Chapter 3 - Tucker
I drag myself out of bed. I didn't sleep much anyway, kept getting up every two hours to walk Butterscotch like Marley instructed, and pull on yesterday's jeans and a flannel shirt that's seen better days.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like hell: dark circles under my eyes, three days of stubble I haven't bothered to shave, hair sticking up in directions hair shouldn't stick up.
Not that it matters. Marley's coming back at nine to check on Butterscotch, and she's a professional who probably doesn't give a damn what I look like as long as the horse is doing well.
Except I keep thinking about those text messages yesterday. The way she said I wasn't uncomfortable, just worried. The way she admitted she knows what it's like to be underestimated by people who should know better.
Fuck. I need to stop thinking about her.
Emma's in the kitchen when I get downstairs, already dressed in jeans and a purple sweater with horses on it, her hair in pigtails that are slightly crooked because she insisted on doing them herself.
She's got her boots on. The regular brown ones, not the pink ones, which means she's serious about ranch work today.
"Can I see him?" she asks before I've even made it to the coffee maker. "Just for a minute? Please?"
"Bug—"
"I know Dr. Williams said he needs rest, but I won't bother him. I'll just look at him through the stall door. Please, Daddy?"
I pour coffee and try to think through the fog in my brain. Marley said no visiting, no treats, no excursions. But she also said kids are resilient, and Emma's been worried sick about Butterscotch for two days now and maybe seeing that he's okay will help.
"Five minutes," I say finally. "Before the bus comes. Just looking, no touching, no feeding him anything. Deal?"
"Deal!" She's already running for the door, her pigtails bouncing, and I follow with my coffee, trying not to think about how Marley's going to look at me if she finds out I bent her rules.
The morning is cold and clear, frost on the grass, the sun just starting to paint the eastern ridge with gold and orange.
Emma runs ahead of me toward the stable, and I watch her go.
All energy and hope, and I think not for the first time that being a parent is the most terrifying thing I've ever done.
Butterscotch is standing in his stall when we get there, head up, ears forward, looking more alert than he did yesterday. The IV fluids ran out around midnight, but I left the catheter in like Marley instructed in case she wants to run more this morning.
"Butterscotch!" Emma presses herself against the stall door, her face lighting up. "You're okay! You're really okay!"
The horse nickers softly and takes a step toward her, and Emma makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob.
"I was so scared," she whispers, reaching through the bars to touch his nose even though I told her no touching. "I thought you were going to die."
"Emma—"
"I know, I know, no touching." But she doesn't pull her hand back, just keeps it there on Butterscotch's soft muzzle, and the horse leans into her touch like he's been waiting for it.
I should make her stop. Should enforce the rules Marley gave me because Marley's the professional and I'm just the worried rancher who doesn't know what he's doing.
But watching Emma with Butterscotch, seeing the relief on her face, the way the horse responds to her presence like she's the best thing in his world, I can't bring myself to pull them apart.
"Five minutes," I say quietly. "Then you need to get ready for school."
"Okay." She's crying now, happy tears, and she's talking to Butterscotch in that soft voice she uses when she thinks no one's listening.
"Dr. Williams is coming back today to make sure you're better.
Daddy says she's really good at her job.
And I drew her a picture to say thank you.
It has a unicorn in it because I know you've always wanted to be a unicorn, right? "
Butterscotch snorts, which Emma takes as agreement, and she giggles through her tears.
I lean against the stable wall and drink my coffee and watch my daughter love this horse, and I think about how Marley saved me from having to break Emma's heart, and how that's worth more than anything in the whole world.
Emma's on the bus by 7:15, and I'm back at the stable by 7:17, checking on Butterscotch for the hundredth time since yesterday morning. He's definitely improved. He’s more alert, more responsive, actually interested in his surroundings instead of just standing there looking miserable.
I walk him around the paddock for twenty minutes, watching for signs of distress like Marley told me to.
He moves easily, doesn't try to roll or paw the ground, and about halfway through the walk he stops to urinate, which I'm pretty sure is a good sign based on what Marley said about monitoring his bodily functions.
But I pull out my phone anyway and type: *Butterscotch just urinated during his morning walk. I'm assuming that's good news?*
Fucking hell. I can’t believe I’m texting a woman about horse piss at 7:45 in the morning. Real smooth.
