Chapter 4
Cal
As I buckle Junie into her car seat this morning, I get a “tank you, Daddy,” which is a pleasant change. She’s been fighting me about going to school the past few weeks. She loves school, and it’s good for her to be with kids her own age, but she loves the ranch and my family too.
The reason I don’t put her in full day preschool or daycare—right behind the fact I can’t afford the cost—is that she needs the lessons she learns at home as much as the socialization she gets from preschool.
But making it all work takes a coordinated effort with my entire family.
And most of the time, that coordinated effort looks a lot like juggling.
Except I’m not a juggler. I don’t like things up in the air, even when I know I’ll probably catch them. I like certainty, not probability.
As I drive the dusty road surrounded by our avocado groves to the highway that leads to Flamingo’s, Junie calls from the back seat, “Can I have choco chips today, Daddy?”
“Sure, Bug!” I’m too happy to deny her something she loves.
Over the past week, Flo’s pancakes have become a part of Junie’s and my daily routine; not only because of her preschool’s later-start summer schedule, but also because it’s harvest season at the ranch and Mom’s too busy to help me out in the morning.
But mostly because of Frankie. She’s become a part of our routine, too.
Junie looks forward to seeing her as much as she looks forward to eating Flo’s pancakes. I’m only partial to one of the two, and it’s not pancakes.
Something shifted after our day at the cove and Hank’s. We can’t get enough of each other. When I’m at Flamingo’s, there’s no hiding the feelings growing between us. Pearl’s made more than one comment under her breath about us acting like “damned love-sick teen-agers.”
The Oatmeal Mafia has been more supportive, Gerry most of all, giving me all kinds of advice when Frankie’s out of earshot. Not all of its bad, but I’ll probably pass on their idea to take her on a “moonlit cemetery picnic,” no matter how quiet and romantic they think it would be.
But I’ve got to think of something good before I officially ask her out. Also, cheap because I’ve got about a dollar that’s not allocated to paying off my debt. And at a time Frankie’s not working and Mom and Dad can watch Junie for me.
So far those conditions have made steep obstacles, but I’m not giving up.
Frankie’s the first woman I’ve even thought about since Kayla died.
I rushed things with Kayla. I don’t want to make the same mistake again with someone like Frankie who’s the complete package: funny, kind, great with Junie, pretty.
Scratch that.
She’s drop-dead gorgeous.
She’s a freaking celebrity, after all.
Which may be the biggest reason I’m stressing about asking her out.
Junie breaks into her ABC’s at top volume, and I smile at her in my rear-view mirror as she kicks her feet almost in time with her uneven rhythm.
She pauses long enough to yell, “sing with me, Daddy!”
I sing along with her, both of us at the top of our lungs by the end. Then she demands we do it again.
I sometimes wonder what kind of Dad I’d been if Kayla were alive. I’d still be a single dad—she was moving out the day she died. I have no idea what custody would have looked like between us or if I’d even be back here in Serenity.
I do know Kayla would be proud of Junie, and I often wonder what Junie’s life is going to look like without her mom.
My family is so good with Junie, especially Mom and Cassidy.
They love her like she’s their own, but Mom’s already raised five kids and has a ranch to run.
And Cassidy’s not around as much now that she’s gone back to Cal Poly.
Will I be enough for Junie as Mom gets older and Cassidy moves on with her own life?
A call interrupts my thoughts and my singing. I glance at the name on my phone and clench the steering wheel tighter in anticipation of bad news.
“Can you teach Daddy how to hum your ABC’s, June Bug?” I glance at her again, crossing my fingers that she’ll agree.
She presses her lips together, starts humming—still loud, but not as loud as she was singing. I let out my breath and take the call.
“This is the doctor.”
Even though I have a clinic in town, all my clients have my personal number because most of my work is house calls. In fact, everyone has access to my cell number since it’s posted right on the door of my clinic. I don’t want any animals going without care if I can help.
This call, though, is Donna Stevens, our closet neighbor who also happens to have enough experience taking care of her animals that she only calls a vet as a last resort.
“Hey Doc, think you could come out today?” Donna asks. “I’ve got a pink eye breakout with my cattle. I’m running low on antibiotic and could use some help administering it. Kids didn’t come home for the summer.”
Donna’s a single mom whose two boys are grown and off at college. They plan to come back to the ranch after they earn their degrees, but she’s on her own until then and doesn’t have extra income to hire help.
