Page 56 of Home Hearts Hooves

“Now, please. You can play with Cuddles again after.”

Dean calls over Cuddles and pops him into the sash to settle.

“Your dad’s right, homework first,” he says, and she nods and grabs her bag.

I mouth, “Thank you,” to him, and he replies with a wink that lifts my spirits ten-fold and any niggling jealousy evaporates.

“What are we working on today?” I ask, and Dean slips out the back.

“I have to read for fifteen minutes, and then do the first page of division,” she says, grabbing out her homework book and a novel that is far thicker than I ever remember reading at her age.

“Did your teacher give you that?”

“No. We get to pick our own books this year. I’ve already read the first two in this series. This is book three.”

“That’s really good. I loved to read when I was growing up, too. How about you read to me?” I ask, and my heart doubles its pace as I wait for her reply. If I’d had the chance to be her dad from when she was born, I would have read to her every night I could. My mom used to read to me as a kid. It was often the same book about a cowboy and his horse travelling the wild outdoors. It didn’t matter that I knew it word for word, I loved hearing her do the voices of the characters and the sound of the horse braying. It would have been nice to have that same connection with my own daughter. I guess if she loves reading, too, even if I am not the reason she loves it, it’s still a connection, right?

“Okay,” she says, tossing a cushion on the floor in the corner beside the playpen we’ve got set up for more active visitors. It’s hard for most pets to stay cooped up in a carrier while they wait for their turn, so this offers a way to pass the time.

I grab another cushion and drop it beside her, then take a seat, stretching my legs out in front of me while I wait for her to start.

“Ready when you are,” I say, and she turns over the book in her hands.

“Willow Farm, Vet Academy Book three,” she reads, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

It’s wonderful listening to her read each page, laughing at the characters, and pausing to tell me about things that she suddenly remembers from the earlier books that I just have to know. It’s only when Mr. Thomas pops in with his cat Fluffy that I realize she’s doubled her reading goal.

“Sorry, Mr. Thomas, I’ll just be a minute,” I say, and Poppy goes to close the book. “No, no, you can finish the chapter. Mr. Thomas and Fluffy won’t mind waiting just a few minutes, will you?” I ask, full well knowing he won’t mind one bit. He’s got seven grandchildren and has told me countless stories of his time with them when he comes home to collect Fluffy after his trips out of town.

“Not at all, go ahead, child,” he says, taking a seat and resting his cat carrier in his lap. “Fluffy loves a good story.”

Poppy opens back up the book, a smile on her face I never want to see her without, and keeps reading. It only takes another five minutes to finish off the chapter, and she slips in the bookmark, not surprisingly covered in cartoon cow faces, and jumps up.

“You have to sign my paper for the pages,” she says as I climb to my feet far slower than she did. I push open the door to the back and call out to Dean.

“Can you come out front for a bit?”

Poppy passes me her reading log sheet, and I grab a pen. “Pages one to twenty-two,” she says, and as I’m jotting down the title and page numbers, I scan the list of books she’s already read this year. It’s all animal titles, and the word vet pops out more than a few times, too.

“What can I help with?” Dean asks, and I sign my name and pass the paper back.

“Poppy’s got to work on her division and I have Fluffy in for a check-up and nail trim. Can you sit out here with her, please?”

He rubs the back of his neck the way he does when he’s a little unsure.

“Nial is the one good with numbers, but I’ll do my best.”

“It’s not hard,” Poppy says. “We did the same sort of questions in class today.” She steps around me and climbs onto the stool behind the counter.

“If you say so, kid,” he replies and gives me a nod.

I take Fluffy back, and as we walk down the hallway, I can faintly hear Poppy explaining division to Dean.

“Think of it like your cows, you have fifteen cows in one pen, but they are really big cows so you want to split them up into three, how many go into each pen?” she asks, and then he replies with a, “hmmm.”

I don’t hear the rest, but when Fluffy is all sorted and we walk out Dean is sorting through a giant stack of files while Poppy is teaching Cuddles to jump over objects she’s placed on the floor like running a sheepdog through an obstacle course.

“Sorry, I thought I’d get a start on these,” Dean says, slipping another file behind a lettered divider in the drawer.

---