I stand up, folding the picture and tucking it into my bag. "She's wonderful."
"She's a lot," Tucker says, but there's so much love in his voice it makes my heart ache. "Come on. Let's check on the patient before she decides to give you a full tour of every horse in the stable."
Butterscotch is standing in his stall looking healthy and alert, and when he sees me he actually nickers, a sound I definitely didn't hear during my first visit when he was too uncomfortable to care about anything.
"Hey, sweet boy," I murmur, approaching slowly. "You're looking much better."
Emma's already in the stall, one hand on Butterscotch's neck. "He ate all his breakfast this morning. And he drank a whole bucket of water. And he pooped three times, which Daddy said I should tell you about because it's important."
I bite back a smile. "That is important. Thank you for the report, Emma."
I do a thorough examination while Tucker holds Butterscotch steady and Emma provides running commentary on everything I'm doing. Temperature normal. Gut sounds active and healthy. No signs of tenderness or discomfort. When I do the rectal exam, which Emma watches with fascinated horror, I find that the impaction has completely resolved.
"He's perfect," I say, stripping off my glove. "Completely recovered. You can return him to his normal routine. Full feeding, turnout, riding if you want."
"Really?" Emma bounces on her toes. "He can go back to the pasture with the other horses?"
"Really."
Emma throws her arms around Butterscotch's neck. "Did you hear that? You're all better! You can go play with your friends!"
Tucker's watching his daughter and there’s so much love there, so much relief, so much gratitude that I was able to give him this moment.
"Thank you," he whispers, meeting my eyes over Butterscotch's back. "For everything."
"It's my job."
"It's more than that." He doesn't look away, "You gave Emma her horse back. You gave me peace of mind. That's worth more than—"
"Daddy, can I take Butterscotch to the pasture now?" Emma interrupts, already unlatching the stall door.
"Let me help you with the halter first, Bug." Tucker moves to assist Emma, and I step back to give them space, watching as father and daughter work together to lead Butterscotch out of the stall.
They're halfway down the stable aisle when another man appears in the doorway. Dark hair, intense, the same one who talked to me after my first visit.
"Boone," Tucker says. "What's up?"
Boone glances at me, then at Tucker, then back at me with a slight smile. "I can take Emma and Butterscotch to the pasture. Give you two some time to... discuss treatment plans."
Tucker's ears turn red. "Boone—"
"Actually," Boone continues, ignoring Tucker's warning tone, "why don't you two go to lunch instead of waiting until tonight? It's almost ten, Emma's taken care of, and Maria's does a great lunch special on Saturdays."
"I thought we were doing dinner," I say, my mind immediately spiraling. Lunch means casual, means right now, means I'm wearing jeans and a sweater instead of the nice dress I bought specifically for tonight—
"Unless you'd prefer dinner," Boone adds quickly, reading my expression. "I just thought—"
"Lunch is great," Tucker interrupts, looking at me. "If that works for you? I know this is sudden, and if you need time to—"
"I'm not really dressed for—" I gesture at my jeans, my casual sweater, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Tucker's expression softens. "You look gorgeous, Marley. But if you'd rather wait until tonight so you can wear whatever you were planning—"
"She looks perfect," Boone says firmly. "And Tucker, you've been nervous about this all morning anyway. Might as well get it over with."
Emma's watching this entire exchange with wide eyes. "You should go! Boone can take care of me. We're going to teach Butterscotch a new trick."
"What kind of trick?" Tucker asks suspiciously.
