A Son For The Cowboy

She shot Mitchell a look. “No, he didn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be polite and neighborly, Mitchell. Please.”

He scowled. “Neighborly, Poppy? Him driving in here like he owns the place just feels like having dirt kicked in my face.”

She shook her head, trying not to laugh at his over-the-top reaction. “No one’s kicking dirt in anyone’s face.”

Mitchell’s scowl didn’t ease, so Poppy nudged him in the side. “Lighten up. No matter what, you hold a special place in Rowdy’s heart. You know that.”

His expression softened then, his attention shifting to her son. She never doubted Mitchell loved her boy. Mitchell’s way with words and deep, resonant voice made him one of the most sought-after rodeo emcees—taking him out of the country a handful of times. But he always seemed to find time for them. In a way, Mitchell was Rowdy’s father. A sobering realization when Rowdy’s biological father was currently climbing out of the truck.

“You came!” Rowdy said. “I wanted you to meet Cheeto.”

“He’s here?” Toben asked.

“Mitchell brought him this morning. Man, was he glad to see me.”

Rowdy laughed, and it warmed her through. She wasn’t going to worry over why he was laughing. For now, she’d accept that Toben wanted to know their son. And be ready to ease Rowdy’s loss when Toben moved on. The Toben Boone she’d known had been a restless soul. He was always talking about the next town, the next rodeo, the next prize...the next woman. He’d had no interest in planting roots or making commitments.

Maybe it was her? Maybe committing to her, to their son, was the reason he’d turned his back on her—on them both.

It’s been seven years. People change.

But that sounded too good to be true.

“Evening,” Toben said, tipping his hat.

“Toben,” she said. “This is Mitchell Lee. Mitchell, Toben Boone. Well, you might know each other from the circuit?”

Toben’s eyes tightened a little, his blue gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of them before he held out his hand. “The emcee? I remember you,” Toben said, offering a tight smile.

“That’s me,” Mitchell agreed, his tone anything but welcoming. “I remember you, too.”

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Everything about Toben stiffened. From his back to his jaw, he bristled. Poppy bit back her irritation. At least they shook hands, even if the tension between them was so thick it might just knock them both to the ground.

“Wanna meet him?” Rowdy asked, oblivious.

Toben and Mitchell were still sizing each other up, their mutual head-to-toe assessment almost comical. Almost.

“Sure he does,” Poppy said, desperate to end the silent standoff. “Right, Toben? You want to meet Rowdy’s horse?”

Toben’s attention immediately shifted to Rowdy, his posture relaxing and his smile—that damn smile—returning. “Yes, sir. How’d he make the trip?”

“He’s a good traveler,” Rowdy said, kicking a rock. “We were always going somewhere. But not now.” He smiled up at Toben. “We’re here to stay.”

Poppy felt that now-familiar unease settle in her stomach. They had been here to stay. Now she didn’t know what the hell to do. She wanted a place Rowdy could grow up strong and happy, with good friends who watched him grow, helped him become a good man. She’d thought that Stonewall Crossing would be all those things and more.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Toben said. “Did your mom tell you the Boones founded Stonewall Crossing?”

She heard Mitchell snort softly and stepped back, hard, on his toe with the heel of her boot. She didn’t need him complicating a situation that was already far beyond her normal level of complication.

If Toben heard him, and it would be pretty hard to miss, he gave no indication. For that, Poppy was thankful. And confused. Everything about this Toben was confusing and frustrating.

“Really?” Rowdy asked.

Toben nodded. “This place is part of your family. When you come riding at the Boone Ranch, you’ll get to meet a whole passel of aunts, uncles, great-uncles, cousins... You name it.”

Rowdy’s eyes were round. “You mean it’s not just Dot and Otis?” The relief in his voice made the three adults laugh.

“How many kids do you have?” Mitchell asked.

The hard look Toben leveled the man’s way made alarm bells go off. “One,” he answered, running a tentative hand over Rowdy’s riotous curls.

The look of awe on Toben’s face shook Poppy to the bone. The man Poppy had known wasn’t capable of real emotion. He was a player. Life had been a series of games, challenges and conquests. He’d never been careful with his words...or his choice of women. He’d have punched Mitchell by now, or insulted him.

Seeing him standing here looking at Rowdy like he was his whole world wasn’t something Poppy was prepared to handle. “Go on,” she encouraged. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Can he stay for dinner, Ma?” Rowdy asked. “Mitchell’s grilling since the stove keeps catching fire.”

