THE NEXT MORNING, Grace watched for signs that Poppy was upset, but all seemed fine. The little girl came over to say hi, and Grace gave her a hug.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Grace said quietly. “How are you?”
“Good,” Poppy whispered.
“I’m glad. We’re going to have a good day!”
It was the teacher thing to say—but that was who she was to Poppy, her teacher. She couldn’t get herself mixed up in Poppy’s life on a personal level. This was why professional boundaries existed, wasn’t it? To protect the kids.
The day wore on, and soon it was almost time for music class, when Mr. Shaw would lead the class in a line to the music room and Grace would have forty-five minutes to herself before that line of preschoolers came trailing back into the classroom again.
She would use the time to think, get herself re-centered.
“All right, friends,” she said, raising her voice over the noise of chatter. “It’s time to clean up so that we’re ready for music class. Let’s put everything away. Puppets in the box. Crayons in the buckets. Paper in the recycling bin.”
The kids already knew the routine, but transition times took some prompting from her, so she went around the room, redirecting children back to the task at hand. Poppy stood at a window, staring outside. She had a forlorn expression, and Grace watched her for a moment. Poppy wasn’t okay...and Grace might need to talk about last night with her after all.
But would that be wrong? Billy had said he’d take care of it, and if she went against a parent’s wishes... She watched Poppy for a moment longer before turning back to a little boy who was methodically breaking crayons in half.
“Nigel, we don’t break crayons,” Grace said. “Do we?”
Nigel stopped, looking down at the crayon pieces on the table. “I do.”
Grace fixed him with a no-nonsense stare, and he put the crayon in his hand back into the bucket.
A child’s shriek sliced through the air, and Grace looked up to see Poppy flying across the room. She shoved a chair out of her way, and as Grace jumped up, Poppy disappeared out the classroom door. Grace dashed after her, but when she got to the door, the hallway was empty, the outside door swinging shut.
Grace’s heart pounded. She didn’t have time to call the office—she needed to get Poppy back into the school. So she jogged to the next classroom door, and poked her head inside.
“Trinity, could you watch my class? I’ve got a runner.”
And without waiting for a reply, she ran to the outside door and pushed out into the biting winter wind.
Poppy was running across the playground, her indoor shoes slipping and sliding as she sank ankle-deep into the dry snow.
“Poppy!” Grace shouted.
There was a woman walking along the sidewalk that passed by the playground, and Poppy was struggling toward her. Snow clung to her pink pants, and the biting wind ruffled through her hair and her thin shirt.
“Mommy!” Poppy screamed.
Grace started out after her, rushing through the snow. The leather of her shoes would be ruined—there was no way around that—and the wind was searing cold, whipping through her sweater. Grace could see her own breath billowing out in front of her as she ran after Poppy, closing the distance between them.
“Mommy!” Poppy wailed once more, and she stumbled, then sank to her knees in the snow.
The woman on the sidewalk looked toward them, surprise on her face, just as Grace caught up with Poppy, and Grace bent down next to her, sliding an arm around her thin, trembling shoulders.
“Poppy?” Grace said softly.
The woman stared at them and Grace gave her an apologetic smile before she moved on again.
“That’s not her...” Poppy whispered.
“I know, sweetie,” Grace said, scooping Poppy up and rising back to her feet.
“That’s not Mommy...” Poppy said. Then she sucked in a ragged breath and started to cry. Hot tears soaked into Grace’s sweater, and she hugged Poppy a little bit closer.
Poppy thought she’d seen her mother out here, and she’d run after her like her life had depended on it. How often had Poppy searched for that familiar face? This little girl still couldn’t quite wrap her heart around the fact that her mother had walked away.
Tracy had walked away, too. And Grace had told her father last night that she couldn’t stay in his life... From Poppy’s perspective, how did all this feel? Did she blame herself?
As Grace turned back toward the school, she did her best to shield Poppy from the wind. She ducked her head down and plunged forward, her toes already getting numb from the snow that had slithered into her shoes. The outside door opened, and she saw Evan Shaw, the young music teacher, standing there. He held the door open for her as she came back inside, then released it.
