A Son for the Cowboy
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Sasha Summers
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15.1K
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18
Chapter One
Poppy tucked a brown curl behind her ear and rested her chin on her steering wheel, admiring the denim-clad rear of the big, brawny cowboy peering in the picture window of her newly purchased storefront. Those jeans should be downright illegal. Or the rear that was wearing them should. Something about a nice butt in a work-worn pair of Wranglers got her every time. Hey, she appreciated beauty where she saw it.
“This it, Ma?” Rowdy asked, his sleep-thickened voice ending her ogling.
“This is it,” she said, smiling at her son as she climbed out of her truck. She’d spent hours planning out the remodel for the shop. The place was perfect for what she had in mind, just perfect—oozing country charm, cowboy mystique and simpler times. She could envision shiny belt buckles, bits and bridles in the glass case at the register. The hats and boots along the back wall. Clothing on the left, housewares on the right. Everything cowboy, everything quality and everything unique. With all her contacts from the rodeo circuit, she knew she’d be able to give her patrons the best possible quality. She couldn’t wait to get started. “Want to go inside?”
Rowdy shrugged, unbuckling his seat belt. “Sure.” He yawned, barely waking up. It had been a long car ride and the kids had been as good as gold. Not a complaint among them. A rarity, really.
“What do you two think?” she asked, opening the back door of her four-door diesel truck. “We can poke around, see how the contractor’s doing on the shelving, then go get some breakfast? Then head out to the new place. There’ll be plenty of room to run there.”
Her niece and nephew looked at her, their lack of interest or enthusiasm no longer surprising her.
“Good, let’s go,” she said, pulling the store keys from her pocket and climbing onto the wooden porch.
“Can’t we eat first?” Otis asked.
“Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Dot added.
“Soon we will,” she promised, ignoring the grating tone they used. They tended toward that nasal whine to wear down a person’s resistance until they got what they wanted. Poppy refused to buckle. She was excited—hoped they’d get excited, too.
“Chill,” Rowdy said, less patient than she was. “You just ate a granola bar and an apple. You’re not starving.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, not wanting things to escalate between them. Even if he was right.
“So it’s true? You’re the new owner?” Mr. Cute-Butt Cowboy asked.
She nodded, glancing his way. And stared. No. No. No. This isn’t fair. Not now. Not here. Toben Boone cannot be here.
“I had to see it with my own two eyes.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, smiling, dimples showing. “Poppy White. Out of the saddle and—” his eyes traveled over the kids “—domesticated.” She stared. Speechless.
She was responsible. Domesticated? Why did he make it sound like an insult?
Responsibility was something Toben Boone knew nothing about. Words spun. So many words. None of which mattered. Her heart was thumping, but she didn’t know if it was caused by anger or surprise or panic.
She glanced at her son, but he had his face pressed against the glass—unaware.
“Morning,” she managed, fumbling with the key before opening the door. Rowdy rushed past her and into the shop. Dot and Otis lingered, looking bored, on the wooden plank porch. “Why don’t you go look around?” she said to them. “We’ll go check out the house after we eat. You can unwind for a while there.”
Dot shot her a death glare and Otis sighed before they moved at a glacial pace into the building.
“Those all yours?” Toben asked, watching the two sullen children shuffle inside. His eyebrow cocked up in question.
Damn but he hadn’t changed much. He was clean shaven now, but his jaw was covered in stubble. He was still far too easy on the eyes, with his straw hat cocked forward and jeans that fit like a glove. He still had that...charisma. The first time they’d met, she’d sat on her bar stool and watched him in action. He’d been impressive. Whether he was riding a bronc, dancing to George Strait or picking up a woman, he did so with a confidence that drew the eye. And she knew from firsthand experience that he had every right to be confident.
She shook her head. “Rose, my sister’s.” A sister who needed a vacation, desperately. Nothing like cancer and chemotherapy to realize how precious time was. Rose and Bob had flown to the Bahamas for a romantic two-week getaway, leaving Poppy with their kids. They hadn’t met the halfway mark yet and Poppy’s patience was fading.
Toben nodded, pushing off the doorframe. He seemed bigger, taking up more space. “What brings you to Stonewall Crossing, Poppy? I never figured you for the small-town shopkeeper sort.” He tipped his hat back with his finger and stared down at her with those baby blues.
“Considering how well you knew me?” she asked, refusing to get lost in his eyes. Sure, they’d known of each other on the circuit. But they’d spent ten, maybe twelve, hours together before she’d headed to Santa Fe. And in that time, they hadn’t done a lot of talking.
