Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I tuned him out, more interested in the cowboy-slash-vet ambling to the truck parked nearby. Axel opened the door and grabbed a water tumbler from an inside compartment. He flipped the lid and took a drink, tipping his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed and no, that wasn’t sexy, but…it sort of turned me on.
Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but unbridled masculine energy with a side of assholery was my kryptonite. Everything about this guy was big, bold, and larger than life.
Down, boy. There was no harm in looking, but it was never wise to get caught ogling a straight man. Especially not a crabby cowboy.
“Thanks, Dennis.” I adjusted my sunglasses and offered my hand. “If we can get the health charts tomorrow, I’m confident we can wrap up the sale by next week.”
Dennis shook my hand enthusiastically. “That’s great news. Glad to hear it. I’ll give Axel your contact information, and he’ll forward anything you need. And listen, take that nonsense about ketosis and milk fever with a grain of salt. All animals get sick once in a while.”
“True, and you were fortunate to find someone who cares.”
“I can’t fault Axel that,” Dennis conceded. “If you find yourself in need of some help with this new group, I recommend him. Just beware of thorns.”
He snickered merrily and trotted off with an extra bounce in his step—no doubt pleased with the promise of a pending sale. That made two of us. Oak Ridge needed this herd and yes, we’d need to hire a few qualified ranchers as well.
And…maybe a vet.
CHAPTER 2
AXEL
“Read the one about the funny dog who wears a tutu, Daddy!”
“This one?” I held up the wrong book, feigning shock at Phoebe’s giggles.
“No, that’s the frog book.” Phoebe hopped to her knees, pushing a strand of long blond hair from her eyes. “I can help you find it.”
“Snuggle up, love bug. It’s bedtime, remember?” I squeezed her toes through the pink gingham duvet and reached for a well-loved book with a dancing poodle wearing a pink tutu and ballet shoes. “I think this might be it.”
Phoebe punched her tiny fist in the air and clapped. “Yes!”
I chuckled, positioning my chair next to her mattress. I didn’t trust Phoebe’s glorified toddler bed to hold me and unfortunately, replacing it with a twin-sized one wasn’t in the budget this month. She was small for her age, so for now, it would have to do.
“Once upon a time, there was a precocious poodle who loved to dance,” I read. “Princess Penelope was her name. Penny, as she was called, loved to twirl and spin and—”
“Me too. I like to twirl,” Phoebe interrupted.
“You’re a very good twirler.”
“It’s ballet, Daddy. I want to do ballet. Can I? Sydney told me you need the special pink shoes or it doesn’t count.”
Sydney? Oh…right. She was a pre-K classmate and Phoebe’s new bestie. Apparently, the fellow five-year-old was the height of cool. Sydney had tennis shoes with sparkles, a tree with a tire swing in her front yard, and two cats. She didn’t have a dog, so she lost a point there, but she had a shiny pink backpack and Phoebe loved the polka-dot ribbons in her hair.
I usually grunted or hummed in acknowledgment and tried not to make promises I couldn’t keep. Not to Phee. God knew, I wished I had the means to make every little dream of hers come true.
I’d happily lasso the moon and deliver it with confetti and fairy dust. I’d buy the big house, three dogs, five cats, and the chicken coop. She wouldn’t just have a new mattress and dance classes—I’d get one of those canopy beds like princesses had, and I’d hire a real ballerina with a pretty tutu to show my girl how to twirl like a pro.
Ballet, princess beds, and a barn filled with fluffy animals would have been sweet, but they weren’t on the menu just yet.
We had a reliable albeit humble rental mobile home with a great creekside setup where we could hunt imaginary dragons in the forest, build forts made of branches, and sit on boulders and tell stories while we fished or counted tadpoles lurking in the water.
Maybe it wasn’t sparkly, but we had fun, and living within our means was crucial to survival.
I’d learned all my lessons the hard way, and I’d vowed from the day she was born that Phoebe wouldn’t make my mistakes. Nor would she suffer because of them.
I let her ramble on about Sydney for a bit ’cause I loved the sound of her voice and the funny habit she had of gesturing as she spoke.
Phoebe was a gust of an ocean breeze on a hot summer day. She was laughter in the wind and fireflies at midnight. She was all things beautiful, joyful, and wondrous, and not a single day passed without me thanking my lucky stars for her.