“Everything okay?” Evan asked. “What happened?”
“She took off,” Grace said. “I caught her, though.”
“Yeah, good... I’ll take the rest of the class to the music room, then—”
“And I’ll get to the bottom of what happened here. Thanks, Mr. Shaw,” she said with a smile. Then she turned to her colleague who she’d interrupted to watch her class. “Thanks, Mrs. Ryan. I’ve got her.”
As her colleague arranged the children in their line, Grace kicked off her wet shoes and lowered Poppy to the ground. She attempted to put her down, at least, but Poppy had her arms wrapped around Grace’s neck, and she wasn’t letting go.
The children stared as they walked past—Poppy having done the unthinkable when she made a run for it. She hoped none of the others got any ideas there.
“Poppy,” Grace said quietly.
Poppy still trembled with sobs, and Grace scooped up her wet shoes with one hand and then carried Poppy back into the now-empty classroom. She shut the door, then went over to her desk and sank into the chair. Poppy curled up in a ball on Grace’s lap and finally released her neck.
“What happened, sweetie?” Grace asked quietly.
“I thought that was Mommy.”
“You can’t just run off,” Grace said. “You scared me!”
“But I thought it was Mommy.”
“I know, I know...”
Grace closed her eyes and rested her cheek on Poppy’s head. Grace couldn’t fix this one. She couldn’t bring Carol-Ann back, or fill the hole in this little heart. She couldn’t be the mom Poppy so desperately needed, but oh, how she wished she could. Poppy needed a mother who would stand by her, make her feel loved, and safe, and special.
“Will my mommy come back?” Poppy whispered.
“I don’t know, sweetie...”
“I want my mommy.” The tears started again, and Grace understood all that Poppy was grieving. How could a child be expected to accept that her mom was just...gone?
Grace rocked Poppy back and forth. She longed to say that Poppy could count on her...that she’d be here always. But that would be wrong. Grace wasn’t a mother figure for Poppy; she was a teacher, and there were professional boundaries for a reason. Refilling Poppy’s broken heart wasn’t Grace’s job—it was Billy’s. Billy was the one who would have to make up for Carol-Ann’s absence, and Grace had to step back and let him.
“Poppy,” she said softly. “One day your mom will see you again, I’m sure. I don’t know when, but she won’t just show up at school, or surprise you in a grocery store or something. When she comes, she’ll talk to your dad about it, and he’ll let you know what to expect. Okay?”
At least Grace hoped she was telling the truth, because this little girl couldn’t go through every day of her life with a pent-up breath, waiting to see if her mother emerged from the shadows. That was cruelty.
The door opened just then, and one of the receptionists poked her head inside. “Miss Beverly, a message for you.” She hesitated. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, Poppy just needed a hug. She tried to make a break for it, so I’ll have to talk to her father.” She’d also have to write up an incident report.
The receptionist came into the classroom and handed Grace a pink slip of paper. “Speaking of which,” the receptionist said.
Grace looked down at the message slip. Phone call from Billy Austin, father of Poppy Austin. He is running late. Please call him on his cell phone at your earliest convenience. He says you have the number.
Grace sighed. The timing was terrible. Today, of all days, Poppy needed her father to show up right on time. She nodded a farewell to the receptionist, then looked down at Poppy. “It’s from your dad. He says he’s running late.”
“Can I see?” Poppy asked.
Grace showed her the note, and Poppy wiped a hand across her watery eyes, then nodded.
“I’m going to call him now, okay?” Grace said. “Do you think you could sit on a chair next to me?”
Grace pulled her cell phone out of her bag in the side drawer of her desk and noticed there had been a couple of missed called from Billy’s cell in the last hour. She tapped one instance to call him back.
“Gracie?” Billy said, picking up. “Did you just get my message now?”
“Just got it,” she said.
“Yeah, so I’ve got a cow with a broken leg. I’m almost done here, but I can’t just leave. I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor...”
“And wait for you?” Grace said.
