Page 4 of A Cowboy Holiday

Sydney? Oh…right. She was a pre-K classmate and Phoebe’s new bestie. Apparently, the fellow five-year-old was the height of cool. Sydney had tennis shoes with sparkles, a tree with a tire swing in her front yard, and two cats. She didn’t have a dog, so she lost a point there, but she had a shiny pink backpack and Phoebe loved the polka-dot ribbons in her hair.

I usually grunted or hummed in acknowledgment and tried not to make promises I couldn’t keep. Not to Phee. God knew, I wished I had the means to make every little dream of hers come true.

I’d happily lasso the moon and deliver it with confetti and fairy dust. I’d buy the big house, three dogs, five cats, and the chicken coop. She wouldn’t just have a new mattress and dance classes—I’d get one of those canopy beds like princesses had, and I’d hire a real ballerina with a pretty tutu to show my girl how to twirl like a pro.

Ballet, princess beds, and a barn filled with fluffy animals would have been sweet, but they weren’t on the menu just yet.

We had a reliable albeit humble rental mobile home with a great creekside setup where we could hunt imaginary dragons in the forest, build forts made of branches, and sit on boulders and tell stories while we fished or counted tadpoles lurking in the water.

Maybe it wasn’t sparkly, but we had fun, and living within our means was crucial to survival.

I’d learned all my lessons the hard way, and I’d vowed from the day she was born that Phoebe wouldn’t make my mistakes. Nor would she suffer because of them.

I let her ramble on about Sydney for a bit ’cause I loved the sound of her voice and the funny habit she had of gesturing as she spoke.

Phoebe was a gust of an ocean breeze on a hot summer day. She was laughter in the wind and fireflies at midnight. She was all things beautiful, joyful, and wondrous, and not a single day passed without me thanking my lucky stars for her.

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?”