Chapter 3 - Tucker
Emma's awake before the alarm goes off. I can hear her moving around in her room, the soft thump of her feet hitting the floor, the creak of her closet door opening. It's 5:47 AM, which means she's been lying there waiting for an acceptable time to get up and check on Butterscotch.
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.