“How soon do you think you’ll need me?” I speed up and bounce onto the main road.
“Again, Daddy!” Junie giggles.”
“Wes is here helping me round them up now which will take a few hours. Around noon, maybe?”
My brother, Wes, is taking time away from our own cows and the avocado harvest to help Donna. He knows how to treat pink eye, but I can’t let him take that on when I don’t help much with ranch duties even though Junie and I live there, too.
I do some quick calculations. I’ve got a couple house calls scheduled already, and the Stevens property borders ours, so I won’t be close to the preschool when it’s pickup time. The cows have to be injected one by one, which will take hours.
“I’ll come out as soon as I can,” I tell Donna, even though I’m not sure about the logistics yet.
Wes won’t be able to help with Junie today, so I try Mom. Her pause after I ask if she can do pick up and keep an eye on Junie says everything I need to know. Dad needs her help with the harvest even more than I need her help with Junie.
Hayes would find a way to do it if he weren’t rodeoing, so Ben’s my last resort.
“I’ve got irrigation pipes that have to be repaired today, before the heat wave, or we could lose the south grove,” he says with undisguised relief. “Plus, you know I’m no good with her.”
I don’t argue with him there. Ben’s my brother, and I love him, but he’s got a one-track mind.
And right now, his only focus is on growing the ranch big enough so that we don’t have to worry about any more threats from outsiders like the Burleigh Investment Group—aka BIG—trying to push us out of business again.
By the time I get to the diner, I’m no closer to a solution about what to do with Junie than I was fifteen minutes ago. I’m down to my last, last resort: Aunt Flo.
She loves Junie as much as a sixty-year-old woman who’s never been married and doesn’t like kids possibly could. I’ve never asked her to help out with Junie for more than a few minutes, but today I think I have to. And I’m only slightly less worried she’ll say yes than I am that she’ll say no.
Flo will make Junie all the pancakes she wants, but her baby always has been, and always will be, Flamingo’s.
She’s there every day from sunup to sundown.
Asking her to watch Junie means asking her to keep her at the diner, and there’s a thousand ways that could go wrong.
Every terrifying scenario—from Junie burning herself on the grill to her escaping when Flo’s got her back turned—runs circles in my head.
“Who’s ready for pancakes?” I ask, like I do every morning, while opening the back door prepared to unbuckle Junie from her car seat.
“Junebug is!” She yells and leaps into my arms. “I unbuckled all by self!”
I’ve been dreading this day. The car seat is the one place I’ve been able to keep Junie contained. Now that she’s figured out how to escape, I give it another week, tops, before she’s teaching herself to drive.
“But that’s what Daddy likes to do.” I grab my Junie bag—that’s what she calls the backpack that doubles as my diaper bag—and carry it and her toward the diner.
“Me, too!” She wiggles out of my arms and dashes for the door.
“Junie! Wait!”
It’s too late. She squeezes past Barry on his way out and runs inside before I can stop her.
“You got your hands full there, Doc,” he says with a laugh.
“So I’ve been told. You’re out early today.”
He shakes his head. “These dang tourists show up first thing, wanting their bait and flies. Some guy came in yesterday and convinced me to teach him how to fly fish.”
“Yeah? How’d he do that?” I glance inside where Larry’s helping Junie into her seat. I’ve threatened more than once not to bring her back if she’s not on her best behavior. Maybe all my lectures have gotten through to her.
“Coupla hundred-dollar bills.” Barry grins.
“You didn’t tell him the fly fishing around here is crap?”
“He didn’t ask how the fishing was, only if I knew someone who could teach him how to do it.” With a laugh, Barry waves good-bye and ambles slowly down the block to Barry’s Bait and Tackle.
In the matter of seconds I’ve taken my eyes off Junie, she’s climbed out of her seat and is sitting on the counter not far from Frankie who, with one hand, is removing every coffee cup within my kid’s reach and with the other, wiping up a spill.
I sigh and walk inside, bells clattering over my head.
Frankie, in blonde hair and glasses, shoots me a teasing grin, like she’s guessed what kind of morning I’ve had and what kind of day I’ve got ahead of me.
I glance at Junie who’s shirt is up over her face, but she’s forgotten it buttons in the back and can’t pull it over her head. Her pants are soaking wet.
“Fwankie! I’m stuck!” she yells, and Frankie darts to her rescue.
She tugs on Junie’s shirt but can’t get it off either. Junie wails, and I rush to help, calling, “undo the buttons in the back!”