I’ll just do my best to keep up with her. If I can.”
“You can call me—” she started.
“Can I? Really?” Billy met her gaze with a dry look. “You’ll pick up?”
She felt the heat in her cheeks. Could she really promise to be here for him, through thick and thin? She was trying to start fresh—find a family of her own. She couldn’t be the woman in his life, no matter how much she wanted to be.
Grace opened the door to the music room, and the piano notes grew louder, tugging them into the room. Billy held open the door for her, and Grace went in first.
There was an upright piano against one wall, and Mr. Shaw sat on the piano bench, with Poppy next to him. He played something ornate, said something quietly to the girl and then she reached out with one hand, and that simple tune came back.
“You see here...” Mr. Shaw was saying, pointing at a piece of music. “Every note is just a dot on the lines. See? The more notes we play at once, the more dots on the lines. It’s just a matter of learning the language.”
“Hi.” Billy’s voice reverberated through the room, and Mr. Shaw and Poppy both turned.
“Hi, Daddy,” Poppy said with a smile, hopping down from the bench. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, that was pretty good, kiddo,” Billy said.
“Your daughter has quite an aptitude for music,” Mr. Shaw said. “We spent—” he looked at his watch “—forty minutes together, and we covered some musical concepts, and I tested her ability to repeat what she’s heard. She’s able to hear the main tune in a musical piece and reproduce it. That’s...frankly quite amazing. Has she had any musical training so far?”
“Uh...no.” Billy looked over at Grace again, and she could see the helplessness in his dark eyes. Everyone else was excited about his daughter’s abilities, but for Billy... He seemed overwhelmed. Poppy went back to the piano and picked up the music, scrutinizing the page.
“She’s quite an exceptional girl,” Mr. Shaw went on. “Have you considered music lessons for her? She’d benefit from them. I know she’s excelling academically, but with this kind of ability...”
Mr. Shaw chattered on enthusiastically, and Grace glanced around the room. Billy looked stunned, more than anything, and when Poppy came bouncing back with the music sheets in her hand, Billy slowly looked down at her.
“Daddy, can you read this?” Poppy asked.
Billy didn’t even touch the pages.
“Nah,” he said with a small, pained smile.
“I’ll keep you updated on her progress,” the teacher went on with a smile. “If you want any assistance getting her set up with music lessons outside of school, just let me know.”
After the appropriate goodbyes, the teacher turned back to straightening up the music room, and Grace, Billy and Poppy headed into the hall. Billy chewed on the side of his cheek.
“You okay?” Grace asked softly.
“Something else she excels at,” he said woodenly.
“That’s a good thing, right?” Grace could see all the complicated emotions swimming in his eyes.
He looked down at his daughter. “Go get your snow pants, your coat and your bag, and all that, okay?” he said.
“Okay!” Poppy danced off down the hall, and Grace slipped her hand into his. A friendly gesture, she told herself—but she knew that it was more than that. It was supposed to comfort Billy, but it sent a wave of warmth through her, too.
“Just one more thing she’s great at that I can’t help her with,” Billy said, his voice low. He squeezed her hand in his iron grip. “One more thing that requires someone else to teach her. She’s four...”
“I want to learn how to read music!” Poppy called back at them as she dropped to the ground to wrestle with her snow pants. “And I want to learn how to make the songs on the piano like Mr. Shaw does. With all his fingers. That’s what I want to do.”
“She needs you, Billy,” Grace said quietly. “Don’t forget that.”
“I can’t even read English, let alone music,” he said bitterly.
“She needs you just as much as you need her,” Grace said past the lump rising in her throat.
He might not realize it now, but he would eventually. And maybe this would make their goodbye a little easier. Grace wouldn’t be leaving him on his own, because he’d have his little girl. He might feel overwhelmed, and he might want the comfort that Grace could bring, but when it came down to his deepest needs, Poppy was there. He needed his daughter.
Billy would find his balance, and when he did, he wouldn’t need Grace.
* * *
THAT EVENING, THE woman from child-welfare services came by for their little home visit. It wasn’t bad. She asked them some questions, listened to Poppy chatter, looked around the cabin, poking into cupboards, making notes on her tablet and giving him a nod of approval when she saw the full fruit bowl on the counter.
She’d left her number and said she’d come again in another three months, but Billy wasn’t worried. He seemed to have passed with flying colors, and when she shook his hand before she left, she said, “Mr. Austin, your home is warm, comfortable and well-stocked with good food. Your daughter is happy, and she seems to be well-bonded with you in this short time. I’m pleased with what I see.”
Later that evening, Billy sat on the couch, his head resting against the cushion, and his eyes shut. Grace swam through his mind—her glittering blue eyes, the sound of her voice, the confident way she had with Poppy that made him feel so entirely reassured with the world. His success with child-welfare services had a whole lot to do with Grace’s help, and he knew it.
