A Son For The Cowboy

Rowdy sighed. “He’s probably missing me.”

“I know he is.” Her son loved his pony. And his pony loved him right back. He followed Rowdy all over, more like a dog than the sturdy spotted pony he was. “You got a minute?” she asked.

He nodded. “Shoot.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this. So I’m just gonna say it, okay?”

“You and Mitchell are getting married?” he asked, a slight frown on his face.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“You were gonna marry him. Dot says he still wants to marry you,” he said. “Real bad. That’s why he’s always around.”

“And he knows I don’t want to get married. Ever. To anyone. He’s my best friend, that’s all.” She waited.

“I feel bad for him, Ma.” Rowdy stared up at her.

“Oh, well, if you feel bad for him, then I’ll marry him,” she teased.

Rowdy laughed. “I don’t want you to marry him. I like him but...”

Exactly. She liked him, valued his friendship, but there was no spark there. She and Mitchell had tried, hoping their friendship could grow into something more. But his proposal had been prompted by her pregnancy and Mitchell’s goodness. His wife had just left him, and he’d been devastated and grieving. And Poppy had needed help. They’d realized it was a mistake a few months later. But instead of losing a fiancé, she’d gained a best friend—one who told it like it was, one she could call if she needed help or share a beer with at the end of a long day. He’d been a fixture since before Rowdy was born. As her friend, nothing more.

She sank onto the corner of his bed, putting thoughts of Mitchell aside. She took a deep breath, smiled and said, “No, what I want to talk about has nothing to do with Mitchell.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting beside her.

“I’ve told you a little about your dad,” she said, her throat constricting.

“Toben Boone.” He smiled up at her.

“Well...” She tucked one of his curls behind his ear. She couldn’t say it... The words stuck in her throat.

“He okay?” Rowdy asked, his brown eyes going wide with concern. “Something happen to him?”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “He’s here.”

Rowdy jumped up. “Here? In Stonewall Crossing? Is that why we moved here?”

“I didn’t know he was here. I lost track of him a while back.” Because she’d stopped looking for him, stopped hoping he’d change his mind and want to meet his son.

“Does he know I’m here? Have you talked to him?” Rowdy was so excited he was practically bouncing.

“I have. And so have you,” she said. “The man today with the pastries. That was him.”

Rowdy stared at her. His smile faded, the energy seeming to slowly drain from his body. “Why didn’t he say anything to me?” His shoulders slumped.

She reached for him and pulled him close before continuing. “Toben said he didn’t know about you, Rowdy.”

Rowdy was rigid in her arms. “You told him.”

“I did,” she agreed.

“So he’s lying?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, continuing to hug him. “I don’t know what happened. But he does want to meet you.”

Rowdy stepped out of her arms and looked at her, the excitement returning to his eyes. “He does?”

She nodded, her stomach knotting.

“When?”

“What do you think about having him over?” she asked.

Rowdy glanced across the hall at the closed bedroom door. “But Dot. And Otis.” He wrinkled his nose. “I want him to like me.”

“Of course he will like you, Rowdy.” She tried to smile, tried to sound optimistic instead of terrified. “If your cousins are underfoot, it’ll be that much more obvious that you’re awesome.”

Rowdy laughed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Rowdy shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she said, taking Toben’s card from her pocket. “He wanted me to call him when I’d talked to you. Today.”

Rowdy smiled. “I’m glad he wants to meet me. I’ve got lots to tell him.”

Poppy swallowed, fighting back tears. “You do.” She stood, eager to put some distance between them. She didn’t like upsetting Rowdy or getting too emotional in front of him. He was a kid, and while she believed in full disclosure, she was very aware of how things were presented. Rowdy would grow up soon enough, without her putting adult worries on his shoulders. “Need anything?” she asked.

He shrugged. “When’s school start?” he asked.

“It’s only June,” she answered. Rowdy loved school. “You’ll have to suffer through a few more weeks of freedom with me.”

He nodded. “Got time to get Cheeto settled,” he said, opening a box. “And paint the wall orange.” He shot her a grin.

Poppy chuckled and left him, the wooden floor of the hallway creaking loudly. She stopped walking; the squeaking stopped. The floors might take top priority. She took Toben’s card into her bedroom and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She could do this. She didn’t need to worry—Toben just wanted to meet his son. Something he had every right to do. Something she’d wanted for Rowdy in the beginning. Back then she’d hoped Rowdy would tame Toben Boone—show him it was time to grow up and why. But now she knew even less about the man than before. And this man, this stranger, wanted to spend time with her son.

