Her Secret Cowboy. Marin Thomas
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for her. They sat in the pew at the front of the sanctuary.
“Is he any good at rodeo?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll find out on Saturday.”
“Do I have to go?”
“Yes.” It would be easy to give in to him, but she held firm.
“Mom? What if I don’t like him?”
Marsha smiled—she’d always been drawn to Will’s brooding personality and good looks. He’d been the quintessential bad boy, the kid with a troubled past, and she’d been the sweet daughter of the local pastor who’d believed she could save him.
“Why are you smiling?” Ryan’s question ended her trip down memory lane.
“I bumped into your father in the school hallway once. All my books went flying.”
“Did he get mad?”
“No, he helped me pick them up.” Then the next day when they’d passed in the hall again she’d said “Hi” but Will had looked right through her.
“You’re weird, Mom.”
“I know.” She stared into Ryan’s blue eyes—the same blue as hers. His light brown hair and square jaw were all Will. A wavy lock fell across his forehead and she brushed it away even though he didn’t like her fussing over him. “Don’t mention meeting your dad to Grandpa.”
“Grandpa doesn’t know who my dad is?”
“No.” She’d taught Ryan from an early age to always tell the truth and she was ashamed that she hadn’t modeled the same behavior.
“What’s his name?”
“Will Cash.”
Ryan’s eyes grew round. “Is he Buck’s brother?”
“Will is Buck’s older brother.”
“Am I supposed to call him Dad?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Is he smart?”
Marsha winced. Ryan’s high IQ skewed the way he viewed the world and people. “I’ve told you before that not all intelligence comes from book learning.”
“Did he go to college?”
“I don’t know.” Marsha didn’t think Will had.
“What’s his job?”
“He’s a construction worker. As a matter of fact, he’s helping to build the new addition on Grandpa’s church.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “I’m going to see him every day?”
“Probably, but he’ll be busy working.”
“I don’t have to help, do I?”
“I hope you’ll pitch in if your grandfather or father asks you to.” The conversation needed to end, before it spiraled downward. “You’re okay then with going to the rodeo?”
“If I have to.”
You have to.
As they walked to the house, Marsha wondered again if she was doing the right thing in bringing father and son together. Ryan was nothing like Will might envision for a son and Will was nothing like Ryan might envision for a father.
Chapter Three
“Ladies and gents, welcome to the thirty-fifth annual Midway Rodeo and Stock Show.”
Applause filled the outdoor arena that held two thousand people. From the corner of her eye Marsha observed Ryan soaking in the atmosphere. He’d been quiet since they’d arrived at the fairgrounds. He was nervous about meeting his father, but all she could do was offer her silent support and be there for him if he needed her.
“When’s he competing?” Ryan asked.
Marsha flipped through the program she’d purchased while the announcer droned on about the history of the rodeo and famous cowboys who’d claimed national titles. “Looks like your father and uncle are up after the barrel racing event.” She pointed to the rodeo workers setting out the barrels in the arena.
“Can I see the bulls before he rides?”
Ryan wasn’t into girls yet and she teased him. “Don’t you want to watch the cowgirls ride?” He rolled his eyes and she laughed. “Let’s look for the livestock pens.” She wasn’t surprised that Ryan found rodeo boring. He wasn’t into sports and his only competition experience came from chess-club matches.
As they approached the livestock pens, Marsha plugged her nose. “Whew, it stinks.”
“The bulls don’t look mean,” Ryan said.
“Maybe not now, but once the gate opens, they turn into ruthless bucking machines.”
“Rodeo’s stupid.”
Oh, boy. Will would not welcome hearing his son’s opinion of the sport. “It’s difficult to appreciate things you don’t have any experience in.”
“Where are the steers they use for team roping?”
She nodded to a barn. “Maybe in there.”
Quite a few cowboys had gathered outside the building but Will and Porter weren’t in the group. So as not to interfere with Will’s concentration, Marsha hadn’t planned on father and son meeting until after the Cash brothers competed. “Let’s buy a bag of popcorn.”
Ten minutes later they found their seats and the announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Ladies and gents, we’re ready to kick off the team-roping event.”
A group of young women dressed in flashy Western clothes and wearing more makeup than a Mary Kay representative stood and cheered. Marsha whispered in Ryan’s ear. “Buckle bunnies.”
“Buckle what’s?”
Most teenage boys drooled over pretty girls in tight T-shirts and skinny jeans, but not Marsha’s son. Ryan would rather bury his head in a book than chase after the opposite sex. As a teacher she appreciated his thirst for knowledge, but as a mother she worried he was missing out on the best part of his youth—first crushes and first kisses. “Buckle bunnies are girls who travel the circuit cheering for the cowboys.”
“Do they cheer for my dad?”
Surprised Ryan had referred to Will as his father, she said, “I don’t know.” As Marsha studied the bunny in front of her—painted-on jeans, rhinestone belt and designer boots—a burning sensation exploded inside her chest. After more than a decade, she still found Will attractive and hated the idea of him being with an empty-headed beauty. She knew from experience that some men were intimidated by smart women, but she refused to play the role of a dumb blonde to land a date.
“Next up in the team-roping competition are the Cash brothers—Porter and Will.”
Ryan watched his father and uncle mount their horses in the boxes on both sides of the chute holding the steer. “Which one is he?”
Back to he again. “Will’s the heeler. He’s going to toss—”
“Yeah, I know. He ropes the steer’s rear legs after the header ropes the animal’s horns.”
Her son and the internet were best friends. Ryan must have researched team roping before they’d hit the road this morning.
“The Cash brothers need to beat the ten-second mark to take over first place,” the announcer said.
The fans quieted and the rodeo helpers readied the chute. Marsha’s eyes remained on Will. At thirty-two he might be one of the older cowboys in rodeo, but he looked sexier today than he had in high school. His crimson shirt hugged his