He couldn’t help how much Grace meant to him. She was in his thoughts when he woke up, and when he fell asleep. He wondered what she’d think about his ideas, and he wondered if she’d laugh at something he found funny. He thought of that soft skin and her round curves, all highlighted by her new, confident way of dressing that drew his eye more than any other woman had.
With Grace at the school, he didn’t worry about Poppy. But without her, he would be facing down teachers and principals, all with his invisible handicap. He could hear their advice now: just look this up online, just get a book on whatever subject, here were some articles he might want to read...
And he’d have to pretend that was all an option. Or fess up that he was functionally illiterate. They’d think he was stupid, lose a bit of respect.
“Daddy, read me a story.”
Billy opened his eyes to find his daughter standing in front him, her blue eyes fixed on him earnestly.
“You don’t like how I read stories,” he said. “I do it wrong, remember?”
“I think you could do it right,” she countered. “And I’ll help.”
So grown-up, and yet so small. Billy lifted his head and saw that Poppy had a book clasped in front of her—a red cover that he recognized. He paused, looking at that familiar, slightly tattered book in her hands.
“Where did you find that?” he asked.
“In the closet.”
“I don’t know that book,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don’t know the words, kiddo.”
“But you could try, Daddy,” she pleaded, crawl
ing up onto the couch, next to him. She thrust the book into his hands.
“Why don’t you read it to me?” he suggested hopefully. Maybe at long last, he’d hear the story his mother had never read him.
“No, I want you to read it,” she insisted.
“Do you know where this book is from?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Your grandma gave it to me when I was little.” A flash of that night when she was going out on yet another date came back to him. His heartbreak. That book. His mother’s soft kiss on his forehead...
“Did she read it to you?” Poppy asked.
“No, she never did,” he admitted. “But I used to like the pictures. I made up the story that went with them in my head.”
“So let’s read it!” Poppy said. “I can help with the words you don’t know yet. I’m good at that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “You are.”
His little girl was good at all the stuff he’d failed at. His stomach twisted with misgiving. It was one thing to try to read those cards, or the words Grace wrote on the foolscap, but Poppy was the audience he dreaded. He was her dad—he was supposed to be the one in control, the one with the answers, not the one stumbling over letters that kept swimming in front of his eyes.
Poppy held the book up. “You’re supposed to use your finger, Daddy, remember?”
He sighed. She wasn’t going to give up on this, so he put his finger under the first word.
“It’s...um...” He licked his lips, trying to focus on the first letter. But the word was a long one, and it kept slipping away from him.
“Seventeen,” Poppy whispered.
“Seventeen.” He moved his finger along. “W...wah...yah. Way. Ways.”
“Seventeen Ways...” Poppy murmured.
“I L... Lo... Love... You.” He knew the last word by sight, once he got his finger under it and made the letters stop swimming around.
“Seventeen Ways I Love You,” Poppy said, and she opened the book.
“Poppy, I’m not a good enough reader to do this yet,” he said.
“But you are doing it, Daddy,” she replied stubbornly.
“Not very well.”
“Well enough,” she replied simply. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s read it.”
Billy looked over at her. “Sweetie, I’m good at lots of things.”
“I know,” said Poppy.
“And I’m a big strong cowboy who’s going to keep you safe always.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But I’m not good at reading.”
“That’s why we’ll do it together!” Poppy snuggled in closer, tipping her head onto his chest. “Put your finger under the word, Daddy...”
She wasn’t giving up, it seemed, so he rubbed a finger over his eye, then exhaled a deep breath. He’d try...
Every time he struggled with a word he didn’t know, Poppy would supply it in her matter-of-fact little voice, and he’d plunge on to the next one. When he was in danger of forgetting all the words he’d managed, she’d read it back to him.
There are seventeen reasons I love you. First of all, I love you because you are my child. You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s the best kind of belonging. That’s number one.
I love you because you turn my whole world upside down. Everything looks different now that I have you. I didn’t know I was lonely before you came along. I didn’t know I was missing out on any fun! But then I had you, and my whole world went head over heels, and the world looks better this way.
That’s number two.
I love you because walks in the park are an adventure when I walk in the park with you...
The book never did get to number seventeen, because the little boy falls asleep, and the mother kisses his forehead and says she’ll tell him more tomorrow...
Was this how his mother had felt about him...that her world went upside down in the most wonderful of ways just because of his existence? She might not have been the perfect mother, but perhaps he’d underestimated her love for him. Funny how a child of his own changed his capacity to understand love.
Maybe it was time to forgive his mom for her failings, and to embrace her for all the stuff she was doing right. He’d mess up a whole lot, he was sure. He already felt like he was jogging behind his little girl, and she was only four years old. Here was hoping she’d forgive him one day for being less than the hero she deserved.
