She muted the phone and set it down. “I’m too hungry to talk right now.” Which suited him just fine.
He watched as she tucked her long brown curls over her shoulder, resisting the urge to smooth one rebellious strand behind her ear. She was far too graceful for such a no-frills, no-fuss woman. When she moved, he was mesmerized. Toben finished his burger, tried not to stare and listened to the easy conversation between mother and son.
Rowdy was full of such energy and joy. He pulled Toben into the conversation, too. Asking him questions about his favorite rodeo arena, favorite bull and favorite ride. Toben answered, just as eager to fill in some of the blanks as Rowdy seemed to be. His son’s grin, his laugh, the confidence on his young face—watching Rowdy filled Toben with hope. Maybe they could be a family. Maybe this was his chance to be the kind of father he never had.
“You know why a frog is always happy?” Rowdy asked.
He and Poppy shook their heads.
“He eats what’s bugging him.” Rowdy paused, looking back and forth between them. “Get it? Eats what’s bugging him?”
Toben chuckled. Poppy threw back her head, laughing. God, she was beautiful. His gaze slid along her long neck, the slope of her exposed shoulder and the line of her collarbone. He swallowed. She had some sort of power over him—making him sit up, take notice and...want.
He was good at that: wanting things he couldn’t have.
Once dinner was over, he and Rowdy reset the game so Poppy could join in.
“Prepare to lose,” Poppy said, kicking off her boots and sitting on a pillow on the ground.
“It’s good to dream, Ma. Isn’t that what you say?” Rowdy asked, giggling.
Toben shook his head and sat across from them, intrigued by their banter. He’d never had this sort of relationship with a parent. And his mother would certainly never have sat on the floor to play a game with him and his sister. Her lack of motherly affection and attention was all he’d known. By the time he left home, his mother had “warned” both his uncles that Toben was a handful and Tandy too sweet for her own good. Uncle Woodrow had tolerated them, but his suspicious and harsh nature was too much for him. They’d left the West Texas ranch and headed straight to Stonewall Crossing. Thankfully, Uncle Teddy had welcomed them with open arms and Toben had found home.
Poppy smiled as Rowdy lay back, his head in her lap. Her fingers slid through the boy’s curls, gently separating tangles and stroking his temple. It was soothing to watch. He could only imagine how amazing it would feel. He had no doubt that was why Rowdy fell asleep long before the game was over.
“Can I help?” Toben asked when she started to lift their son.
She nodded, letting him carry Rowdy down the hall and into the boy’s bedroom. He held his son close, studying each feature. His fine brows, the slight tilt of his nose, his long eyelashes and his solid weight in Toben’s arms. When Poppy pulled back the covers, he didn’t want to release him.
He stooped, brushing the boy’s curls from his forehead to kiss his brow. He straightened, staring down at him. He’d never felt this way, such pride and hope at what they’d do together, frustration and sorrow at what he’d missed.
Poppy tugged off Rowdy’s boots while Toben stared around the room. Rowdy had a range of things tacked to his wall. He was proud of his rodeoing and the folk he came from. Ribbons and belt buckles were displayed on racks in Plexiglas covers. On the wall were a few newspaper clippings. Pictures of Poppy’s dad in his bull-riding gear. A picture of an old man standing by a pasture fence, clearly irritated at having his picture taken. More pictures of Poppy in the ring. Rowdy, covered in dirt, holding up a ribbon. A picture of Poppy on Stormy, midride and working. And a press shot... He stepped closer, staring at the framed photo. A younger, cockier version of himself smiled back. Close-cropped hair, sporting a pathetic beard and patchy mustache, his lucky hat tucked under his arm. All brash and ego—that Toben had nothing to lose and no care in the world. His goal in life had been to win enough to get the women and earn enough to pay for the party. He read the words written by his own hand and felt sick. “Good Luck and Hold On Tight! —Toben Boone.”
I sent you letters. Letter after letter. Left messages with every woman that answered your phone—left messages so you could reach me. And you sent me an autographed picture.
