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“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?”
Chapter Two (#u3f1e65a3-416d-52a9-9ca9-34a25f345976)
Poppy hit Ignore on her phone and shoved the pillow she was holding into a newly purchased, newly laundered pillowcase. Mitchell would call back. He always called back. He was reliable—that was one of the reasons she appreciated him. But talking to Mitchell would lead to tears or anger, neither of which she needed right now. She had to figure out how she was going to tell Rowdy that his father was here. And that his father wanted to meet him.
She gritted her teeth and patted the pillow with more force than needed, still trying to wrap her head around Toben’s disbelief that morning.
“I told you. I sent you letters. Letter after letter. Left messages with every woman that answered your phone—left messages so you could reach me,” she’d said, the remembered humiliation tightening her throat. “And you sent me an autographed picture.”
He’d gripped the counter, his hands white-knuckled. “Poppy, come on. You can’t honestly believe I’d—”
“Why not? Don’t tell me to come on. I was the only woman you hadn’t slept with on the circuit. What sort of expectations should I have had of you?” Her whisper rose. She glanced at the door, hoping the kids couldn’t hear. She started again, softly, in control. “None. Your picture confirmed it. I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.”
“Rowdy is my son?” He stared at her, his jaw tight and his blue eyes raging. “A son I have every right to know.”
She was stunned. “Now you want to know him?”
“I didn’t know he existed until two minutes ago. If I had, you can be damn sure he’d have had his father in his life. He will now. You tell him and you call me. Tonight.” He slammed a business card onto the countertop and stormed out of the shop.
He’d seemed sincerely upset. So much so that she felt a twinge of remorse. No, dammit, she wouldn’t feel regret. She’d tried to reach him—again and again. She hadn’t wanted to raise Rowdy alone. But Toben had never reached out to her. Was she supposed to have tracked him down so he could tell her to her face he didn’t want anything to do with their son?
No. She’d pulled herself up and kept going. She’d had no choice.
“Mom,” Rowdy called from down the hall. “Can I paint it black?”
She laughed. “Your room?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Um, no. That’d be a little too dark.” She shook out the blanket, wincing at the tug in her side. Most days it wasn’t so bad, but sometimes when she turned suddenly, there was still pain. Stretching carefully, she finished making up her bed, thankful she’d had the movers unload everything the day before. Moving boxes and clutter aside, it was nice to have their things in one place. The small house already offered the promise of home for her and Rowdy.
“What about orange?” he called.
She left her bedroom and wandered down the hall to the room Rowdy had claimed. He was standing in the middle of the space, hands on his hips, considering.
“Why orange?” she asked. The house needed a lot of work—a lot. But in time they’d make it their own.
“I like orange.” He smiled at her.
“I like pink, but I’m not painting my bedroom that color.”
He laughed. A flash of Toben sprung to mind. The resemblance between father and son was astonishing. The only difference was Rowdy’s hair and eyes—brown like hers, not his father’s golden locks and blue eyes.
“Maybe one wall. Maybe. Let’s settle in a little first, okay? For now, you’ll have to survive with white walls. Maybe orange curtains?” She hugged him. “Where are your cousins?”
“Guest bedroom, watching movies or playing video games or something.” He shrugged. “When will Cheeto get here?”
Neither one of them liked to be parted from their horses long. “Mitchell’s bringing them up tomorrow,” she reminded him.
Rowdy sighed. “He’s probably missing me.”
“I know he is.” Her son loved his pony. And his pony loved him right back. He followed Rowdy all over, more like a dog than the sturdy spotted pony he was. “You got a minute?” she asked.
He nodded. “Shoot.”
She smiled. “Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this. So I’m just gonna say it, okay?”
“You and Mitchell are getting married?” he asked, a slight frown on his face.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“You were gonna marry him. Dot says he still wants to marry you,” he said. “Real bad. That’s why he’s always around.”
“And he knows I don’t want to get married. Ever. To anyone. He’s my best friend, that’s all.” She waited.
“I feel bad for him, Ma.” Rowdy stared up at her.
“Oh, well, if you feel bad for him, then I’ll marry him,” she teased.
Rowdy laughed. “I don’t want you to marry him. I like him but...”
Exactly. She liked him, valued his friendship, but there was no spark there. She and Mitchell had tried, hoping their friendship could grow into something more. But his proposal had been prompted by her pregnancy and Mitchell’s goodness. His wife had just left him, and he’d been devastated and grieving. And Poppy had needed help. They’d realized it was a mistake a few months later. But instead of losing a fiancé, she’d gained a best friend—one who told it like it was, one she could call if she needed help or share a beer with at the end of a long day. He’d been a fixture since before Rowdy was born. As her friend, nothing more.
She sank onto the corner of his bed, putting thoughts of Mitchell aside. She took a deep breath, smiled and said, “No, what I want to talk about has nothing to do with Mitchell.”
“Okay,” he said, sitting beside her.
“I’ve told you a little about your dad,” she said, her throat constricting.
“Toben Boone.” He smiled up at her.
“Well...” She tucked one of his curls behind his ear. She couldn’t say it... The words stuck in her throat.
“He okay?” Rowdy asked, his brown eyes going wide with concern. “Something happen to him?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “He’s here.”
Rowdy jumped up. “Here? In Stonewall Crossing? Is that why we moved here?”
“I didn’t know he was here. I lost track of him a while back.” Because she’d stopped looking for him, stopped hoping he’d change his mind and want to meet his son.
“Does he know I’m here? Have you talked to him?” Rowdy was so excited he was practically bouncing.
“I have. And so have you,” she said. “The man today with the pastries. That was him.”
Rowdy stared at her. His smile faded, the energy seeming to slowly drain from his body. “Why didn’t he say anything to me?” His shoulders slumped.
She reached for him and pulled him close before continuing. “Toben said he didn’t know about you, Rowdy.”
Rowdy was rigid in her arms. “You told him.”