* * *

TOBEN CHECKED HIS phone again. Still nothing. It was almost six. She hadn’t called.

“What’s eating you?” his cousin Deacon asked, swinging the saddle back onto the rack. “You planning to help or are you going to keep standing there staring at your damn phone?”

Toben tucked the phone into his pocket and focused on the task at hand. Once the saddles were stowed, they brushed the horses down, removing any thorns or stickers from their coats and tails. Toben ran his hand down the back of the dapple-gray horse’s left leg. The horse shifted, letting Toben cup the hoof. He used the hoof pick, removing mud and rocks that might bruise the horse and affect its gait. He’d just finished all four hooves when his phone rang.

“Toben here,” he said, stepping away from his cousin and the horses.

“It’s Poppy.” She sounded out of breath. “Would you like to come to dinner with us?”

His anger was instantaneous. “I just want to spend time with Rowdy.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend time with her. He didn’t want to believe she’d keep the boy from him but... How could she have gone so long without telling him?

“If you want to see him, you have to see me,” she returned. “I don’t play games, Toben. Not with my son. You’re a stranger to me and to him.”

“Because of you,” he argued, his tone hard. “I want to see my son.” He heard a thunk and a muffled “Shit” behind him but didn’t turn. “You’ve had him for six years. I’ve known about him for four hours.”

“Then come to dinner.” She paused. “He wants you to come.”

Toben closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the top rail of the stall in front of him. “He does?”

“Yes, he does.” Her voice wavered.

“What’s he like, Poppy? What’s his favorite thing?” he asked. “Does he ride? Like horses?”

“He grew up on fairgrounds and in rodeo arenas. He could ride blindfolded, knows all the rules of every event, knows all my stats. And yours.”

He smiled. At least Rowdy knew who he was. That was something. But it didn’t ease the hurt he felt, the sharp, cutting pain in his chest. “What time?”

“Dinner is at seven thirty,” she said. “But you’re welcome anytime.” He could tell it was hard for her to say those words. Maybe she wasn’t any happier about this than he was. Well, if she could try, so could he. For Rowdy’s sake, he’d mind his temper and try to be some sort of father figure. Whatever the hell that meant.

“Should I bring anything?” he asked, more than a little worried.

“Just yourself. We’ll see you then,” she said and hung up.

Toben stayed where he was, the anger and hurt, joy and loss that churned his insides making him unsteady on his feet.

“You okay?” Deacon asked again, without the heat this time. “’Cause it sounds like you’ve got a hell of a lot to tell me.”

Toben pushed off the fence and turned, shoving his phone into his pocket. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

Toben stood by while Deacon finished the horse’s hooves. He knew he was being a useless fool, but he was in shock—all over again.

When Deacon had turned the horses into their stalls and put the equipment away, Toben followed him from the barn. His gaze traveled over the pens and down the fence line, noting the lights of the Lodge blazing. The Boone Ranch belonged to his uncle Teddy. It was a massive spread that tracked their white-tail deer and exotic-game numbers, housed a large horse refuge, turned a profit raising cattle and ran a top-of-the-line bed-and-breakfast. The Lodge offered down-home cooking, hayrides, horse rides, star tours and bonfires complete with sing-alongs. From the look of it, it was going to be a busy weekend. Business as usual.

But nothing felt usual to Toben.

“Start talking,” Deacon prodded.

“You remember Poppy White?” Toben asked. “Barrel racer?”

Deacon nodded. “How could I forget? You ran from her so fast you left skid marks. Yeah, I remember her. And you being all hangdog for months after.”

“I... We have a son.” The word felt strange on his tongue.

Deacon stopped walking and faced him. “A son?” His smile was wide and anguished.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Toben murmured. Deacon’s family was killed a few years before, leaving Deacon sadder and a lot more isolated than a man should ever be. Toben hated seeing pain in his cousin’s eyes.

“We’re not talking about my life, Toben. We’re talking about yours.”

Toben nodded.

“Why didn’t she tell you? I’d be so pissed—”

“She said she tried.” He shook his head. “I’m plenty pissed but...I have a son. And being pissed at his mother, the person he knows and loves best, would be a big mistake on my part.”

Deacon blew out a slow breath. “What are you going to do?”

