Her Secret Cowboy. Marin Thomas
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As they navigated the crowds, Marsha looked for a red shirt in the sea of Marlboro men. Ryan inched closer to her side and she wished she possessed a magic wand that could cast a spell on father and son, ensuring their first meeting was the stuff of fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.
“There he is.” The Cash brothers were conversing with a rodeo helper. Will glanced her way and she pasted a smile on her face as she and Ryan approached. If her gaze hadn’t drifted down his body she would have missed the way he tensed when he noticed Ryan.
Will’s brown eyes softened and Marsha’s knees went weak with relief. Father and son hadn’t exchanged a word but the warmth in Will’s gaze gave her hope that the meeting would go smoothly.
Will held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”
“Yes, sir.” Ryan barely squeezed Will’s hand before shoving his fingers inside the pocket of his khaki shorts.
“This is your uncle, Porter,” Will said.
Porter shook Ryan’s hand. “What do you think of the rodeo so far?”
Ryan shrugged.
“How would you like a tour of the cowboy ready area, Ryan?” Will asked.
“While you and your dad do that, I’ll buy your mom a hot dog.” The innocent expression on Porter’s face didn’t fool Marsha. He was helping his older brother finagle time alone with his son.
“How does that sound, Ryan?” Marsha asked.
Another shrug.
“When and where shall we meet up?” she asked.
“How about right here in an hour?” Porter said. “Will and I have a second go-round this afternoon.”
“Sounds good.” Marsha turned away, but Will snagged her arm. She shivered at the feel of his calloused fingers against her skin and an image of the two of them tangled up in the backseat of his pickup flashed before her eyes. Good Lord, she was in big trouble if it only took a simple touch from Will to send her heart slamming into her rib cage. She waited for him to speak. Instead, he released her and said nothing.
Marsha walked off with Porter but after a few yards glanced over her shoulder. Ryan’s gaze was glued to his shoes while Will spoke.
“They’ll be fine,” Porter said as if he sensed Marsha’s urge to rescue her son.
She had no one to blame but herself for putting Ryan in this awkward position and she deserved to suffer right along with him.
* * *
“YOU EVER BEEN to a rodeo before?” Will asked, aware that Ryan had yet to make eye contact with him. Didn’t the kid realize he was nervous, too?
“When I was little, Grandpa and Grandma took me to one.”
Will stared at the top of his son’s head as a swell of emotion—guilt, anxiety, curiosity, wariness and hope—threatened to drown him. He broke out in a sweat at the memory of meeting his own father for the first time. The circumstances had been different—his father had known all along about Will and he hadn’t cared. In this case, Will hadn’t known Ryan existed, but that important detail probably didn’t matter to the teen.
God, he resented Marsha for putting him in this tight spot.
Yeah, right. That’s not what you felt a few moments ago when you touched her.
Ignoring the voice in his head he focused on Ryan, wishing he had a manual on fatherhood—a guide to tell him how to handle this meeting.
A burning sensation attacked Will’s eyes as he realized this might possibly be the most humbling moment of his existence—walking alongside the young man whose life he’d wanted ended before it had begun.
Too late for a do-over. The only path remaining for him and Ryan to travel was the one right in front of them. “C’mon, I’ll show you what goes on behind the chutes.” He changed directions, but Ryan didn’t follow, his gaze avoiding Will’s. Obviously the teen was uncomfortable in his presence.
“If you want, you can text your mom and tell her that you’re ready to leave.” Ryan’s head snapped up and father and son looked each other in the eye. The teen was only a couple of inches shorter than Will. He and his son might not have the same eye color but they shared the same dark eyebrows, hair color and strong jaw.
“I don’t like rodeos,” Ryan said.
The confession stung Will, but he tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that he’d been raised by a single mother and probably hadn’t been exposed to a lot of guy activities growing up. “What do you like to do?” Will motioned for Ryan to move aside when a cowgirl walked a horse past them.
“I read a lot.”
Will didn’t read much because he got headaches from the letters in the words jumping in front of his eyes. In third grade, he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia and had read only enough to get by in his classes and graduate high school. College had never been on his radar. He motioned to a pair of chairs outside the restroom area. After they sat down, he asked, “What kinds of books do you read?”
Ryan’s expression lightened. “My favorite book is The Hobbit.”
Will had heard about the movie but hadn’t seen it. “Who’s your favorite character?”
“Bilbo Baggins. Do you like Tolkien’s writing?”
“Sure,” he lied.
“I read The Lord of the Rings.”
At least Will had seen that movie.
“Tolkien was a professor at Pembroke College in Oxford, England. I want to go to college there, too.”
The arena walls closed in on Will and he changed the subject. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“No.”
“Would you like to? Your uncle Mack works at a dude ranch and he can take us on a trail ride.”
“What’s a trail ride?”
“Natural paths in the desert that horses can easily navigate.”
Ryan shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Do you like fishing? We’ve got a water hole on the farm that—”
“I don’t like fishing.”
“Have you ever fished before?”
“No, but I don’t think I’d like it.”
Will dragged a hand down his face. Finding a common interest with his son was proving difficult. “Do you have any big plans for this summer?”
“Not really. I got a Kindle for my birthday and downloaded a lot of books before we drove out here.”
Will didn’t even know when his son had been born. “When was your birthday?”
“February twelfth.”
“Three days before my birthday.” Ryan didn’t comment. “Besides reading, what other hobbies do you have?”
“I like to play chess with my grandpa.”
Swell. Will played checkers but not chess.
“What grade in school are you?”
“This fall I’ll be a freshman at the high school where Mom teaches.”
Once Marsha had gone off to college in California, Will had lost track of her—not that he’d tried to keep tabs on her whereabouts. He’d assumed she’d had an abortion so he’d moved on. If he’d asked around about her the first year she’d moved away, maybe he’d have learned she’d had a baby.
But you didn’t ask about her.
He