“Not sure I got enough ribs, Rowdy.” Mitchell’s answer was quick.

Toben’s jaw locked, but his attention stayed on Rowdy. “Better not. I like ribs. Might not be enough for you. Or Dot and Otis. Where are Dot and Otis?”

“Video game,” she and Rowdy answered in unison.

Toben shook his head, staring out over the three hundred acres she’d just purchased for her family with an appreciative eye. Poppy nodded. She didn’t get it either. When she’d been their age, she was climbing trees, skipping rocks and riding any animal she could climb onto.

“Let’s go,” Rowdy said, grabbing Toben’s hand and pulling him toward the far pasture. Cheeto was there, waiting for Rowdy, his head resting on the fence line and his ears cocked forward.

Toben kept holding Rowdy’s hand. And her son noticed. His happiness was all she wanted. Maybe...maybe Toben could be a part of that.

“He hasn’t changed much.” Mitchell’s words snapped her out of it.

“What was that?” she asked. “I don’t need you getting territorial, Mitchell. I need you to be my friend. I can’t be worried about you and Toben throwing punches to establish the pecking order around here. I’m the one in charge, got it?”

Mitchell smiled down at her. He was tall, well over six feet. “I hear you, Pops. Don’t get all riled up. I’ll behave.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

“I’ll try. I get that he has a right to know his son. You just promise me you won’t let him worm his way back into your heart, and I’ll leave it alone.”

Poppy stared at Mitchell, horrified. “He was never in my heart—”

“Pops,” Mitchell interrupted. “Come on, now. I was there, remember?”

She glared, then stomped past him and into the house. His heavy footsteps told her he was following. “I don’t know where you come up with this stuff. I wasn’t heartbroken over him. I was heartsick for my baby. There’s a huge difference.” She’d been lying so long there was no way she was going to change her story now.

“Pops.” His tone was soothing.

“Don’t Pops me. Get the grill started while I get this corn cooking. Hopefully, I won’t burn down the damn house.” She turned her back on him, refusing to let the concern in his gray eyes soften her anger.

“Fine, fine.” Mitchell chuckled. “Wish I could skip the preseason exhibition tour. I don’t like leaving y’all alone right now.”

She spun on her heel then, outraged. “Mitchell Lee, we do just fine on our own, thank you. I love it when you visit. Rowdy loves it, too. But don’t think, for one minute, that I can’t manage my life without you.”

Mitchell’s smile grew. “Or any man.”

“Or any man. I have no interest in raising two boys on my own,” she added, snapping.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Mitchell’s smile was entirely too smug.

“See, I told you.” Dot was leaning against the doorway, watching them. “They do act like it.”

“Huh, guess so,” Otis added.

“Act like what?” Mitchell asked.

“You’re married,” Dot answered. “You argue just like our parents. And you’re always around.”

“You gonna marry her?” Otis asked.

Mitchell smiled at Poppy, teasing her and loving every minute of it. “I’ve tried, but she won’t have me.”

Poppy burst out laughing then. He didn’t want to marry a woman he thought of as his sister. “Okay, you two, since you’re here, how about some help setting the table?”

The both groaned, and complained, and argued, but they did it.

“Where’s Rowdy?” Dot asked.

“Yeah, why isn’t he helping out?” Otis joined in, placing each fork on the table with a heavy thump.

“He’s out with Cheeto. Horses need a lot of work.” Poppy continued chopping salad, keeping a close watch on the ears of corn boiling on the stove. So far, the smoke was minimal.

“Mom won’t let us have a pet,” Otis said.

“Because you killed the fish,” Dot explained.

“What happened?” Poppy turned, grabbing the chance to engage with her niece and nephew.

“We each picked out a betta fish. Mine was all pretty and pink and red,” Dot said, folding napkins. “His was boy colored.”

“I didn’t know they wouldn’t get along,” Otis protested. “Who knew fish could do that?”

“That’s why they come in separate cups, Otis. They need their own personal space.” Dot shook her head. “His fish killed my fish and then he was so freaked out he gave his away.”

“Oh.” Poppy frowned. “Poor little fish.”

“And that’s why we can’t have a pet.” Dot shook her head. “It’s your fault, so stop whining about it.”

And just like that, Otis snapped. “Shut up, Dot! I’m sick of you being so bossy.”

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