Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Phoebe’s soliloquy finally petered out with a yawn. She pointed at the book in my hands and flopped on her pillow. “Aren’t you going to read, Daddy?”
“Yep. Where was I?” I cleared my throat and found my place. “Theodore the toad didn’t like twirling. He didn’t like spinning, and he didn’t like the color pink.”
“Silly toad,” Phoebe mumbled sleepily.
I smoothed a hand over her hair, my heart near to bursting as always.
“Silly toad,” I agreed.
I finished the story, delivered a glass of water, rearranged stuffed animals as requested, kissed her forehead, and said good night, leaving the bedroom door open.
The second I moved into the living area, my cell buzzed.
“Hey ya, Kitty,” I answered.
The purr on the line was an inside joke that had somehow become a greeting. “Hi, handsome. Just calling to check on you and Phee Phee. How’s the new home, new job, new school situation workin’ out?”
I plonked onto the threadbare sofa and put my feet up. “Phee’s great. She loves pre-K and already has a new best friend.”
“Of course, she does. She’s exuberant and lovely like her fabulous Aunt Katherine,” Kitty gushed in a terrible British accent.
“Uh-huh,” I deadpanned, reaching for the remote.
“And what about you?”
“I’m fine.”
Kitty huffed. “Don’t make me work. I’m exhausted, Axe. I’ve been on my feet all day, and they’re killing me. Did I tell you Juan fired Elektra?”
“No.”
“We’re down a girl and yes, the tips are nice, but my whole body aches. And see what I did there? I told you how I am. Now it’s your turn,” she pressed.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“Grr! Gimme something more, or I’ll be on the first flight to California to see for myself.”
I smiled at my friend’s put-upon growl and stared, unseeing, at the car commercial on the TV. “I need another job to tide me through December.”
Kitty sighed dramatically. “You’re still planning on moving to Texas? Why?”
“ ’Cause there’s a real job there, and the idiot cattle owner I’ve been working for just sold his herd to a local rancher today.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah, I can get by with being part-time at the vet’s office, but it’ll be tight, and…” I scrubbed my hand over my face and slipped deeper into the sofa. “That’s a tomorrow problem.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Can you get a bouncer job?” she asked.
“I’m a trained veterinarian, Kit.”
“Sure, but—”
“And even if there were nightclubs nearby, I have a kid. I can’t take graveyard shift and pay a babysitter. I don’t even know a soul yet, and I wouldn’t trust just anyone with Phee.”
Kitty hummed on the line. “I know. Ugh. Why can’t life be easy?”
“Great question.”
“You know what you should do?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I am, because I’m your best pal, and I give a shit.”
Her tone was light but tinged with a familiar hint of frustration. She cared. Not for my sake so much, though. I wasn’t her best pal, but years ago, we’d had a best pal in common, and that bond meant something to Kitty. Which was why I didn’t brush her off or disconnect the call so I could watch TV and turn my brain off for a precious fucking hour.
“I know you do.”
“Good. Then ask the rancher for a job. You know those animals. He’d be stupid not to hire you.”
I’d literally been thinking the same thing all afternoon and all evening, but I argued anyway. It was my default.
“That’s not how it goes.”
“Bullshit. It’s exactly how it goes,” Kitty snapped. “If he says no, tell him to keep you in mind. It’s that easy. And maybe he’ll say yes and you can buy some time and find a job that’s not in Texas.”
“I’m taking that job. I have a kid to think about, Kit. And she needs some stability. I can’t keep uprootin’ her. It’s not right.”
“And you have a score to settle.”
“Maybe,” I conceded.
Kitty was quiet for a long moment. “Have I told you lately that you’re a hardheaded dickwad?”
“Not lately.”
“Well, you are,” she huffed. “Just talk to the other farmer and—”
“Rancher,” I corrected.
“And…be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
Kitty burst into laughter. “You’re horrible! The worst. If it wasn’t for your winning personality—oh, wait. You don’t have one of those, either.”
“Fuck off,” I huffed without heat, smiling in spite of myself.
She snickered merrily. “I’m kidding, doll. I think you’re the bee’s knees. Maybe one day you’ll give yourself some credit and realize that you’re also kind of a rock star.”
“Uh-huh. Well, if I’m Mick Jagger, who’re you?”
“Bruce. I love him,” Kitty gushed.
“Springsteen? Why?”
“Why not? He’s aged well, he’s intelligent, and he’s a responsible family man.”
“How do you know he’s a responsible family man?”
“I read People. I know shit.”
“This conversation is going to strange places. I’m hanging up on you. Bye, Kit.”
“Bye, handsome. Give Phee twenty kisses, and tell her I miss her.”