He chuckled. “What I knew, I liked. A hell of a lot.”
She smiled reluctantly. Sonofabitch that he was, he still had that boyish charm about him. All dimples, blue eyes and blond curls. Hard not to get sucked in. “I’ve got things to do.”
He nodded. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
Around? I hope not. “Sure.” She nodded, stepping inside, and closed the door before he could say anything else.
She leaned against the solid wood for support. It had been seven years since she’d seen Toben Boone. Seven years. A lifetime.
Rowdy’s lifetime.
Her gaze fell on her son. Rowdy stood, hands on his hips, inspecting the shop with interest. He was a good boy, inquisitive and patient. A boy who knew who his father was, because Poppy didn’t believe in secrets or lies. Rowdy had never met him, had never had the chance—before now. And now...she couldn’t bring herself to make the introductions. Her son had his father’s dimples and curls—but unlike his father, Rowdy was a good boy, loyal and honest. And since Toben hadn’t displayed the least bit of curiosity or interest in finally meeting his son, Poppy wasn’t all that eager to rectify the situation.
* * *
TOBEN WALKED TO Pop’s Bakery, unable to shake the odd sensation in his gut. Seeing Poppy threw him off balance.
“What’ll it be?” Carl, the bakery’s owner, asked. “Lola made some fresh blueberry muffins. Bear claws? Ham-and-cheese crescent rolls?”
“How about you set me up with a box.” Toben smiled, leaning on the counter.
“Feeding the boys at the ranch today?” Carl asked. “Might need more than one.”
Toben shook his head. “Figured I’d welcome the new neighbors. Bought out the old hardware store that’s been empty for a while.”
“The barrel racer?” Carl asked. “Renata was pretty excited to be getting rodeo royalty on Main Street.”
Toben nodded. His cousin Renata worked for the city, and she took promoting Stonewall Crossing seriously. There was no doubt Poppy was rodeo royalty. Watching her on her little gray horse had been a thing of beauty. She’d been all business, fluidity and grace, leaning so far forward it was hard to see where horse ended and girl began. Toben had held his breath until they were through the course, mesmerized. Something about her no-nonsense attitude had him twisting for months before he got up the nerve to ask her for a beer.
She’d said no.
“Here ya go.” Carl put a large box on the counter. “You make sure and tell her we’d be happy to lend a hand if she needs anything while she’s getting settled.”
“I will,” Toben said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket.
“Nope.” Carl held up his hand. “On the house. Consider it a housewarming gift.”
“Housewarming?” Lola, Carl’s wife, asked. “Who’s moving?”
“No one. Someone just got here. That barrel racer? Doing the Western-wear shop,” Carl said. “Toben’s taking breakfast to them.”
“Them?” Lola asked. The woman prided herself on knowing everything about everyone in Stonewall Crossing. And new residents meant fresh gossip.
“Just her and her niece and nephews,” Toben offered. “Not exactly country kids, from what I could tell.”
“Got them gadgets in their hands, all computers, never looking up?” Carl sighed. “Don’t understand it.”
Lola patted his shoulder. “Times change, sugar. Well, if she’s got kids with her, you better tell her about the Fourth of July festivities next month. Most kids still like a parade.”
Toben nodded. “Will do.”
“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Carl said.
Lola and Toben looked at him.
“What are you talking about?” Lola asked.
“A housewarming,” Carl said. “Bet Renata’d want to set something up. She was talking about adding more events at the last tourism meeting. A housewarming or welcome to Stonewall might be just the thing.”
“Carl, that’s a great idea. Bring all the shops on Main Street together,” Lola agreed. “I’ll get Renata on the phone.”
Toben nodded, thanked them again and walked out, carrying the large white box with breakfast treats back around the corner. He nodded at those he passed, drawing in the fresh morning air as he walked. It was mid-June in the Hill Country. The summer was in full swing—sultry nights, floating down the river in an inner tube, campfires and cookouts. Soon enough the town would be crowded with tourists who flocked here for the big Fourth of July festivities. The annual parade, a street carnival and the big Stonewall Crossing rodeo. Other than actual rodeo season, this was his favorite time of year.
And this year Poppy White was here.
Poppy’s truck was a monster. It was a giant four-door diesel with a tow package in the bed for pulling horse trailers.
Where was she going to live? There was a small apartment over the shop, but he could guess that wasn’t Poppy’s style. She’d need to be close to her horses, make sure they had room to roam. They were her family. He’d done a lot of digging, trying to figure her out, years back. And if he remembered right, she didn’t have much other family.
