Patricia Johns - Falling For The Cowboy Dad

“...and to the republic for which it stands. One nation under God, indivisible...”

Along the wall under the window, where Billy sat, there were letters of the alphabet on separate laminated sheets. Q. R. S. T. Large letters, separated by inches of wall, made the letters distinct and different in his mind. They didn’t jumble up like they did on a page, and Billy eyed them for a moment, mildly intrigued by his ability to differentiate them.

He understood the basic concept of letters, sounds and the combination turning into words. He looked around at the kids as Grace sat down in front of a large picture graph with different weather symbols on it.

“This morning is sunny,” Grace was saying. “Who can find the picture that tells us that it’s sunny?”

Most of these children wouldn’t even know their alphabets yet, but they would be introduced to the basics this year. An idea was forming itself in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was crazy to even be considering this, but maybe he could start over.

Billy had given up on school and put his energy into avoiding the embarrassment. But maybe as his daughter learned, he could catch up on a few basics he’d missed, too. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to read.

Billy pulled off his hat and looked down at it for a moment, trying to hide any expression that might be betraying his thoughts right now. He hadn’t changed in his desire to hide his illiteracy, but if he could really buckle down and learn how to read at long last...

It could change everything! He could apply for higher positions at the ranch. He’d figured he’d never be anything more than regular labor, but if he could read, he might be able to work his way up to ranch manager eventually. A whole new world would open up to him, a world of instructions, information and upward mobility.

And at the end of a long day, he could sit down with Poppy and he could read her a book. Instead of pretending that he was teasing her, making up stories that only frustrated her because she wanted him to read the book properly, he could do just that—read his little girl a story.

Billy’s heart hammered in his chest, and he realized that he’d zoned out there for a minute, because the kids were moving off to different corners of the room now, and Grace was coming toward him. Billy stood up, scanned the room and found Poppy at the puppet theater with another little girl, hand in hand.

“You could probably leave now,” Grace said quietly. “Poppy has a friend. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat, feeling a little embarrassed not to have been the one to come to that conclusion first. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sometimes this is harder on the parents than the kids,” Grace said, putting a hand on his arm. In that moment, she was the old Grace again—the confiding pal who always saw the best in him.

“I’ll be back at three,” he said with a small smile.

Poppy didn’t even look up as Billy made his way out of the room, and he glanced back to see Grace turning toward her class, her figure outlined in the doorway. The same old Grace in so many ways, and yet she wasn’t. Then the door shut with a decisive click, and he heard Grace’s voice filtering out to him in the hallways.

“Michael P., let’s keep our hands to ourselves, please!”

Maybe Billy was crazy to think he could learn how to read, because that classroom door had just closed on his opportunity. Who was he fooling? He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he’d had his chance. Now it was Poppy’s turn to learn “all the fun stuff,” as he’d put it.

Still, he couldn’t quite stamp out that little spark of hope. And he glanced over his shoulder as his cowboy boots echoed down the hallway.

Maybe.

CHAPTER THREE

AS BILLY FINISHED up his work in the barn that afternoon, he glanced at his watch. It would be time to pick up Poppy from school pretty soon, and he’d been looking forward to it all day. He’d felt strange, disconcerted walking away from Poppy—like he was messing up in some fundamental way that he didn’t even know about. But that seemed to be his general feeling these days. He’d never been “good enough”—not for school, not for Grace. And now, not even to be a dad to a kid like Poppy.

What did he know about raising a little girl, especially one this smart? What did he know about parenting, period? He’d been raised by a chronically overworked mother who was more interested in finding a new man than she was in raising her son, and he’d ended up raising himself. Not terribly well, either. Frankly he was as surprised as anyone else that he was a functional adult. If he’d ended up with a boy to raise, he might have had a better idea of how to do it based on his own pitfalls, but a little girl? That was a whole other world!

One of the other ranch hands had suggested that he ask his mom about raising a girl, and Billy had laughed out loud at that one. His mom had barely managed to raise him. She wasn’t one to give advice about what kids needed. She’d been of the opinion that what didn’t kill a kid could be considered a success. And maybe he had picked up a lot of life lessons along the way, but he’d missed out on some important fundamentals, too.

Billy hung his shovel on the wall just as his cell phone rang from inside his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the number before picking up the call. It was Mr. Ross.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Mr. Ross said, then lowered his voice. “A woman from social services. She’s here at the house, if you want to come on up.”

He didn’t have much choice, so Billy hopped into his truck and rumbled on up the gravel road. His stomach felt like it was in a vice as he drove along, wondering what to expect. He’d spent a good many years avoiding raising the suspicions of social services when he was a kid. His mom had warned him repeatedly that they’d take him away if he wasn’t careful, so facing them now just felt ominous.

The main house was a two-story affair with a porch out front and a rustic fence running around the yard. Billy parked in the gravel patch just behind the house, trying to tamp down the uneasy feelings. Apparently social services had been involved with Carol-Ann in the past, so when she passed Poppy over to him, they were coming as part of the package. It only confirmed in his mind that Poppy was better off with him, as limited as his prospects were.

He turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck. Best to get this out of the way. His boots crunched over the snow as he headed to the back door.

“Here he is now,” Mr. Ross said, pushing open the screen. “How ya doing, Billy?”

“Real good, sir.”

He and his boss exchanged a look that didn’t match their cheery banter, and as he passed into the house, Mr. Ross slapped him in the shoulder.

“One of the best workers I’ve got,” the older man said. It sounded slightly over-the-top, but Billy could appreciate the intent, at least.

The social worker was a middle-aged woman with a close-cropped hairstyle and a pair of prominent, artsy glasses. She smiled cordially and put out a hand.

“Mr. Austin, I presume?” she said.

“That’s me,” Billy said, pulling off his gloves and shaking her hand. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is Isabel Burns with Colorado Child Welfare, and we’re just following up with you about Poppy,” she said.

“Okay...” He eyed her for a moment, waiting for the blow to land.

“And I wanted to see if you need any support,” she concluded.

“Like...what kind of support?” he asked. “I’ve got a job, and I can provide for my daughter, if that’s the worry. I’m going to buy some snow pants for her this afternoon. I don’t know what the school told you—”