12. PRESTON
Chapter twelve
PRESTON
LESSONS IN LETTING GO
“So, what are we working on today?” I ask Poppy as she climbs into the chair behind the counter of the clinic reception and pulls out her homework book.
“Math, but I can’t see why I have to learn it. Everyone has calculators on their phones now.”
“Well, I use math every day.”
“You do?”
“Yep, can’t exactly pull out my phone to check on a dose of ketamine for a three-and-a-half-pound dachshund while it’s wriggling around, can I?”
“You could ask your phone if you set up voice AI on it.”
“I could, but then how would I know if it made a mistake? Maybe it wouldn’t hear me properly, and then I overdose poor puppy and have no idea how much to give him to counteract it.”
“Fine, I guess math is important.”
“Just a little. How about you finish your homework, and I’ll let you play with the bunnies.”
“Wasn’t Mr. Beaker going to take any of the pets from the adoption you didn’t find homes for?”
“Sally-May said she’d cook them up if he brought home rabbits, so these little guys are safer here with us. Only two left to be rehomed. Does your class need a pet?” I ask, and her eyes go wide.
“Yes. The hamster ran away when it was at Peter Lockwood’s house over break. I’ll ask Miss Bell tomorrow. Maybe she’ll let us take both. It would be sad for them to be split up.”
“Well, you let her know to come in and see me if she wants them. Now onto math, your mom won’t let you come here every day if you aren’t getting your homework finished.”
The afternoon is quiet in the clinic, and we finish her homework together, and it’s nice being useful. It’s third-grade math so nothing super complex, but I showed her a trick I remembered from school for multiplying by nine using fingers, holding both hands out, and if it was nine times four, you put down the fourth finger and the number of fingers still up on the left are the tens and the number of fingers still up to the right of the one we put down is the ones, so for that one it was thirty-six. Poppy had a wonderful time showing her mother how it worked when she came to pick her up.
“You know I could drop her home sometimes, too; I usually head over to the Beaker Brother’s Ranch when I’m finished here, anyway.”
Poppy claps beside us.
“Please, Mom, can I go with Preston? I want to see the cows.”
“Maybe another day, tonight we have supper with Grandma Knight, remember?”
“You’re seeing my mom?”
“Yeah, she wanted to set up a regular visit with Poppy, and seeing as I grab her from here in the afternoons now, it seemed easy enough. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”
I chuckle. “She mentioned she was going to ask about a regular visit like what we have, I just didn’t know you had set up a supper. Makes sense though. That woman does love to feed people.”
“Oh yeah, I remember. I went up two sizes senior year.” Isabel laughs, and I glance at Poppy. She was pregnant with Poppy at the end of senior year, so that might have had to do with some of it, but I don’t say that. It’s nice that my mom is getting some time to get to know her grandchild. She’d be welcome here if she could bring herself to step through the door now that Dad’s gone, but I know she won’t.
“Can we stop at the ranch after Grandma’s?” Poppy asks, and I try not to take it personally that she already calls my mother grandma and I’m still Preston. I know she had a dad for a few years there before the piece of shit ran away from the best little girl in the world. Maybe she is worried I won’t stick around, too. But I am not going anywhere. I am in this for the rest of her life. I’ll be at every school recital, every birthday, Christmas, and all the other holidays, too, and then I’ll be at her graduation, I’ll drive her to college, or the airport if she decides to travel like I did, I’ll be there. I missed the first ten years of her existence; I will never miss another day.
“I’ll be checking on the new calves most afternoons for the next week on top of helping Atlas with Loki. She’s always welcome. You both are,” I say, and Isabel smiles.
“We’ll see,” she replies, and I keep the smile on my face for Poppy’s sake, but I really don’t see why she has ‘to see’ anything about it. Why can’t she just agree and be happy for me to be getting to spend time with the daughter she hid from me?
“I find it hard enough pulling this one out of the cuddle cove when they’re full-grown or those fluffy highlands, throw in babies and I’ll never get her out. How are the Beakers?”
Okay, so maybe it’s not about me, but still would it kill her to just say sure, great idea, Preston. You’re picking up on this whole dad stuff really well?