“No, it would be too long and she’ll be hungry... Could you bring her to my place? I mean, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll make you dinner—try and make up for the massive inconvenience. What do you say?”
“Just a second,” Grace said, and she pulled a picture book from her desk, then bent down to Poppy’s level. “Why don’t you read this one, Poppy? I think you’ll like it.”
Poppy took the book wordlessly and opened it. Grace walked a few paces away and lowered her voice.
“I can bring her home,” Grace agreed, then lowered her voice further. “She thought she saw her mom out the window today, Billy.”
“What?” Billy paused. “What happened?”
“She ran for it—she took off and I had to catch her. She almost made it to the fence outside without a coat or boots or anything. She thought it was Carol-Ann.”
“Ah, hell...”
“Yeah.” Grace didn’t know what else to say. “I thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” He was silent for a moment. “This is awful timing—”
“I’ll drive her home,” she reassured him. It was the least she could do after the worry she’d caused the little girl last night.
Some days, being a teacher felt amazing and like she had her fingerprints on the future. But sitting here with the tiny girl staring toward the window and the empty playground outside, it didn’t feel like she was half enough.
“You’ll have to call the office and tell them that you’re giving me permission to drive her home,” Grace added, clearing her throat.
“Yeah, right.” But he sounded relieved. “The spare key to the cabin is under the thermometer on the doorjamb. So you can just let yourself in when you get there. I’ll hurry home. I promise.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“You’re one in a million, Gracie.” And he didn’t sound like he was joking or smoothing things over this time. He sounded deeply grateful, and a little shaken.
“I’m aware,” she said. “But call the office. I can’t leave after school until you do.”
THAT AFTERNOON, BILLY pushed his hat back on his head as he drove up the road toward the cabin. He’d been worrying about Poppy ever since the phone call... She’d run into the snow, looking for her mom?
A mental image tore at his heart. His daughter was with Grace right now, which meant she was safe, but even his relationship with Grace was turning into a stressor for Poppy. The one woman to give him a bit of comfort... Ironic.
The truck rattled over the bumpy road, the sky turning to dusk. He pushed his hat back on his head and heaved a sigh.
He was starting to have some compassion for his mother’s balancing act—trying to work enough to pay the bills and find ways for his life to go along normally. At least she’d come home! His mom hadn’t been perfect, but she’d never walked out for something “better” than him, like modeling in Germany.
Billy took the turn that led up toward his little cabin. He could see Grace’s car parked out front, and the interior was lit up with a homey glow. He pulled up next to her car, and he saw Poppy appear in the window, her expression somber. Her little shoulders were slumped, and she watched as he got out of the truck and headed toward the front door. Grace materialized behind her and waved.
He smiled back and met her gaze. She was here—for now, for this one tough evening—and while he knew that his relationship with Poppy’s teacher only confused his daughter, he was grateful to have her here. For him.
“Daddy!” Poppy said as he came in, and looking up with big, soulful eyes. He scooped her up in a hug, holding her close for a minute, then giving her a smile.
“Hi there, kiddo,” he said, and he put her back down so he could take off his coat and boots. He dropped his cowboy hat on Poppy’s head. “Thanks, Grace. I appreciate this.”
“Sure.” Grace smiled as Poppy walked blindly with Billy’s hat over her eyes. “I did a lesson with her already. And we read more of The Secret Garden.”
“She must have liked that,” Billy said. Business as usual—this was for Poppy’s benefit.
Grace angled her head and they moved a little further away from Poppy. “I didn’t talk to her about last night. You’d said you wanted to do it, and—”
“Yeah, no, that’s what I wanted,” he replied. “Thanks.”
“She’s scared, though. She’s dealing with a lot, and if our talk last night only made things worse, I’m sorry.”
“It’s on me,” he replied, then cleared his throat. “I’ll figure it out. Isn’t that what parents do? Wing it?”
“Sort of,” she said.
Billy rubbed a hand over his hair. Grace was wearing a soft gray sweater with a loose cowl-neck. It was paired with some slacks that were almost the same color.
