“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.
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—”
“No, no, this has nothing to do with the school,” she replied. “But I’m glad to hear she’s enrolled. She’s—” Isabel looked down at her computer tablet “—four years old. Am I right?”
“Yeah, four,” he confirmed. “So, what do you need from me?”
“I’m here to see if I can be of any assistance to you,” Isabel replied. “Do you have any other children?”
“No, Poppy is my only child,” he replied. His child, and he didn’t like people butting in, even when he felt ridiculously overwhelmed.
“So, she’s in preschool, then?” Isabel asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Her first day is today.”
“Wonderful. I have some information about community resources we have available for young families.” She pulled a stack of brochures out of her bag. “Take a look through when you have some time. When was her last visit to the dentist?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve only had her for a couple of weeks. But I’ll make a few appointments once things calm down a bit.”
“That sounds good.” She smiled again. “I’d also like to set up a visit when I could chat with Poppy, and with you. Just see how things are going for you both.”
Billy repressed a grimace. “Sure. That would be fine.”
“How about in...” She consulted her tablet again. “Two weeks? That would give you both some time to settle in, and you might have a better idea if you need any extra support.”
“Sure. Two weeks.”
Isabel pulled out a business card, scratched something on the back of it and handed it over. “Would the early evening, say around seven, be less intrusive to your schedule?”
“Probably,” he agreed. “That would be fine. We’ll be here.”
“Wonderful.” So much cheeriness, but he couldn’t help narrowing his eyes.
“And if you have any questions, any problems, or think of anything that might help you out at all, don’t