“The Beakers are good. They’ve been testing out this new app for tracking the calving, and so far, it’s only been off a day here and there. I can log in from the clinic, too, and keep track of the calves, and any medications we’ve given to the heifers. There was one with Milk fever we were treating, and we’ll have a few more births before Spring is through.” While a lot of other dairy farms like to plan their calving for the winter months, the Beakers aren’t just a dairy farm. They have horses and chickens and lots of other animals they keep, so they chose to inseminate so they’d get most of the birthing through early spring instead.
“They have a mini goat now, too,” Poppy exclaims, and her mother rolls her eyes a little knowing what’s coming next. “If I can’t have a cow for my birthday, I want a goat. A mini one like Mr. Beaker’s.”
“You are not getting a cow or a goat for your birthday.”
“But that’s all I want. You said when I was old enough to look after it, I could have a pet.”
“I was thinking more like a puppy.”
“Puppies are boring.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Are they really? Should I go in and tell Rufus and Boxer that?” The two sheepdog puppies have been adopted by the Royals, one of the new families that bought out a foreclosure beside the Beaker Brothers Ranch a few months back. They want to fix up some border fences before they bring the puppies home, so Poppy has been playing with them after her homework every afternoon.
“Okay, they’re not boring, but cows are so much better. The mini highlands are just so cute. Mom, please, can I have one?”
“You know your grandparents don’t want livestock on the farm. Where would we keep it?”
“I could keep it in my room.”
“That is still on the farm.”
“It’s not fair. Why do we have to live with grandma and grandpa, anyway? If we had our own house, we could have as many animals as we want.” I feel like maybe I should say something. Maybe try to persuade Poppy that her mother knows best, but how would I even do that? It’s funny that only a few minutes ago I was like just let me decide on something and here I am now avoiding all eye contact so I don’t get drawn into the conversation because really, who am I to say she can or can’t have a cow. Honestly, I’d probably cave in and agree to buy her one. To be safe, I busy myself with papers on the counter, letting Isabel handle it.
“You love living with grandma and grandpa.”
“I’d love a cow more.”
“Okay, I think it’s time we go. Pres, thanks again for today.”
“No problem. I love having Poppy here. I’ll be spending a good couple of hours over at the ranch on the weekend. If Poppy is free, I’d love to take her to a cuddle session,” I say, and Poppy’s eyes light up.
“If there are no outbursts like the one I just saw, then I don’t see why not,” she replies, and Poppy hugs her side.
“Thank you, Mom. I’ll be good, I swear.”
They leave, and I finish up a few things before heading over to the ranch.
***
“I don’t see the new mini goat,” I say, stepping into the cuddle cove where Connor is playing with a few of the mini highlands and the calves. “I thought for sure you’d have him set up with these guys, or did you put him with the other goats?”
“He’s with Dean,” Connor says gruffly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Little fucker won’t let anyone else hold him. I’ve wanted a mini goat for as long as I can remember, and the thing can’t stand me.”
“I’m sure it’s not choosing Dean over you. It was a surrender. It’s probably just a little traumatized, and Dean smells like…”
Connor glances my way, tipping his hat a little.
“What does Dean smell like?”
“You know, like the ranch,” I say, and he nods and goes back to feeding one of the highlands a bottle of milk.
“What do I smell like then?”
“The ranch, too, just…different.”
“Right, sure.”
He nods like he’s agreeing, but the cheeky grin on his lips tells me he knows I’m full of shit.
“So, it’s been with Dean this whole time?” I ask.
“Yep. The thing lives in his arms. We’ve been an hour behind every day this week because Dean’s working with one hand.”
“Why doesn’t he just put it in here? I’m sure it will settle after a little while.”
“You’d be thinking wrong. Cried and screamed like a newborn baby for hours. Can’t have people trying to cuddle these cuties with that going on.”
“I’ll check on it, maybe there’s something I can do,” I reply and head out to look for Dean. Usually, he’s finished the chores for the day and is in with the birthing heifers, but I find him still adding bottles to the calf hutches inside the blue barn. It’s more of a shed than a barn, and it’s where they have a bunch of hutches set up for all the new calves. They get to see their moms every day out in the pasture, but to be sure they’re getting enough and growing right, it’s best to keep them all together in a separate barn. Someone decided generations ago to paint this one baby blue, and while it might be peeling a little on the outside, I’ll guarantee when it gets repainted the color won’t be changing.
