and she started to cry.
Emma turned her head and rested her cheek on her folded arms. She felt the tears run downhill and tickle her wrist.
Here she was trying to show a young girl how to successfully deal with life, when she'd totally screwed up her own! Who in the world said she was fit to be a mother? Why was it that she had to pass a grueling three-day board examination before she could care for a Schnauzer yet didn't have to demonstrate any aptitude whatsoever to hold the life of a human child in her hands?
Emma swallowed back a sob and shook her head. The look in Leelee's eyes that morning had been such a raw mix of fear and vulnerability that it nearly broke Emma's heart. She knew all too well how it felt to grow up without your mother there to guide you. It was scary as hell. And she didn't have any magic answers for Leelee. In fact, Emma was quite aware she had no idea what she was doing—she was making it up as she went along.
She sniffled and turned over onto the other cheek, blinking back another round of tears.
Then there was Thomas Tobin. How stupid could she have been? It amazed her that she'd actually thought there was something special about that man, that there had been a connection between them. How had she made the mistake of thinking he was interested in her?
The truth was that he was a conflicted jerk and she didn't want anything more to do with him—not that she'd been given much of a choice in the matter.
She knew that at the core of it, the Thomas Tobin two-step was nothing but a typical case of fear-based aggression. In her mind, she pictured him as a big yellow Lab who'd been teased and hurt one time too many, who'd turned mean in an attempt to protect himself.
He had all the classic signs. He answered many of her questions in an indirect manner. He limited his eye contact. He tried not to reveal emotion. He was uncomfortable with physical contact. And he tried to puff himself up with all that stupid macho rugby garbage in an attempt to insulate himself from future hurt. It was his way of saying to the world, "Back off! You really don't want to mess with me!"
Issues? You bet your ass he had issues!
On Monday, she'd have Velvet transfer Hairy's follow-up care to someone else.
She wiped her eyes and thought of that little dog. Poor Hairy. Of all the animal's problems, the biggest was that he was now owned by an emotionally impaired idiot.
Emma straightened up and looked down at herself—a few pieces of hay clung to the old denim shirt straining at her ample chest. Dirt smudged the thighs of her jeans. Horse manure was packed into the thick treads of her barn boots. She laughed out loud at her own foolishness—why of course Thomas Tobin found you attractive, Miss Horse Offal! How could any man resist such beauty, such panache!
Such a joke!
The ground rumbled beneath her feet and Emma looked up to see Vesta racing toward her, all glossy muscle, speed, and fire. She stopped at the fence, snorted and tossed her head.
Vesta stayed long enough to let Emma briefly stroke the white blaze between her huge, dark eyes. Then she was off again.
As Emma watched the horse, she took a deep breath and made a promise to herself. From here on out, she wasn't going to waste another minute worrying about why she couldn't find a good man to love. Instead, she was going to be like Vesta, and just appreciate having the pasture all to herself, the wind in her hair, making the trip under her own power.
If the right man never materialized, so be it.
And if—miracle of miracles!—he showed up on her doorstep someday, her heart would know him in an instant. He'd be normal. Honest. Kind. He wouldn't lead her on or try to use her to support his bad habits.
He'd be sweet to her. He'd love her just the way she was. He'd respect her.
Emma decided right then that she'd waste no more energy pining for some man to sweep her off her feet—because clearly, once the sweeping part was over she'd end up sprawled on
Emma turned her head and rested her cheek on her folded arms. She felt the tears run downhill and tickle her wrist.
Here she was trying to show a young girl how to successfully deal with life, when she'd totally screwed up her own! Who in the world said she was fit to be a mother? Why was it that she had to pass a grueling three-day board examination before she could care for a Schnauzer yet didn't have to demonstrate any aptitude whatsoever to hold the life of a human child in her hands?
Emma swallowed back a sob and shook her head. The look in Leelee's eyes that morning had been such a raw mix of fear and vulnerability that it nearly broke Emma's heart. She knew all too well how it felt to grow up without your mother there to guide you. It was scary as hell. And she didn't have any magic answers for Leelee. In fact, Emma was quite aware she had no idea what she was doing—she was making it up as she went along.
She sniffled and turned over onto the other cheek, blinking back another round of tears.
Then there was Thomas Tobin. How stupid could she have been? It amazed her that she'd actually thought there was something special about that man, that there had been a connection between them. How had she made the mistake of thinking he was interested in her?
The truth was that he was a conflicted jerk and she didn't want anything more to do with him—not that she'd been given much of a choice in the matter.
She knew that at the core of it, the Thomas Tobin two-step was nothing but a typical case of fear-based aggression. In her mind, she pictured him as a big yellow Lab who'd been teased and hurt one time too many, who'd turned mean in an attempt to protect himself.
He had all the classic signs. He answered many of her questions in an indirect manner. He limited his eye contact. He tried not to reveal emotion. He was uncomfortable with physical contact. And he tried to puff himself up with all that stupid macho rugby garbage in an attempt to insulate himself from future hurt. It was his way of saying to the world, "Back off! You really don't want to mess with me!"
Issues? You bet your ass he had issues!
On Monday, she'd have Velvet transfer Hairy's follow-up care to someone else.
She wiped her eyes and thought of that little dog. Poor Hairy. Of all the animal's problems, the biggest was that he was now owned by an emotionally impaired idiot.
Emma straightened up and looked down at herself—a few pieces of hay clung to the old denim shirt straining at her ample chest. Dirt smudged the thighs of her jeans. Horse manure was packed into the thick treads of her barn boots. She laughed out loud at her own foolishness—why of course Thomas Tobin found you attractive, Miss Horse Offal! How could any man resist such beauty, such panache!
Such a joke!
The ground rumbled beneath her feet and Emma looked up to see Vesta racing toward her, all glossy muscle, speed, and fire. She stopped at the fence, snorted and tossed her head.
Vesta stayed long enough to let Emma briefly stroke the white blaze between her huge, dark eyes. Then she was off again.
As Emma watched the horse, she took a deep breath and made a promise to herself. From here on out, she wasn't going to waste another minute worrying about why she couldn't find a good man to love. Instead, she was going to be like Vesta, and just appreciate having the pasture all to herself, the wind in her hair, making the trip under her own power.
If the right man never materialized, so be it.
And if—miracle of miracles!—he showed up on her doorstep someday, her heart would know him in an instant. He'd be normal. Honest. Kind. He wouldn't lead her on or try to use her to support his bad habits.
He'd be sweet to her. He'd love her just the way she was. He'd respect her.
Emma decided right then that she'd waste no more energy pining for some man to sweep her off her feet—because clearly, once the sweeping part was over she'd end up sprawled on
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