IT’S TIME TO DADDY UP!

For retired rodeo queen Poppy White, settling down in the picturesque little town of Stonewall Crossing, Texas, had seemed ideal. Until Toben Boone showed up on her doorstep. It had been a lifetime since their explosive one-night encounter in Cheyenne. Her son Rowdy’s lifetime. And she hadn’t heard a word since.

Toben was still easy on the eyes, still able to set her pulse racing—and still breaking the hearts of buckle bunnies all over the circuit, she had no doubt. But if he thought his boyish cowboy charm, dangerous dimples and baby blues were going to sweep her off her feet again, he was in for a big surprise. A big six-year-old surprise!

“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 seven 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 bad he pressed a hand over his heart. “Don’t you think you waited a little long to tell me I have a son?”

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Stonewall Crossing! The Boones (and I) are happy you stopped by! The brothers might be happily married, but there are plenty of Boones in need of a match.

Toben Boone spent his life avoiding love and commitment, and he didn’t think he was missing a thing. Of course, that’s when love normally comes knocking. Love, in Toben’s case, comes wrapped up in the feisty form of Poppy White. The one woman who made him feel something deep down in his heart.

Poppy White was ready to start her new life off the rodeo circuit. She and her son, Rowdy, can’t wait to make their little farm and Stonewall Crossing home. But running into the sweet-talking, lady-chasing, heart-breaking cowboy that left her high and dry when she needed help most is anything but a pleasant surprise. Having Toben Boone around stirs up all sorts of feelings, some good, some not so good, and she’s not sure what to do about it.

I adore this story—all the passion and hurt and fun and healing warmed my heart. I hope their love story speaks to you, too. Be on the lookout for Tandy’s book this winter. Nothing like a dreamy cowboy to warm things up on a cold night. I love to hear from readers, so drop me an email anytime at sasha@sashasummers.com.

Thanks so much for reading!

Sasha

A Son for the Cowboy

Sasha Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SASHA SUMMERS grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance and travel. Whether it’s an easy-on-the-eyes cowboy or a hero of truly mythic proportions, Sasha falls a little in love with each and every one of her heroes. She frequently gets lost with her characters in the worlds she creates, forgetting those everyday tasks like laundry and dishes. Luckily, her four brilliant children and hero-inspiring hubby are super understanding and helpful.

This is for all the couples that had to fall apart to fall back together again. Love is never easy.

Thank you to my brainstorming partners, Joni Hahn, Marnie Culver and Frances Kiana, and to my amazing, fantastic readers!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

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?”

Chapter Two

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.”

“I did,” she agreed.

“So he’s lying?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, continuing to hug him. “I don’t know what happened. But he does want to meet you.”

Rowdy stepped out of her arms and looked at her, the excitement returning to his eyes. “He does?”

She nodded, her stomach knotting.

“When?”

“What do you think about having him over?” she asked.

Rowdy glanced across the hall at the closed bedroom door. “But Dot. And Otis.” He wrinkled his nose. “I want him to like me.”

“Of course he will like you, Rowdy.” She tried to smile, tried to sound optimistic instead of terrified. “If your cousins are underfoot, it’ll be that much more obvious that you’re awesome.”

Rowdy laughed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Rowdy shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she said, taking Toben’s card from her pocket. “He wanted me to call him when I’d talked to you. Today.”

Rowdy smiled. “I’m glad he wants to meet me. I’ve got lots to tell him.”

Poppy swallowed, fighting back tears. “You do.” She stood, eager to put some distance between them. She didn’t like upsetting Rowdy or getting too emotional in front of him. He was a kid, and while she believed in full disclosure, she was very aware of how things were presented. Rowdy would grow up soon enough, without her putting adult worries on his shoulders. “Need anything?” she asked.

He shrugged. “When’s school start?” he asked.

“It’s only June,” she answered. Rowdy loved school. “You’ll have to suffer through a few more weeks of freedom with me.”

He nodded. “Got time to get Cheeto settled,” he said, opening a box. “And paint the wall orange.” He shot her a grin.

Poppy chuckled and left him, the wooden floor of the hallway creaking loudly. She stopped walking; the squeaking stopped. The floors might take top priority. She took Toben’s card into her bedroom and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She could do this. She didn’t need to worry—Toben just wanted to meet his son. Something he had every right to do. Something she’d wanted for Rowdy in the beginning. Back then she’d hoped Rowdy would tame Toben Boone—show him it was time to grow up and why. But now she knew even less about the man than before. And this man, this stranger, wanted to spend time with her son.

* * *

TOBEN CHECKED HIS phone again. Still nothing. It was almost six. She hadn’t called.

“What’s eating you?” his cousin Deacon asked, swinging the saddle back onto the rack. “You planning to help or are you going to keep standing there staring at your damn phone?”

