A Son For The Cowboy. Sasha Summers
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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.”
“Not