Poppy’s words filled his ears. His heart lodged in his throat. Tears burned his eyes. He couldn’t move. How many letters had he thrown away unread? How many messages had he deleted unheard? She’d tried to tell him. This was his answer.
“Toben?” Poppy whispered.
He shook his head, fighting the urge to smash his cocky picture into dust. Hate, sadness and near-crippling shame grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go.
She stood next to him, close enough she could whisper. “He loves that picture.”
He glanced at his son, fighting tears, and hurried from Rowdy’s room. The walls seemed to press in on him. Poppy’s words, what she’d tried to tell him... He hadn’t really believed her, hadn’t wanted to believe her. He was the one who’d been wronged. He was the one who hadn’t known about his son... Maybe he hadn’t, but he was beginning to accept it wasn’t from her lack of trying. She’d sent a letter—one of the many letters he never took the time to read—a letter that told him she was expecting his child.
He’d replied with that?
He pushed out the back door, sucking in fresh air. He was an asshole. A selfish sonofabitch.
“Toben?” He heard the crunch of her boots on the gravel behind him.
He held his hand up, shaking his head. He couldn’t talk, not yet, or he’d fall apart.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to go,” he said.
“Okay.” She followed him to his truck.
He pulled open the truck door, desperate for space.
“Toben, wait, please.”
He did. But looking at her, facing her, was hard.
“I just wanted to say thank you.” She was rubbing her arms, her bare shoulders. “For tonight.”
He slammed the truck door. “Thank me?” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Dammit, Poppy. Don’t thank me. Get mad at me. Hate me. Shit.”
Poppy frowned. “You want me to hate you?”
He pointed at the house. “No. I don’t want you to hate me. It’s what I deserve.” He shook his head and pulled the truck door open. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t face her, not right now. He turned on the engine and drove away as fast as he could—angrily wiping at his eyes.
Chapter Ten
“It’s certainly a fixer-upper, now, isn’t it?” Rose stood in the middle of the kitchen, a mix of horror and sympathy on her still-too-thin face. “I guess I can see the potential. But, wow, there’s a lot to be done.”
Poppy didn’t argue. She liked the white walls, wide-wood-plank flooring and large windows that let in natural light. But there was a fair amount of work to do. From the appliances to the plumbing, new lighting fixtures and a curtain here or there...
“What’s wrong with it?” Bob asked, hands on his hips, already radiating impatience. “Stove, fridge, microwave, sink, dishwasher. It’s a kitchen.”
Poppy pressed her lips tight, refusing to smile. She’d always found Bob’s directness amusing. Rose, however, was unimpressed.
“Did you look at the stove? Honestly, Bob—”
“The fire alarm has gone off lots,” Otis offered. “But the chicken wasn’t burned. Aunt Poppy makes good fried chicken.”
Rose frowned at her. “Fire alarm?”
“It’s an old stove, Rose. The element smokes something fierce. New one should be here in a few days.” Poppy sighed, staring out the window at the wavering skyline. It was hot. So hot the air seemed to shimmer and sway. “Just a little smoke and a lot of n
oise.”
“We figured out how to turn it off with a broom handle.” Dot was proud of this. “We’ve had ice cream. And painted the bathroom in Aunt Poppy’s shop. We learned to ride Cheeto. Oh, and we swam in the river, too.”
Poppy looked at her niece with an approving smile. The girl had a golden hue to her skin. The last week they’d spent a lot of time at the shop and even more time outside. Both Dot and Otis seemed more comfortable around the horses. And they weren’t squeamish about catching grasshoppers for fishing bait anymore—a big victory in her eyes. Putting them on a fishing hook was another matter.
“Swimming in the river?” Bob asked.
“Right down the hill behind the house,” Otis said. “Wanna go? It’s a scorcher out there.”
“A scorcher, huh?” Bob found this hilarious.
“Toben said that,” Dot offered. “He says all sorts of cowboy-y things.”