Her response comes faster than I expected: *Very good news. Means his system is processing fluids properly. Any manure yet?*
*Not since yesterday afternoon.*
*That's okay. The mineral oil needs time to work. Keep monitoring.*
I should leave it at that. Should put my phone away and focus on Butterscotch and the hundred other things I need to do today.
Instead I type: *Emma saw him this morning before school. I know you said no visiting, but she needed to see that he was okay. She only stayed five minutes.*
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. I watch them and wonder what she's thinking, whether she's annoyed that I didn't follow her instructions exactly.
Finally: *How did she seem after seeing him?*
*Relieved. Happy. Cried a little but the good kind of crying.*
*Then you made the right call. Sometimes the emotional well-being of the owner is just as important as the physical well-being of the patient.*
*Thank you for understanding.*
*Of course. See you at nine.*
I put my phone away and lead Butterscotch back to his stall.
At 8:45, I'm standing outside the stable waiting for Marley's truck to appear down the long driveway. I showered and shaved. I told myself it was because I looked like hell and not because she's coming back, and I'm wearing clean jeans and a flannel shirt that doesn't have any holes in it.
Boone walks past on his way to the equipment barn and stops when he sees me.
"You're looking presentable this morning," he says, and there's something knowing in his voice that makes me want to punch him.
"I had time to shower. That's all."
"Uh-huh." He grins at me, actually grins, which Boone almost never does, and crosses his arms. "The good vet is coming back at nine, right?"
"Marley. Yes."
"Already on first name basis?" He taunts me.
"Shut up"
"I talked to her yesterday after she left. Seemed like a nice woman. Smart. Competent. Pretty, too, if you're into the whole curvy-with-glasses thing."
I stare at him. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing." But he's still grinning, and now Colt is walking over from the barn, probably drawn by the scent of someone giving me shit.
"What's going on?" Colt asks.
"Tucker showered and shaved for the vet," Boone says.
"It's not for the vet—"
"She's pretty," Colt interrupts, like I haven't spoken. "Saw her yesterday when she was leaving. Nice ass."
"Jesus Christ." I run my hand through my hair. My clean, freshly washed hair that I definitely didn't style for Marley Williams. "Can you two find something productive to do?"
"We could," Boone says. "But this is more entertaining."
"Tucker hasn't been interested in a woman since Jenna left," Colt adds, like I'm not standing right here. "This is big."
"I'm not interested—"
"You texted her last night, didn’t you?" Boone asks. "I saw your phone light up at dinner."
"About Butterscotch—"
"And then you smiled at your phone. Really smiled. Tucker Hayes, who hasn't smiled at his phone in years."
I'm about to tell them both exactly where they can shove their observations when Marley's truck appears at the end of the driveway. Boone sees my face and laughs. He fucking laughs.
"Oh, you're in trouble," he says.
"I'm not—"
"Deep trouble," Colt agrees.
"Both of you, get the hell out of here before she—"
But it's too late. Marley's truck is pulling up, and Boone and Colt are both standing there grinning like idiots, and I'm probably turning red because that's what happens when you're forty years old and your best friends are acting like you're sixteen.
Marley climbs out of her truck wearing jeans and boots and that same canvas jacket, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her glasses catching the morning light. She's got her bag in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, and when she sees all three of us standing there she stops.
"Morning," she says cautiously, like she's not sure what she's walked into.
"Morning, Dr. Williams," Boone says before I can speak. "Tucker's been waiting for you. Showered and everything."
I'm going to kill him. I'm going to actually kill him and bury his body somewhere on the south forty where no one will ever find it.
"I shower every day," I say, my voice coming out more defensive than I intended. "It's not—this isn't—"
Marley's mouth quirks up at one corner, and I realize she's trying not to laugh.
"Well, that's good hygiene," she says, her brown eyes sparkling behind those glasses. "Very responsible."
Colt snorts, and I shoot him a look that could melt steel.
"We were just leaving," Boone says, already backing away. "Got fence work on the south pasture. Tucker, you good here?"
"I'm fine."
"Great. Nice to see you again, Dr. Williams."
"Marley," she says. "Just Marley is fine."
"Marley." Boone grins at her, then at me, and then he and Colt are walking away, and I can hear them laughing before they're even out of earshot.
I'm going to kill them both.
"Sorry about that," I say, turning back to Marley. "They're... they think they're funny."
"They seem nice." She's definitely trying not to laugh now, and there are dimples appearing in her cheeks that I definitely shouldn't be noticing. "How's Butterscotch this morning?"
Right. Butterscotch. The actual reason she's here.