“Go to dinner,” he answered. “Sit across the table and try not to stare at him.”

“What’s his name?” Deacon asked.

Toben grinned. “Rowdy.”

“That sounds like your son.” Deacon laughed. “So he’s about six?”

It had been seven years since his night with Poppy. He nodded. “Guess so. I don’t even know his birthday. He’s a good boy, though. From the little I saw of him today.”

“Better clean up,” Deacon said, sweeping Toben with a head-to-toe inspection. “Take some ice cream or a pie. Think Clara was making pies earlier.”

Toben nodded. Pie was good. Boys loved pie. And he wanted to make his boy happy. He wanted to know what made him smile and laugh, what his favorite color was, what he wanted to be when he grew up...everything. He hoped Poppy would realize he had the right to know these things. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d kept Rowdy from him. And that feeling left a nasty, bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Chapter Three

The smoke detector was beeping loudly. Dot was screaming and Rowdy was trying to help find the broom. Poppy stood on the stool, waving packing paper at the smoke detector, hoping the beeping—and the screaming—would stop. The old stove had started smoking as soon as she turned it on. She’d opened the windows and turned on the Vent-A-Hood, but the smoke had still triggered the smoke detector.

“Got it.” Rowdy held the broom up to her.

“Thanks.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to press the reset button with the tiny hook on the end of the broom handle. But the ceiling was high and Poppy’s five feet two inches could stretch only so far. She leaned forward, teetered on the stool and fell.

“Gotcha.” Toben’s arms caught her, preventing her from crashing to the wood floor. “Need a hand?”

He smelled like heaven, even in a smoky kitchen. And his arms, solid and thick, held her as if she weighed nothing. His blue eyes crashed into hers, making her breathless, weightless...and an idiot. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she shrugged out of his arms and stepped back. “Um...” He was handsome—big deal. She wasn’t some young, needy thing—not anymore.

“She can’t reach the reset button,” Rowdy volunteered loudly.

Toben nodded at Rowdy, grinned and took the broom from Poppy. He tapped the button and the room—the kids—fell silent. The cooking element made an ominous sizzle-pop sound, making Poppy suspect the stove might just take precedence over the squeaky floors.

“My ears are ringing,” Dot whined. “It hurts.”

“You’re such a baby,” Otis snapped. “Get over it.”

“You two can set the table.” She spoke calmly, ignoring the exchange.

Dot’s response came quickly. “Why do we have to—”

“Because I asked you to,” she said, her tone never fluctuating. “Thank you. Rowdy, can you see what our guest would like to drink?”

She saw her son’s quick glance at Toben, the bright red patches coloring his cheeks. Her boy was nervous. She looked Toben’s way, hoping he’d see his son’s discomfort. But...Toben looked exactly the same as Rowdy. Red cheeked, nervous, uncertain.

“Sure,” Rowdy said. “Want something to drink?”

“Iced tea?” Toben asked.

“Sweet or unsweet?” Rowdy nodded. “There’s only one right answer.”

She laughed. So did Toben.

“Sweet,” Toben said.

Rowdy nodded. “Yep.”

Toben looked at her, his smile fading, to be replaced by something else. Anger? Sadness? She didn’t know. She didn’t know how to read this man. Not that it mattered. They were going to have to figure this out—together.

“Dinner is edible,” she assured him. “Must have been something on the cooking element and the place started smoking.”

“I brought dessert,” he said, pointing at a pie in the center of the table.

“You cook?” Rowdy asked.

“You made this?” Otis asked. “I’m not eating it. Who are you?”

“Why is he here, Aunt Poppy?” Dot asked.

“Mr. Boone is a friend of mine,” Poppy said. “We used to rodeo together.”

“And he’s my dad,” Rowdy said. The smile he shot Toben made Poppy’s heart melt. Pure, honest, sweet and so full of love.

Toben was equally affected. He nodded at Rowdy. “I am.”

“Huh,” Otis said. “You do look like him. Wow. You look just like him.”

“You’ve got Aunt Poppy’s hair color. And her brown eyes,” Dot argued. “But yeah, other than that.”

“Good thing I’m a good-looking guy,” Toben said, winking at Rowdy.

Rowdy’s laugh filled the room.

“So you two weren’t married?” Dot asked. “That’s wrong.”

“Mom and Dad say you’re not supposed to do...that...until after you’re married,” Otis offered, poking the pie with a fork as he set the table.