She glanced at Rowdy, noting his glum expression and knowing why. Any mention of his father upset him. Toben had driven away three days ago and had not bothered to send a text or call his son. He’d left Rowdy to draw his own conclusions about why he’d suddenly disappeared—something that made her want to give Toben Boone a talking-to. Not that it would help. Poppy knew the truth. Toben was scared. He’d been fine when it was all fun and games. But as soon as it got serious, as soon as it got real, he’d bolted. That picture had been too much for the man. Nothing like seeing how devoted his boy was to freak him out. Toben Boone knew nothing about commitment or loyalty.
She ruffled Rowdy’s hair, glancing at her sister. Rose’s eyes were round and her mouth hung open. Poppy knew it was too much to hope the topic of Toben wouldn’t come up over their weekend visit, but she’d hoped, anyway. She wasn’t going to talk about Toben with her sister. She would smile, chat and make sure the next forty-eight hours were as pleasant and conflict-free as possible. “A swim sounds like a good idea, Otis.”
“Too bad Toben’s not here to throw us,” Dot said, leading the charge down the hall, the sound of slamming doors echoing all the way into her clean, white-walled kitchen.
“Kids look good,” Bob said. “Thanks, Poppy.”
“You two look good.” Poppy pointed at them. “Rested. Refreshed.”
Bob placed an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “Long overdue. Might have to turn this into an annual thing—for you and the kids.”
Poppy smiled. Dot and Otis would fight it every year, but she wouldn’t mind. She hoped that, in time, the cousins would forge a bond that would hold their small family together.
“Are they talking about that Toben? Toben Boone? Rowdy’s father?” Rose asked. “You can’t tell me he’s here?”
“He lives here.” Poppy shrugged.
“Oh, Poppy... That’s not why...” Rose glanced at Bob, then leaned forward, whispering, “That’s not why you picked Stonewall Crossing is it? To be close to him? Tell me it’s not.”
“It’s not.” She sighed. “Did you bring your swimsuits?”
“Yep.” Bob took his suitcase handle.
“So I’m supposed to believe this was some sort of accident?” Rose asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?”
Poppy sighed again. “I wanted to move here. I’d been through this sweet town a time or two when I was still riding. It’s... I don’t know... It feels like home.” That had been all the reason she’d needed to trust the property agent to find her the perfect spread. That he’d found a place in less than three weeks told her this was where she and Rowdy were meant to be.
Until Toben Boone showed up on her front porch.
Rose put her hands on Poppy’s shoulders. “Did he explain why he’s ignored his own son all this time? Are you letting him see Rowdy?”
Poppy brushed aside her sister’s touch. “We’re working the details out as we go along. So far, so good. Let’s get the kids to the river and enjoy the day.”
“I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this again,” Rose said, her pale brown eyes glistening. “He’s already hurt you two enough. It doesn’t seem right. Is Rowdy okay?”
Poppy nodded, lying. Right now Rowdy was not okay. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
“We’re in the last bedroom?” Bob asked, steering the wheeled suitcase and Rose to the hallway.
“On the right,” Poppy said.
She stood at the sink, staring out the window, wishing there was a way to fast-forward the weekend. She loved Rose, and she’d wanted to show her sister all the delights of Stonewall Crossing. But now she wondered if that was wise.
“Ma?” Rowdy’s voice. “You coming?”
She spun around, smiling. “Yes, sir.”
He wrinkled up his nose. “Like that?”
She looked down at her jeans and shirt. “Nope.” She smiled. “Give me a sec.” She hurried to change, worried about Rose talking to Rowdy one-on-one. She slipped into her modest two-piece, tugged on an old button-down work shirt and hurried back to the kitchen.
Her phone rang, making Rowdy perk up.
“Hi, Mitchell,” she answered, winking at her son. His disappointment was obvious.
“Hey, yourself. You sound...funny.” The connection crackled. “Not the best service out here, I guess.”
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“We ready?” Bob emerged alone. “Rose is going to rest.”