“Thanks for being here,” he murmured.
“I wouldn’t do this for just anyone,” she said with a faint smile, and he believed her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I’ve got steaks in the fridge.”
“I’m hungry!” Poppy declared, pulling the hat off her head and leaving her hair rumpled.
“Good. So am I,” Billy said, forcing joviality that he didn’t quite feel.
He headed into the kitchen, gratified when Grace followed him. He hauled open the fridge and reached for the cellophane-wrapped steaks, then glanced over at her.
“If I make your steak just the way you like it, will you peel these?” he asked and he caught her eye, waiting for her to relax just a bit. He nodded toward a bag of potatoes.
Grace’s cheeks pinked slightly and she reached for the potatoes.
“So you make a decent steak now, do you?” she said, and he caught the teasing glint in her eyes.
“You’re not the only one who’s matured the last few years.” He shot her a grin. “I cook. I’m not bad.”
Grace stood next to him at the counter and she started to peel. It felt good to have her with him.
“Grace, do you ever think of taking a teaching position here in Eagle’s Rest?” he asked.
“There aren’t any,” she replied. “I snapped up the maternity leave, but teaching spots aren’t that plentiful.”
“So Denver is the place for you,” he concluded.
“Afraid so.” She dropped a peeled potato into a pot and grabbed another one.
“Yeah, I get it. Decent-paying jobs aren’t so plentiful for the guy who can’t read, either.”
“What happened in Denver?”
He’d been humiliated in Denver, and while he didn’t exactly want to make himself look more pathetic in her eyes, he wasn’t going to lie, either.
“I got a few different jobs. But for training, they always give you a book. A lot of good that does me, right? I started off trying for mechanic positions. I mean, I can fix pretty much anything, right? But they want you to follow a certain set of steps—all written down in a book. And I couldn’t memorize it. And then there were these forms you had to fill out... It just didn’t work. So I got hired and fired about a week into training. Tracy was furious.” He could still remember the look on her face as she did the mental math there, trying to figure out why he couldn’t make things work in Denver. “That’s when I had to tell her the truth.”
“And?”
“She...just seemed surprised, I guess.” Billy sighed. “So then I applied for work at a factory. She had to help me fill out all the forms. That was humiliating. But I was doing okay there—I just hated the work. I mean—boring as anything, and no respect. My direct supervisor looked like a fifteen-year-old, and he’d holler at me for no reason at all. Just a small man trying to feel big. But when I mentioned anything about it at home, Tracy said that I’d better be grateful for what I could get. And I guess she had a point...”
“Not really,” Grace retorted. “Everyone deserves respect.”
“Yeah, well...” He turned on the fry pan and poured in some oil. “My point is, I like cattle. I like horses. And around here, I have a reputation for being good at that kind of work, so I get respect, too, and not just the basic human respect that should be passed out to everyone. I’m respected for my ability here. So my life is here—whether I like it or not. And it looks like yours is in the city.”
What could he do? He couldn’t give a woman in his life the world. He was hobbled.
“Would you have listened to me before if I’d told you Tracy was bad for you?” Grace asked.
“Nope.”
Grace laughed softly. “Didn’t think so.”
And that was the truth. He’d been blinded by Tracy’s long legs and model figure. A whole lot like Carol-Ann’s. But neither woman had been good for him—or for his daughter, for that matter. And neither woman could hold a candle to Grace.
He looked over at her, methodically peeling those potatoes. She was beautiful—but in a different way from other women he’d known and loved. She was physically attractive, too. There wasn’t a one-size-fits-all mold for beauty, but Grace’s beauty went deep, and it was forged in the same place her character had been formed. It was a heart-deep kind of loveliness that just made him want to slide closer to her.
Except whatever was between him and Grace, it wasn’t sitting comfortably with either of them, and it was messing things up for Poppy. For his daughter, they’d better get into conventional territory.
This wasn’t about his emotional needs anymore—it was about his daughter. And it was about Grace. Sometimes a man had to put his own heart aside for the women he cared about most.