Toben tucked the phone into his pocket and focused on the task at hand. Once the saddles were stowed, they brushed the horses down, removing any thorns or stickers from their coats and tails. Toben ran his hand down the back of the dapple-gray horse’s left leg. The horse shifted, letting Toben cup the hoof. He used the hoof pick, removing mud and rocks that might bruise the horse and affect its gait. He’d just finished all four hooves when his phone rang.

“Toben here,” he said, stepping away from his cousin and the horses.

“It’s Poppy.” She sounded out of breath. “Would you like to come to dinner with us?”

His anger was instantaneous. “I just want to spend time with Rowdy.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend time with her. He didn’t want to believe she’d keep the boy from him but... How could she have gone so long without telling him?

“If you want to see him, you have to see me,” she returned. “I don’t play games, Toben. Not with my son. You’re a stranger to me and to him.”

“Because of you,” he argued, his tone hard. “I want to see my son.” He heard a thunk and a muffled “Shit” behind him but didn’t turn. “You’ve had him for six years. I’ve known about him for four hours.”

“Then come to dinner.” She paused. “He wants you to come.”

Toben closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the top rail of the stall in front of him. “He does?”

“Yes, he does.” Her voice wavered.

“What’s he like, Poppy? What’s his favorite thing?” he asked. “Does he ride? Like horses?”

“He grew up on fairgrounds and in rodeo arenas. He could ride blindfolded, knows all the rules of every event, knows all my stats. And yours.”

He smiled. At least Rowdy knew who he was. That was something. But it didn’t ease the hurt he felt, the sharp, cutting pain in his chest. “What time?”

“Dinner is at seven thirty,” she said. “But you’re welcome anytime.” He could tell it was hard for her to say those words. Maybe she wasn’t any happier about this than he was. Well, if she could try, so could he. For Rowdy’s sake, he’d mind his temper and try to be some sort of father figure. Whatever the hell that meant.

“Should I bring anything?” he asked, more than a little worried.

“Just yourself. We’ll see you then,” she said and hung up.

Toben stayed where he was, the anger and hurt, joy and loss that churned his insides making him unsteady on his feet.

“You okay?” Deacon asked again, without the heat this time. “’Cause it sounds like you’ve got a hell of a lot to tell me.”

Toben pushed off the fence and turned, shoving his phone into his pocket. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

Toben stood by while Deacon finished the horse’s hooves. He knew he was being a useless fool, but he was in shock—all over again.

When Deacon had turned the horses into their stalls and put the equipment away, Toben followed him from the barn. His gaze traveled over the pens and down the fence line, noting the lights of the Lodge blazing. The Boone Ranch belonged to his uncle Teddy. It was a massive spread that tracked their white-tail deer and exotic-game numbers, housed a large horse refuge, turned a profit raising cattle and ran a top-of-the-line bed-and-breakfast. The Lodge offered down-home cooking, hayrides, horse rides, star tours and bonfires complete with sing-alongs. From the look of it, it was going to be a busy weekend. Business as usual.

But nothing felt usual to Toben.

“Start talking,” Deacon prodded.

“You remember Poppy White?” Toben asked. “Barrel racer?”

Deacon nodded. “How could I forget? You ran from her so fast you left skid marks. Yeah, I remember her. And you being all hangdog for months after.”

“I... We have a son.” The word felt strange on his tongue.

Deacon stopped walking and faced him. “A son?” His smile was wide and anguished.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Toben murmured. Deacon’s family was killed a few years before, leaving Deacon sadder and a lot more isolated than a man should ever be. Toben hated seeing pain in his cousin’s eyes.

“We’re not talking about my life, Toben. We’re talking about yours.”

Toben nodded.

“Why didn’t she tell you? I’d be so pissed—”

“She said she tried.” He shook his head. “I’m plenty pissed but...I have a son. And being pissed at his mother, the person he knows and loves best, would be a big mistake on my part.”

Deacon blew out a slow breath. “What are you going to do?”

“Go to dinner,” he answered. “Sit across the table and try not to stare at him.”

“What’s his name?” Deacon asked.

Toben grinned. “Rowdy.”

“That sounds like your son.” Deacon laughed. “So he’s about six?”

It had been seven years since his night with Poppy. He nodded. “Guess so. I don’t even know his birthday. He’s a good boy, though. From the little I saw of him today.”

“Better clean up,” Deacon said, sweeping Toben with a head-to-toe inspection. “Take some ice cream or a pie. Think Clara was making pies earlier.”

Toben nodded. Pie was good. Boys loved pie. And he wanted to make his boy happy. He wanted to know what made him smile and laugh, what his favorite color was, what he wanted to be when he grew up...everything. He hoped Poppy would realize he had the right to know these things. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d kept Rowdy from him. And that feeling left a nasty, bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Chapter Three

The smoke detector was beeping loudly. Dot was screaming and Rowdy was trying to help find the broom. Poppy stood on the stool, waving packing paper at the smoke detector, hoping the beeping—and the screaming—would stop. The old stove had started smoking as soon as she turned it on. She’d opened the windows and turned on the Vent-A-Hood, but the smoke had still triggered the smoke detector.

