Single All the Way (Single Dads of Dragonfly Lake #2)

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ben

“ Y ou miss her too, don’t you, Nugget?”

Emerson’s black-and-white dog met me enthusiastically as I came out of Betty’s stall Friday night, just as she had when I exited Esmerelda’s and Smoky’s and Bay’s and Freckles’s, pulling a shallow smile from me each time.

Emerson and her kids had been gone for forty-eight hours. My anger had mostly dissipated, but my heart was heavy, and my mood was in the shitter. I didn’t foresee it improving anytime soon.

She’d booked a suite at the Marks Hotel and had herself and Skyler and Xavier packed up within the hour after getting Kizzy’s news. Her kids had shed tears over their grandmother’s postponement, but Emerson had presented their hotel adventure in just the right way.

When she’d seen the melancholy expressions on my girls’ faces, Emerson had brought them in for a tight hug, loving words, and an invitation for a sleepover at the hotel the next night. That had raised Ruby’s and Evelyn’s spirits considerably, but they’d still begged me to let Ruby sleep in Evelyn’s room, in the bed that was still pushed up next to Evelyn’s, for that first night. I’d agreed, hoping they could comfort each other, because I wasn’t at my best.

Last night had been the sleepover. Dropping them off at the Marks, leaving them in Emerson’s care for a night felt like a divorced dad trading off with his ex. It’d been awkward, spring-loaded with a shit ton of emotions just under the surface, and polite exchanges like, How’s the pool? Really nice. The kids love it.

Then I’d come home alone, drunk half a bottle of whiskey, and passed out watching Animal Planet.

Nugget circled me, her manic mood revolving largely around me. Emerson had asked me to keep her while they were at the hotel, and naturally I’d said yes. But the dog missed her family and seemed to have adopted me as her stand-in person. I was more than okay with that. I needed a stand-in person too, but maybe I was better off relying on dogs.

Yesterday morning, when I’d left the house to do the morning chores, the three dogs had gone out to do their duty as usual, but while my two played and chased around the yard, Nugget had trotted next to me and peered up with sad canine eyes at the barn door. I’d cautiously let her accompany me, unsure how she’d react to the barn cats, horses, and llamas.

The cats hadn’t come out, and Nugget showed a healthy respect for the large animals, content to wait outside each stall for me. That reunion after each one was becoming the highlight of my days. I squatted down and scratched her ears and sweet-talked her.

“Who’s my best barn helper, huh? Yes, who’s a good girl?” She licked my face, beside herself from the attention. “She’ll come back for you soon.” I let out a hollow laugh and muttered to myself, “I might be fucking jealous of that.”

After a few more ear scratches and nuzzles, I stood. “Let’s go feed the barn cats.”

This was only the dog’s fourth time “helping” me in the barn, but she already knew to sprint ahead to the container where I kept the cats’ food.

“You’re a natural, Nugs.”

As I scooped out the right amount of dry cat kibbles, the barn door closed. I turned to see Berty bundled up and bearing toward me with purpose.

“What are you doing out here? Am I in trouble?” I asked.

“Not at all,” she said as she reached me and gave Nugget a pat. “Just wanted to check on you and talk a bit without little ears around.”

“Are the kids done with the chickens?”

“They’re back inside. I’ve got them up in Evelyn’s room wrapping their presents for you. I told them I was going to come divert you,” she said with a conspiratorial grin.

“That sounds a little daunting for me,” I tried to joke. She’d given me space so far, but I’d caught a couple of concerned looks when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Once I’d set down the cat bowls, I walked over to Smoky’s stall and rubbed his neck the way he liked. Berty came over to Smoky’s other side and did the same. Nugget was sniffing something near the hay bales I’d brought down.

“How are you doing, Ben?” she asked in a tone that said this wasn’t small talk.

My answer was a quiet scoff and an “I’m fine.”

“That’s a bunch of hooey, and you know it.”

“I’m a grown man. I can handle a disappointment.” As if sensing I needed support, Nugget trotted over and sat on her haunches at my side. I reached down and patted her head.

“I know you can,” she said, relocating to my other side and putting a caring hand on my arm that rested on the stall wall. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“Me too, Berty. Me too.”

“She’s been through a lot, I know, but running away’s never the answer.”

I grunted in agreement. I didn’t want to talk about the woman who’d broken my heart—again.

“Are you going to tell her you love her?” she asked.

“What makes you think I love her?”

“You do. I can tell. Are you going to deny that?”

Could a man not have secrets from his seventy-four-year-old grandmother? Apparently not when she was in his house every day helping him care for his children.

Nugget nosed my denim-covered leg as if urging me to level with Berty.

“I already told her how I feel,” I finally admitted. “It didn’t do any good. Maybe only served to push her away.”

Berty nodded slowly. “She’s a skittish one.”

I laughed at the word I most often used to describe a horse. “She’s been through a lot of loss in her life. It leaves scars.”

“It sure does.”

Smoky poked his head over to Berty, nuzzling her hand in search of a treat.

“I got nothing for you, boy,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why would he think you might have a treat for him?”

“I surely don’t know.”

“Have you been sneaking apples out here? Carrots?”

A grin stretched across Berty’s face. “You give those llamas cookies. A carrot here and there for these beauties won’t hurt.”

“You softie.”

“Just an advocate for equal treatment.”

I laughed.

“Quit diverting the conversation away from yourself,” she said.

“I thought we were done. I told Emerson how I feel. She left. I’m sad, but I’ll get over it. End of story,” I grumped.

“People have to work through their wounds on their own schedule. Maybe she’ll be motivated to work on healing.”

“I used to hope,” I admitted. Like, last week or so.

I’d gone into our fling with my eyes wide open. She’d been transparent about her limits. I’d genuinely understood. Hell, I’d lost my wife too. I was no stranger to tragic loss. A single one could derail a person for a good long time, never mind the number of losses Emerson had suffered.

I’d hoped though. I’d hoped like hell, in the next few weeks before she moved out, she’d fall in love with me and find the courage to take a chance on a future. But she’d cut our time short, put an end to that chance, and extinguished my hope.

“What are you going to do about Christmas?” Berty asked.

“She said she’ll be back Christmas Eve. That way the kids will all be together to get up at the crack of dawn to see what Santa brought.”

“That makes the most sense.” She went silent for a beat, then asked, “Will that be difficult for you?”

“It sure as hell won’t be a picnic.” Closer to torture. “I’ll get through it just fine. I’ll focus on the kids.”

And wasn’t it fucking ironic that I was back to faking it till I made it as far as Christmas spirit was concerned? I wasn’t at all optimistic I’d feel it in time for Christmas Day.

“I strongly believe if something’s meant to be, it’ll be,” she said with conviction.

Before this, I would’ve said I did too, but I hated the position I was in now. Do nothing. Wait. See.

“I guess the big question is whether Emerson and I are meant to be.”