“And they’re right,” Poppy agreed, tension mounting.

“So you were married?” Otis pushed.

“Did you make fried chicken?” Toben asked. “It smells like fried chicken.”

“She did.” Rowdy nodded. “It’s my favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Toben agreed, his blue eyes never leaving Rowdy.

Dinner went well. She and Toben did their best to keep conversation from getting too awkward. Which meant preventing Dot and Otis from saying too much. Her niece was almost twelve and Otis was ten, and they knew just enough to make things awkward fairly often. But once dinner was over and she was loading plates into the rickety dishwasher, Rowdy asked, “Can we go for a walk? Just me and...my dad?”

“You...” She broke off. “Where?”

“The barn and back?” Rowdy suggested. “I can show him where Cheeto and Stormy will live.”

She wiped her hands on the dish towel, hoping it hid her shaking. “Sure.”

“We can have pie when we get back?” Rowdy asked, looking up at Toben.

“Toben might have to go. Work starts early on a ranch—”

“Pie after sounds good,” Toben interrupted, not looking at her.

“I want ice cream,” Otis chimed in.

Poppy stared at her sister’s children, disappointed in their lack of manners. “Ice cream, sure. Feel like playing a board game?”

They looked at her like she was the crazy one.

“No?” she asked. “Okay.”

“I’ll play when we get back, Mom,” Rowdy said, walking out of the kitchen.

Poppy served Dot and Otis ice cream, washed the dinner dishes and half-heartedly unpacked a box—her gaze drifting out the window again and again to see Toben and Rowdy side by side. Plaid shirts, straw cowboy hats, well-worn leather cowboy boots and polished belt buckles. But it was more than their matching getups. Her boy was the mirror image of the man.

And she didn’t know how she felt about that.

Then her attention wandered to Toben Boone’s delectable rear. Those jeans. That butt. It was quite a view. She scrubbed the skillet with renewed vigor.

“Aunt Poppy, can we call Mom?” Dot asked. “I miss her.”

“I’m sure she’s missing you, too,” Poppy agreed. “You can call her.”

“Okay,” Dot said, slipping from the table, leaving half of her ice cream untouched and hurrying to the guest bedroom.

“If she’s not going to eat it.” Otis pulled his sister’s bowl closer.

“Is there anything you’d like to do, Otis, now that we’re here?” she asked, sitting across the table from him. “The river’s at the bottom of the hill. We could go tubing.” If the water was up. Considering how hot it had been this afternoon, she’d sit in a puddle if it helped cool things off.

He frowned at her. “Tubing?”

“Float down the river,” she explained. “In an inner tube.”

“Why would we do that?” He spooned ice cream into his mouth. “Isn’t there a pool?”

She stood again and peered out the window. Rowdy and Toben were almost to the barn. “No, there’s no pool here.” Why would she and Rowdy need a pool when the Medina River was practically in their backyard?

“Man, this place stinks.” His spoon clattered in his bowl.

By the time she’d turned around, Otis had joined Dot in the guest room, the floor squeaking with each step. So the house needed more work than she’d realized. But it didn’t stink. She eyed the stove. Okay, maybe it did stink a little. She wiped down the kitchen counter, trying not to stare out the window.

Her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Pops.” Mitchell’s voice was low and soothing.

“Hey, Mitchell, what’s up?”

“Figured I’d check on you all. See if Rowdy’s packed his cousins into an empty moving box and shipped them to Australia or something.”

She laughed. “No. They’re bigger than him, you know?”

“And slower,” he argued. “How’s it going?”

She pushed through the front screen door and sat on the porch swing, sighing. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“No, not right now. I’m too tired.” She yawned.

“You sound it. I’ll be up tomorrow with your babies,” he said. “How’s the town? Land? Just as pretty as the pictures looked?”

Her eyes wandered along the horizon, feathered clouds of cotton-candy pink and vibrant purple streaking across the sky. She stood, perched on the wraparound porch railing, leaning against the thick carved pillar, and stared out over the rolling hills dotted with stubby cedar trees. Sprawling Spanish oaks blew in the evening breeze, a calming sound that eased some of the knots from her shoulders. Rocky outcrops dotted the ground, adding to the rugged beauty of the land. Beyond the clumps of prickly cactus and thistle, Poppy spied the perfect place for a vegetable garden. She had plans for this place—saw a future here for her and Rowdy. “The house is rough but...the property? It’s gorgeous. Prettier than the pictures. I’d have paid a hell of a lot more than what we settled on.”