He knocked on the shop door and smiled at the boy who opened it.
“Can I help you?” the boy asked, all brash confidence, with boots and a shiny belt buckle.
“Got a breakfast delivery from Pop’s Bakery, right around the corner. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He held the box out.
The boy smiled and stepped aside so Toben could enter. “Thanks, mister. That’s real nice.”
Toben smiled back, struck with a hint of recognition. He placed the box on the counter. “There’s a lot of nice people in Stonewall Crossing. My family’s ranch is here. And they’re all good people.”
“Rowdy—” Poppy stopped.
“He brought breakfast,” the boy said.
“Oh. Thank you.” But Poppy’s posture was anything but appreciative. She looked...spitting mad.
Guess the shock of seeing him again had worn off and she’d decided to be her old prickly self. Considering last time she’d seen him they’d been tangled naked and drifting off into a well-sated sleep, he’d hoped things would be easier between them. Of course, he’d left before they’d had a chance to talk—hell, he’d left before she’d woken up. A box of welcome pastries might not be enough to wipe the slate clean, but it was a start.
“You a cowboy?” the older, sullen boy asked.
“I’d like to think so,” Toben answered.
“If you’re a cowboy, where’s your horse?” the girl asked, hands on her hips. “Don’t real cowboys ride horses?”
“Not all the time,” Toben responded. “Sometimes they drive a truck, like your aunt. She’s a real cowgirl.”
The sullen boy sighed and rolled his eyes.
“She’s the best,” the smaller boy said, smiling at Poppy. “Four-time national champion. Third-fastest barrel-racing time ever. Onetime international champion—”
“Oh my gosh, Rowdy, do we have to hear it again?” the girl asked. “We get it. She’s awesome.” But her tone was so grating and condescending that Toben bristled.
The younger boy glared at the other two. “You don’t get it. Or you’d think it’s awesome, too.”
Toben agreed. “And deserving of respect.” He leveled a hard look at both children.
Poppy placed her hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, offering Toben a small smile. “Thanks for bringing food. I’m hoping once they’re fed, they’ll be a little more civilized.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Toben shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Carl and Lola run the bakery around the corner—Pop’s Bakery. It’s from them. Also wanted me to tell you the town goes big for Fourth of July. Floats, tubing races and a rodeo—”
“Can we go?” Rowdy asked, excited.
“We’ll just have to see.” Poppy’s hand stroked the boy’s cheek. “But I’ll do my best.”
“There’s a table in the back room, Aunt Poppy,” the girl said. “I’ll put the food in there.”
“Thank you, Dot.”
“I can’t wait for them to go home.” Rowdy sighed after the other two had left the room.
“You get to stay longer?” Toben asked.
Poppy shot him a look, her jaw clenched and her posture rigid. What had he said now?
“Nah, we live here now. I’m not going anywhere.” The boy grinned up at her. “Well...maybe I’ll go get something to eat. Okay, Ma?”
Poppy was a mom? The kid was cute enough to have her genes, that was for sure. But then, Poppy was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. He’d heard she was engaged, so maybe she was married now? Or was she raising her son on her own? Surprisingly, he wanted to know.
Poppy grinned at the boy. “Better hurry before they eat it all.”
“Thanks again, mister.”
Toben tipped his hat at the boy. “No problem.”
The boy ran from the room, and Poppy sighed. “Listen, Toben, he hasn’t figured out who you are. I mean, he knows your name—I haven’t kept anything from him. But...I don’t want to spring this on him. I didn’t know you’d be here. Are you staying? I mean... We’ll make it work if you are.” She shook her head. “This doesn’t need to be difficult. Just let me tell him you are...you. Okay?”
Toben stared at her, her words making no sense. “You lost me.”
She glared at him, pure hostility rolling off her tiny frame. “Rowdy knows Toben Boone is his father. But you didn’t introduce yourself so he doesn’t know you are Toben Boone. I’d rather have that conversation with him alone. Like we’ve been for the last six years.”
Toben felt numb all over. “Rowdy?” He swallowed, unable to breathe, to think, to process what the hell she was saying.
“That was Rowdy,” she repeated, her irritation mounting. She looked ready to rip into him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Poppy. But if you’re trying to tell me I’m a...father...” He sucked in a deep breath, his chest hurting so much he pressed a hand over his heart. “Don’t you think you waited a little long to tell me I have a son?”