“That Toben?” Mitchell asked, sounding cool and calm.
“No.” She held up her finger and walked onto the front porch. “Been a few days.”
“Surprise,” Mitchell growled. “So who’s there?”
“Rose and Bob.”
“Guess that means the guest bed’s taken?” he asked.
She smiled, staring out over the pasture. “The couch is soft.”
“Sold,” he said. “I’ll be there in a few hours. You okay?”
She blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t let him get you down, Pops. He’s not worth your time or tears.”
Mitchell was always on her side. “Is that from a song?” she asked.
“Is it? Might be. If not, I’ll write one.” He laughed. “See you soon.”
“Be safe,” she said before hanging up.
Mitchell was very good at cheering Rowdy up. Something her boy needed right now. If she was being honest, he was also a great buffer between her and Rose. Everyone liked Mitchell Lee. Everyone. If she were smart, she’d like him more. Mitchell would never run out on his wife and kid. When his first wife left him—not long before Poppy had finally received Toben’s picture in the mail—he’d been a sad sort. The two of them had bonded over heartbreak and built each other up, cementing a solid friendship in the process. She didn’t know how she’d have survived without him.
“Can we go?” Rowdy asked.
“Definitely,” Poppy said. “Got the sunblock?”
Dot held up the bottle.
“Water bottles,” Otis said, holding them up.
“Towels,” Rowdy said, pointing at Bob and his load of towels.
“Looks like we’re ready,” she said, picking up the inner tubes from the side of the house.
Poppy, Bob and the three kids made their way to the river—all three kids talking at once.
* * *
TOBEN STOOD ON the massive wraparound porch of Ryder Boone’s home. He could hear the giggles and squeals inside. Ryder and his wife, Annabeth, had three boys—twin two-year-olds and an eight-year-old. They were loud, rambunctious kids who made his cousin burst with pride.
He knocked on the door, smiling when three voices yelled, “Door!”
“I’ll get it.” Annabeth was smiling, too. “You didn’t have to knock, Toben. You’re family, after all. Come
on in.” She stepped back. “Watch the toys. The place is booby-trapped.”
He grinned, assessing the floor. He sidestepped a castle, dodged a mountain of teddy bears and almost tripped on a metal sports car.
“Ryder, Toben’s here,” Annabeth called out. To Toben she said, “Can I get you something? Lemonade? Water? Tea?”
Toben shook his head. “I’m good.” He looked down, smiling at Dawson and Emmett. The twins were each clinging to one of his legs, using him as their personal ride. “Looks like I’m getting a leg workout.”
“Who needs a gym?” she asked.
Toben grinned. Annabeth was a beautiful woman. His cousin Ryder was a lucky man. He had it all, wife, kids—he was happy.
“Send him out, will ya, Princess?” Ryder called. “With something to drink, please, ma’am.”
Annabeth poured two glasses of lemonade, handed them to Toben and nodded at the back door. “Boys, let Uncle Toben go help Daddy with the motorcycle.”
“Where’s Cody?” Toben asked, looking for their eldest.
“Shh, Uncle Toben,” Cody called out. “I’m hiding.”
The twins let go, running into the other room in the direction of Cody’s voice, squealing.
Annabeth shook her head and followed the twins into the front room while he headed out the back door.
Ryder’s hands were black with grease. “Cousin.” He nodded. “Feel like making yourself useful?” Toben nodded. He helped Ryder for a full thirty minutes before Ryder asked, “Wanna tell me why you’re here?”
Toben wiped his hands on a shop rag and sat on the metal stool. “I’m in deep.”
Ryder downed the lemonade and stared at him. “Trouble?”
Toben nodded.
“What’s going on?” Ryder sat opposite Toben, wiping his hands.
He wished he could put the jumble of emotions in his head into words. “I don’t know how to be a better man.”
Ryder’s brow creased. “You’re asking me?”
“You and I were on similar paths.” Toben glanced at the house. “Until you met Annabeth.”
A Son for the Cowboy Page 11
