A Son For The Cowboy. Sasha Summers
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courthouse, surrounded by old oak and pecan trees and carved benches. It was charming and, according to the property agent who had found the ranch for her, a tourist treasure. She drove along Main Street until they reached Pop’s Bakery. The town was already bustling, making parking scarce.
“Looks crowded,” Mitchell said. “Good sign.”
She parked, smiling as Rowdy bounced out of the truck and toward the shop. Otis and Dot seemed to perk up, too, following Rowdy without dragging their feet.
The smell of cinnamon, coffee and bacon greeted them. Poppy’s stomach growled.
“Hungry?” Mitchell asked, chuckling.
She nodded. She hadn’t eaten much last night.
“Me, too,” Mitchell said. “There’s a table over there.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the table against the far wall.
She went, returning the smiles and nods of the curious residents of Stonewall Crossing. She was curious about them, too. They’d just been seated when a woman approached the table. Tall and blonde, she had bright eyes and an engaging smile.
“Poppy White? Welcome to Stonewall Crossing.” She stuck out her hand. “Renata Boone.”
Poppy felt the blood drain from her face. “Renata Boone?” She shook the woman’s hand. A glance at Rowdy told her he’d missed the exchange.
“You can’t take five steps without running into a Boone in Stonewall Crossing.” An older man joined them. “Carl Stephens, owner of this fine bakery. How you settling in at the old Travis place?”
“Gorgeous country,” Mitchell offered.
Poppy nodded, processing Mr. Stephens’s comments. “There’s some work to be done.”
“Ma’s got big plans,” Rowdy said. “She doesn’t mind work.”
“This is my son, Rowdy. My niece, Dot, nephew, Otis, and Mitchell Lee.” She ruffled Rowdy’s hair.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your breakfast,” Renata said, her attention wandering around the table. “But I’d love to talk to you about participating in the Fourth of July festivities. And rodeo, of course. Maybe even riding in the Grand Entry? It’s a pretty big deal, as you know. Might be a good way to open your shop, if it’s ready by then?” She paused, pulling a card from her pocket. “Anyway, I’d love to visit with you.”
Poppy read the card. Renata Boone, Stonewall Crossing, Director of Tourism. Regardless of who or what she might be to Toben, Poppy needed to make a place for herself here. And Renata Boone would have the connections to make that happen. She smiled at the woman, adding a sincere, “I’d like that, thank you.”
“Taking some kolaches to the guys?” Mr. Stephens asked Renata.
Renata nodded. “Bottomless pits, every single one of them. You know that old saying, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Pretty much true of every Boone I know.” She waved before heading to the counter, collecting her box and leaving the bakery, a little bell ringing as the door closed behind her.
“Take a gander at the menu, I’ll be back to take your order.” Mr. Stephens offered them menus before heading to another table.
Poppy took one, but her focus remained on the pretty blonde woman walking down the cobblestoned sidewalk until she disappeared around the corner. She was a Boone. But where did she fit?
“Ma, can we get pancakes and bacon?” Rowdy asked, drawing her attention.
“Sure,” she agreed. “Sounds good to me, too.”
“Make that three,” Mitchell joined in. “Extra pancakes. And bacon.”
Rowdy laughed, using Mitchell’s favorite joke. “Gotta fill up both legs?”
“You know it,” Mitchell agreed.
Poppy watched the two of them with a smile.
Mr. Stephens returned, his pen hovering over a small notepad. “What’ll it be?”
“I want some grapefruit,” Dot piped up. “Or a cantaloupe and cottage cheese.”
Carl Stephens scratched his head. “A grapefruit I can do—I think.”
Dot sighed, dropping her menu on the table.
“You want a grapefruit over pancakes?” Otis shook his head. “Not me.”
Poppy grinned, watching Dot’s expression waver. Why was she pushing so hard? Determined to be so damn disagreeable?
“The pancakes are real good,” Mr. Stephens said. “And we’ve got some fresh strawberries I can put on top, if you like.”
Dot looked at the older man, smiling slightly. “Yes, thank you.”
Poppy breathed a sigh of relief, finishing their order.
“Oh, and coffee,” Mitchell added. “Lots and lots of coffee. Please.”
“I can do that.” Mr. Stephens smiled, collected the menus and headed back to the counter.
“Well, everyone seems nice enough,” Mitchell said, nodding at the two men at the table opposite them.
Poppy nodded, trying—and failing—to dismiss Renata Boone’s connection to the Boone family. It had been seven years, give or take a few months. It was possible Toben had finally met someone he wanted to settle down with.
She glanced at Rowdy.
For all she knew, Toben was married with kids. Rowdy might have brothers and sisters. She and Toben needed to talk. “When are you thinking of opening the store?” Mitchell asked, effectively redirecting her line of thought.
She shot him a grateful smile. “The sooner, the better. With the Fourth on the horizon, makes sense to have the place open. It’s in decent shape, really. I can take you over—”
“Not again.” Otis sighed. “We spent hours there yesterday.”
“You’re playing your game, anyway,” Rowdy pointed out. “You can do that anywhere.”
“I’d like to see the shop,” Mitchell said.
But Poppy had made her son a promise and she made a point of never breaking them. “Maybe. After we take the horses out for a ride.”
Dot and Otis moaned, but it didn’t matter. Rowdy was smiling ear to ear.
* * *
TOBEN NODDED AS his cousin Renata slid a big box of pastries onto the long table. He poured himself another cup of steaming coffee and sat in the break room off the ranch offices. Considering the ground he had to cover today, he needed more coffee—and some of whatever Renata just carried in.
“You’re looking a little bleary-eyed, Toben.” She patted him on the arm. “No worries—I brought food to help start things on the right foot. My brothers around?”
He nodded, sipping his coffee as he peered into the box of breakfast treats. “Hunter’s in the office. Fisher’s at the vet hospital today.” The sound of crunching gravel and the roar of a diesel engine drew his eye to the front window. “Looks like Archer’s truck just pulled up.” He bit back a curse and swallowed his coffee. It was too early for Archer. He and his cousin, a know-it-all sonofabitch, didn’t always see eye to eye. Yes, Archer was better now that he had Eden and the girls. But when it came to work, he was still the same old insufferable ass he’d always been.
“Pull an all-nighter?” she asked, smiling.
“I wish,” he mumbled, taking a hearty bite out of a sausage pastry.
“Don’t tell me Toben Boone was turned down.” Renata sat in the chair beside him.
He shook his head and rested his elbows on the long wooden table. After he’d forced himself