“That pretty?” He chuckled. “What’s Rowdy think?”

She paused, glancing toward the barn. Rowdy and Toben were talking. Rather, Rowdy was talking, and Toben was listening—wearing a beautiful smile. Her heart twisted sharply, a flare of warning tightening her stomach. Rowdy was her everything. Keeping him safe and happy was her only goal now. She just hadn’t figured on Toben Boone being involved. “He seems pretty happy at the moment.” She only hoped Toben’s interest wasn’t some passing notion. That once the newness of being a father, of having a son, wore off, he wouldn’t break Rowdy’s heart.

* * *

“YOU WERE AN ALL-AROUND?” Rowdy asked.

Toben nodded. In his day, he’d competed in all the rodeo events. And won a pretty penny and more than his fair share of belt buckles in the process. “Used to be. Now only if it’s something I really want to do. A bull or bronc I feel I need to ride. You want to rodeo?”

Rowdy smiled. “Not sure. It’s dangerous sometimes.”

He nodded. “True. You have to be careful. Have good instincts.”

“Ma said her daddy was both and he still ended up dying in the arena.” Rowdy frowned. “She saw it.”

Toben had grown up hearing about Barron White—anyone related to rodeo had. The man was a legend, a true ambassador for the sport. Toben had been at the Houston rodeo the day the man had died, but he hadn’t seen it. To hear about it was bad enough. He glanced at the house, his heart aching for Poppy. She’d seen her daddy gored, trampled in the dirt and dragged from the arena.

“What about your dad?” Rowdy asked.

“Don’t know who he was,” Toben admitted. He looked at the boy, wishing it weren’t true.

“Why?”

Toben chuckled. “My mother won’t tell me.”

“She doesn’t know?”

Rowdy was too young to realize how painful that question was. He meant no offense. But the truth of it stung. “Nope.”

Rowdy nodded. “Sorry.”

Toben placed his hand on Rowdy’s shoulder. “No reason. I’ve got plenty of family to keep me in line.”

“It’s always been me and Mom.” There was no bitterness or sadness, just fact. But his son’s words stoked Toben’s anger. Rowdy was a Boone. He had a family, a big one at that. Something else Poppy’d kept from him.

Rowdy picked up a stick, whacking the thistle flowers as they ambled back down the road. “Aunt Rose comes around now and then but they don’t get along for long.”

“Dot and Otis’s mom?” Toben asked. If the kids were anything like their parents, Toben could easily understand why Poppy and Rose weren’t close.

“Yeah, Aunt Rose and Uncle Bob.” He whacked another thistle. “Uncle Bob’s nice. He always has candy in his pocket. Mitchell, too. Mitchell’s always around, helping me and Ma. He’s real funny.”

Mitchell? Who the hell was Mitchell? What did always around mean, exactly? But then, Poppy was a beautiful woman. It made sense for her to have a man in her life. A man in Rowdy’s life. His anger and frustration pressed hot and heavy against his chest. They were almost to the house and Toben realized he had at least a hundred questions he hadn’t asked. He’d have to make sure they had more time together—soon.

“Good walk?” Poppy asked, curled up on the front porch swing. Toben tried not to stare into her big brown eyes. Instead he focused on her long brown hair, braided over one shoulder. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved blue blouse, her scuffed and worn boots used for work—not for show. She wasn’t about making impressions or putting on airs, he’d always admired that about her. She was Poppy, take her or leave her. The same woman she’d been years ago. The same woman who’d turned his world on its head, put longing in his heart and made him run for the hills.

The mother of his son.

His anger warmed him—and helped him keep his guard up.

“Yep,” Rowdy said, sliding into the swing beside her. “Wish Cheeto was here. Maybe we can go for a ride when he gets here?” he asked Toben.

“Good idea,” Toben agreed, leaning against the porch railing. “Or you two could come out to the ranch tomorrow. I live there, on the Boone Ranch. Work there, too. We’ve got a lot of horses on the place, and the food’s good. Give you a break from cooking. And setting off smoke detectors.” He couldn’t stop his teasing smile.

When she smiled back at him, every inch of him responded.

“I don’t think Dot and Otis are big horse lovers.” She frowned at Rowdy. “They’re leaving soon, though.”