“Here you are, you’re running a bit late,” I say, and he looks up at me from under his favorite hat, an exhausted smile on his lips.
“I’m not cut out for this,” he says, his gaze moving to the sleeping mini goat on his shoulder. “It’s like having a new babe, except I bet those let you put them down every now and then.”
“How long have you been holding him?”
“Since the crack of dawn. Can you grab those other bottles?” he asks, and I put my vet bag down and grab four bottles, passing him each one as we work down the line together.
“Please tell me it will grow out of this?”
I shrug. “I’ve never treated a Nigerian dwarf, but I can’t say it’s normal for it to be so attached. Can I try?” I ask, and he nods, and I reach over, sliding my fingers between the goat and Dean’s warm skin. It stirs a little, then when Dean’s hand releases from under its hind, it lets out a scream, and Dean cringes, returning his hold and silencing the thing.
“Okay, well, that didn’t work.”
“I’ve tried everyone on the ranch. He doesn’t like anyone but me.”
“Have they tried getting your…umm, your scent on them first?” I ask, and he quirks a brow my way.
“What kind of scent are you suggesting, Doc?”
“Your clothes, sweat, umm, you know, whatever that cologne is that you wear.”
“I don’t wear cologne, but we haven’t tried the clothes thing. Here, let’s try that,” he says, and with his free hand, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“Here?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“Good a place as any. Besides, if this works, I’ll be able to finish up in half the time.” He wriggles his way out of his orange flannel shirt and passes it over to me.
“Put that on and maybe rub it up your neck and on your hands a bit. We want my scent to cover yours.”
I can’t help but stare at the broad, sweat-glistening chest as I slip his shirt on over my thin cotton one. I’m immediately surrounded by his heat and the sweet, woody scent that I’ve come to find so fucking irresistible. I breathe it in, in shallow breaths, trying to keep my cool and work the collar of the shirt up my neck.
“Okay, here goes,” he says, stepping right up to me. I dip my head to the side to miss the brim of his hat and spot something written in faded black marker under the brim that I can’t make out. I’d assume it was his name, but it’s written all fancy and looks like it starts with an H. He wears this hat more than any other. It’s old and weathered, but clearly his favorite. Then I remember, his mother’s name was Harriett. Could his favorite hat be his mother’s? He moves closer, and the fluorescent lights of the blue barn catch the hairs on his neck, shimmering like strands of gold against his skin.
I have no idea what to do with my hands. With him so close, his chest an inch from mine, my hands want to grip his waist and pull him against me, but I can’t. We’re friends. We agreed to be friends. It’s what I wanted. It’s what I thought was right for Poppy. But fuck, with him right here, like this, all I want to do is run my tongue over every droplet of sweat on his body.
“Get ready to take him,” Dean says, his breath hot against my neck, and fuck me, but my cock twitches in response.
I try to focus. I bring up the hand on the goat’s side, and Dean leans in even more, the mini goat resting between us, then my hand finds Deans, and as I slide it under his, taking the weight of the goat, it wriggles a little. I hold my breath, and the thing settles, this time it’s head against my neck instead of Dean, and he steps back slowly.
“Well, look at that. Okay, you stay there. I’ll finish feeding and bedding. Hope you don’t have plans for supper either,” he says, grabbing four bottles from the stack at the side and dropping them into hutches. “It’s steak night and I’ll need both my hands.”
“I’m free,” I say softly, hoping that my voice doesn’t trigger the little guy to realize he’s been passed over to someone who is not Dean.
“Good. Okay, won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” I say, sitting on a bale of hay and resting against the barn wall. “I’m good.”
And I really am. I could sit there for hours watching Dean work shirtless. Fuck, I’ve fantasized about exactly that so many times I’ve lost count, and while we might be keeping things platonic, you can bet the sights I’m seeing right now will come back later when I’m all alone in my bed still surrounded by the scent of him.