exchanged a long look.
“He’s overwhelmed,” Grace admitted, and an image of Billy came to mind—those dark eyes, the large, calloused hands, and the tender way he’d held his petite daughter in his arms. Billy might never have loved Grace, but he certainly did love that little girl.
“Gracie, it’s a good thing that you’re going back to Denver,” her mother replied. “He’s a dad now, and he’ll have to figure it out on his own. He’s always been very comfortable leaning on you as his buddy, but you can’t use up all your energy on Billy Austin again. You’ve got your own life to live.”
“I’m not trying to rescue him,” Grace replied. “I won’t go back to that.”
It wasn’t possible to love a man into loving her, and she couldn’t fill those gaps between them with her own hopes and dreams. She was going back to Denver to work her next job, and hopefully one of these days, she’d meet a guy who looked at her the same way Billy had looked at Tracy.
“Let’s see if your father notices these aren’t potatoes,” Connie said, looking down into the bowl she’d been mashing.
“He’ll notice,” Grace said with a low laugh, and she looked down into the bowl. “I think they’re getting soupy, Mom.”
“Oh...” Connie sighed.
“You don’t need to lose weight, you know,” Grace said. “You and I are soft in all the right places.”
“I’d like to have a waist, though,” her mother retorted. “And I’m determined to get one.”
Grace knew better than to argue with her mom when she was on a mission, but Grace’s most treasured memories of her mother included her soft hugs, her delectable baking and the way her chunky jewelry used to clatter when Grace would fiddle with it as a little girl. And when Grace’s father looked at her mother from across the room, Grace had always seen that look of devotion that she longed for from a man of her own.
It wasn’t about weight, because her mother had always been a beautiful woman who could light up a room with her smile and her laughter. She’d had a soft figure, an ample bosom, and she’d always taken pride in her appearance. Her parents’ marriage had been about two people who were so in love that they didn’t need anyone else.
Grace went to a bottom cupboard and pulled out the bag of potatoes. “I’ll just peel a few,” she said with a grin. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Connie looked down at the cauliflower mush in the bowl and smiled sheepishly. “I can have a cheat day, right?”
Grace would not eat cauliflower mashed into fake potatoes. Life was too short for that kind of sadness on a plate. Her life in Denver had been about more than moving on after Billy moved in with Tracy; it was about building the life she wanted—asking for what she wanted.
And tonight she wanted some comfort food and a cozy evening. It wasn’t too much to ask.
* * *
“IS MY PONYTAIL STRAIGHT?” Poppy asked as Billy pulled into a parking spot in front of the school the next morning. It had been a hurried morning. Poppy had refused to get out of bed, so getting her ready for school had been hectic. They hadn’t had anything pressing to do since he’d gotten custody of her, and this morning—his first day back on the job at Ross Ranch—was a taste of real-life parenting.
Poppy didn’t want to eat, didn’t want her hair brushed, didn’t want to wear matching clothes from the small suitcase her mom had dropped off with her. He’d given up on the last one, and this morning she wore blue tights, a pink summer dress and a second-hand Christmas sweater on top of it all. She said Mommy had bought her the sweater, and it seemed unnecessarily cruel to deny her some connection to her mom. It only occurred to him now that she’d probably be expected to play outside, and he didn’t have snow pants for her.
Billy looked over at her for a moment, considering his morning’s handiwork. He’d done his best.
“It’s not perfectly straight,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad. You look good, kiddo.”
With the rest of her ensemble, no one would be looking at her hair, anyway.
“I don’t want to go to school,” Poppy said, her eyes welling with tears.
“This is where you’ll learn the fun stuff,” he said. “A teacher can show you all sorts of things I can’t. Besides, I have to go to work while you’re at school. That’s the deal I made with Mr. Ross.”
Billy had worked at the Ross ranch before he left for Denver with Tracy, and now that he was back, Mr. Ross had been happy to offer him another job. Billy had built a reputation for himself based on his hard work. Mr. Ross understood the complication of having a little girl to take care of, so he agreed to flex-time employment—Billy would put in as many hours as he could while his daughter was at school, and he’d be paid by the hour. It was a generous offer, and one Billy didn’t want to take advantage of.
Poppy was silent, but a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.
“Did you know that I know Miss Beverly from a long time ago?” Billy asked. “She’s my friend. So she knows how to find me if you get too lonely.”
The poor kid had dealt with so many changes lately, and he didn’t blame her for balking at this one.
“Let’s go inside,” Billy said. “I won’t leave until you’re ready, okay?”
“Okay,” Poppy consented, then looked him over. “Your hat is dirty.”
Billy pulled his hat off his head and saw a few pieces of hay stuck to some stitching. He plucked them off and dropped his hat back onto his head.
“We good?” he asked.
“You’ll do,” Poppy replied, and Billy chuckled.
“It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “You’ll see.”
The hallways were buzzing with students, and Billy walked Poppy through the school, toward Grace’s classroom. Billy had gone to this school, and his memories were filled with frustration. Every year, the work got harder, and his reading remained a colossal struggle. Everyone else could read aloud and follow instructions, while he’d take half an hour to decipher two lines, and then forget what he’d managed to read. So he gave up and put his energy into coping—got other kids to help him do his work, groomed a cocky attitude, made nice with teaching assistants who helped him to keep up with the basics so that he could be pushed forward into the next grade.
The school repeatedly told his mom that he struggled with reading, but no one quite picked up on the fact that he couldn’t read. He’d thought that was a victory. Now he wasn’t so sure. If they’d figured it out when he was young enough, maybe someone could have helped him. But at the age of thirty, how was he supposed to admit to that?
Poppy’s classroom was at the far end of the school, next to the double doors, and as Billy and Poppy approached, he saw Grace helping a student hang up a backpack almost as big as the kid was.
“Good morning,” Billy said, and Grace looked up. Her soft chocolate waves were gathered back in a loose
