Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Her lips part, her eyes soften, and for a moment I think she’s going to say the words that have been playing on endless repeat in my head since I called it quits with her yesterday morning.
I think she’s going to say—We can’t walk away from a connection like this, Andrew. We just can’t—but before she can speak, Sarah Beth shouts from upstairs, “Daddy, I can’t find the neck pillow! It’s not in my closet or your closet or anywhere. I think it’s losted!”
Dragging my gaze from Tatum’s, I call back, “That’s okay, honey. Just come downstairs. We’ll let Tatum lie down in the back behind your car seat.” To Tatum, I say, “Come on, Turkey Butt, let’s get you in the car.”
She groans as I scoop her into my arms again. “That can’t be my new nickname. I’ll never live it down. Never.”
Sarah Beth clatters down the stairs, grabbing the water bottle and Ajax before rushing in front of me to open the door to the garage. “What nickname? I want to know.”
“Your dad wants to call me Turkey Butt,” Tatum says. “Because a turkey bit me on my backside.”
Sarah Beth starts giggling hysterically. “What? On the booty?”
“Yes, right on the booty,” Tatum says, playing up the silliness as I open the sliding door on the side of the van. “But you can’t let him call me Turkey Butt, Sarah B. You have to come up with a better nickname. Quick. Before we get to the doctor’s office.”
“Roger that!” Sarah Beth says as Tatum gingerly crawls into the very back seat to lie down. Sarah hops up into her car seat and reaches for the straps without waiting for me to do it for her, the way she usually would. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” she says, clicking the two locks into place. “Tatum taught me how to do it myself. That way I can get out on my own if I ever need to in an emergency, like if there was a car wreck and the person driving was hurted. Girls have to be prepared to take care of themselves sometimes.”
Brows lifting, I agree, “They do.”
Sarah Beth already seems more grown-up and confident after two days with Tatum. I can’t imagine the transformation after a month, or a year.
I kind of don’t want to, honestly. She’s already growing up so fast. A part of me wants my baby girl to stay little as long as possible. But Tatum’s right to teach her how to take care of herself. I never thought to consider what might happen if I was injured in a car wreck and couldn’t get Sarah Beth out of the car to safety.
I also never imagined she was capable of coming up with nicknames like, “Tatum the Red Ninja” or “Queen T the Fairy Tickler.”
But I love them. I love my daughter, more than anything in the world, and don’t want to do anything to put her happiness at risk.
But I’m also starting to have very serious feelings for the woman laughing in the back seat, teasing and comforting my daughter even though she feels terrible.
It’s a conundrum. One I’m not sure how to sort out.
Chapter Nine
TATUM
“All good?” I glance over my shoulder, fingers crossed for good news.
I’m lying facedown on an exam bed in Bad Dog’s only urgent care, feeling a little better now that the foreign object has been removed from my rear end. “It’s not a tooth, right?” I ask. “No way it could be a tooth because turkeys don’t have teeth. I googled it on the way over to be sure.”
The doctor, a kind-looking older woman with her gray hair cut in a neat bob, glances up from my recently probed bottom with a reassuring smile. “No, it’s not a tooth.” She holds out the tweezers she used to remove the whatever-it-was from my backside. “It’s a corn kernel. Feed corn, to be specific.”
“Corn.” I frown. “So, Kyle was eating before he bit me?”
“Maybe. But more likely he’d swallowed it a while ago and had it stored in his crop. Like you said, turkeys don’t have teeth, so they break down their food in a pouch at the back of their throat with the help of their gizzard.”
“Gizzard is a funny word,” I say, feeling a little loopy after the painkillers she gave me before we got started.
She nods. “It is.” She plunks the corn kernel in a sterling silver bowl on the rolling cart beside the exam table. “I’m guessing Kyle was already digesting this kernel, exposing it to bacteria in his digestive tract, and therefore making your wound much more likely to get infected.” She rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “But you’re all cleaned up now and a round of antibiotics will take care of this. You’re going to live, Miss O’Leary. I’ll tell your family you’ll be right out. Take your time getting dressed.”