Poppy sat quietly, and Billy ruffled the top of her hair.
“Okay, bedtime,” he said gruffly.
Poppy didn’t move, and when he looked down at her, he saw tears shining in her eyes. He slid his arm around her.
“Hey...you okay?” he asked softly.
“Why did Mommy go away?” Poppy whispered, her lips trembling.
“For a job.”
“Why didn’t Mommy take me with her?” A tear trickled down her cheek.
Why hadn’t her mother loved her like the mother in the book loved her child? That was what Poppy wanted to know, and he didn’t have the answer. Why hadn’t she called? Why didn’t she worry about her daughter more? How was life bearable without her child?
And yet, if Carol-Ann had been a more functional mother, Billy might never have known about his little girl at all... The irony was bitter.
“I don’t know that, Poppy,” he said quietly. “But I do know that your mother loves you enough that she made sure you’d be safe and loved by bringing you to me. And you are very, very loved. You’re my girl, and I can promise you that I’ll never leave you behind, or go away, or anything like that. From now until forever, it’s you and me.”
“You and me...” she whispered.
Billy gathered her up in his arms. “That’s a promise.”
For a couple of minutes, he held her close. He had his big, strong arms and a stubborn streak that just might work out in his daughter’s favor. Nothing was going to get between him and his kid.
“Now bedtime, okay?” he said, giving her one last squeeze.
“I’m not tired,” Poppy said.
“Well, I am.” He hoisted her to her feet.
He needed time to think—to process. He needed to rid his mind of the constant battle to hold those letters in place. Besides, it was seven thirty, and his daughter had a bedtime.
There was a glass of water, a trip to the bathroom, a lost stuffed animal and finally a good-night kiss that Poppy insisted never happened, so one more was needed. But at last, she was tucked in.
Bedtime was getting to be more of a battle lately, and he wondered if his mother had just been too tired after her shifts to fight with him. She’d mostly worked waitressing positions, which kept her on her feet and running around. He could only imagine trying to convince a ten-year-old Poppy to go to bed after a long day of calf-pulling... He’d get his taste of all the hard stuff, too. There was no avoiding it.
Except for those boyfriends—the constant flood of men that came through their home. There was no getting around that. Billy might end up falling into his mother’s shortcuts on some things, just to keep his sanity, but he wouldn’t be like her in his romantic life. Poppy might not have a dad who could read much of anything, but she would have a father fully focused on the raising of her. What he could offer would be hers, as imperfect as it might be.
He sat on the couch, dozing to the jangly tune of Jeopardy!, and just after eight, there was a knock on the door. Billy roused himself. If this was about work, they’d just have to manage without him, because he couldn’t leave his daughter alone.
He pulled open the door, ready to tell them he couldn’t come, then started. It wasn’t the ranch manager with a request; it was the one person he’d been missing most, with those sparkling blue eyes and the skin like milk...
“Hi,” Grace said, holding up a cloth shopping bag, her smile tenta
tive. “I come bearing books.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GRACE STOOD ON the step, the frigid winter wind coiling around her and making her shiver. She held the book bag in front of her like a shield, and she had a sudden rush of misgiving as she looked into Billy’s surprised face.
I shouldn’t have come.
Leaving Eagle’s Rest this time was supposed to be an ordinary goodbye. Even with her parents, she wouldn’t be agonizing over the right words, the right farewell. Those goodbyes weren’t going to be permanent. She’d said she would stay friends with Billy, but she’d realized tonight that she couldn’t...and their last words hadn’t been a proper goodbye.
“Hi.” Billy stepped back. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Come in.”
“I came across these books at the school—they were going to send them to Goodwill, and I thought of Poppy.” She stepped inside, the warmth of the cabin enveloping her, and Billy closed the door behind her. He paused, standing close to her as he pushed the door shut. She tipped her head back, looking up into those chiseled features.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she added.
“No, no—it’s great.” Billy smiled slightly, then took a step back. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you before you left.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you, either, but...the books.”
“You came here for the books.” He crossed his arms and looked at her for a beat. “You sure?”
“They were an excellent excuse.” She met his gaze then, and a smile tickled the corners of his lips. There he was—her old friend—and a rush of warmth flooded through her. What she wouldn’t sacrifice for another evening of forgetting just how temporary all of this was.
“Excuse or not, I’m glad you came,” he said. “Come on in. Poppy’s asleep already.”
Billy waited while she took off her outerwear. Then she followed him into the small living room. A fire was burning in the woodstove, pumping heat into the room. The kitchen looked like it had been cleaned up after supper, and there was a pizza box perched on top of the garbage can. It was cozy, and Grace felt a pang of nostalgia already for this little cabin she’d only been inside a handful of times.
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