“Got it.” Rowdy held the broom up to her.

“Thanks.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to press the reset button with the tiny hook on the end of the broom handle. But the ceiling was high and Poppy’s five feet two inches could stretch only so far. She leaned forward, teetered on the stool and fell.

“Gotcha.” Toben’s arms caught her, preventing her from crashing to the wood floor. “Need a hand?”

He smelled like heaven, even in a smoky kitchen. And his arms, solid and thick, held her as if she weighed nothing. His blue eyes crashed into hers, making her breathless, weightless...and an idiot. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she shrugged out of his arms and stepped back. “Um...” He was handsome—big deal. She wasn’t some young, needy thing—not anymore.

“She can’t reach the reset button,” Rowdy volunteered loudly.

Toben nodded at Rowdy, grinned and took the broom from Poppy. He tapped the button and the room—the kids—fell silent. The cooking element made an ominous sizzle-pop sound, making Poppy suspect the stove might just take precedence over the squeaky floors.

“My ears are ringing,” Dot whined. “It hurts.”

“You’re such a baby,” Otis snapped. “Get over it.”

“You two can set the table.” She spoke calmly, ignoring the exchange.

Dot’s response came quickly. “Why do we have to—”

“Because I asked you to,” she said, her tone never fluctuating. “Thank you. Rowdy, can you see what our guest would like to drink?”

She saw her son’s quick glance at Toben, the bright red patches coloring his cheeks. Her boy was nervous. She looked Toben’s way, hoping he’d see his son’s discomfort. But...Toben looked exactly the same as Rowdy. Red cheeked, nervous, uncertain.

“Sure,” Rowdy said. “Want something to drink?”

“Iced tea?” Toben asked.

“Sweet or unsweet?” Rowdy nodded. “There’s only one right answer.”

She laughed. So did Toben.

“Sweet,” Toben said.

Rowdy nodded. “Yep.”

Toben looked at her, his smile fading, to be replaced by something else. Anger? Sadness? She didn’t know. She didn’t know how to read this man. Not that it mattered. They were going to have to figure this out—together.

“Dinner is edible,” she assured him. “Must have been something on the cooking element and the place started smoking.”

“I brought dessert,” he said, pointing at a pie in the center of the table.

“You cook?” Rowdy asked.

“You made this?” Otis asked. “I’m not eating it. Who are you?”

“Why is he here, Aunt Poppy?” Dot asked.

“Mr. Boone is a friend of mine,” Poppy said. “We used to rodeo together.”

“And he’s my dad,” Rowdy said. The smile he shot Toben made Poppy’s heart melt. Pure, honest, sweet and so full of love.

Toben was equally affected. He nodded at Rowdy. “I am.”

“Huh,” Otis said. “You do look like him. Wow. You look just like him.”

“You’ve got Aunt Poppy’s hair color. And her brown eyes,” Dot argued. “But yeah, other than that.”

“Good thing I’m a good-looking guy,” Toben said, winking at Rowdy.

Rowdy’s laugh filled the room.

“So you two weren’t married?” Dot asked. “That’s wrong.”

“Mom and Dad say you’re not supposed to do...that...until after you’re married,” Otis offered, poking the pie with a fork as he set the table.

“And they’re right,” Poppy agreed, tension mounting.

“So you were married?” Otis pushed.

“Did you make fried chicken?” Toben asked. “It smells like fried chicken.”

“She did.” Rowdy nodded. “It’s my favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Toben agreed, his blue eyes never leaving Rowdy.

Dinner went well. She and Toben did their best to keep conversation from getting too awkward. Which meant preventing Dot and Otis from saying too much. Her niece was almost twelve and Otis was ten, and they knew just enough to make things awkward fairly often. But once dinner was over and she was loading plates into the rickety dishwasher, Rowdy asked, “Can we go for a walk? Just me and...my dad?”

“You...” She broke off. “Where?”

“The barn and back?” Rowdy suggested. “I can show him where Cheeto and Stormy will live.”

She wiped her hands on the dish towel, hoping it hid her shaking. “Sure.”

“We can have pie when we get back?” Rowdy asked, looking up at Toben.

“Toben might have to go. Work starts early on a ranch—”

“Pie after sounds good,” Toben interrupted, not looking at her.

“I want ice cream,” Otis chimed in.

Poppy stared at her sister’s children, disappointed in their lack of manners. “Ice cream, sure. Feel like playing a board game?”

They looked at her like she was the crazy one.

“No?” she asked. “Okay.”

“I’ll play when we get back, Mom,” Rowdy said, walking out of the kitchen.

Poppy served Dot and Otis ice cream, washed the dinner dishes and half-heartedly unpacked a box—her gaze drifting out the window again and again to see Toben and Rowdy side by side. Plaid shirts, straw cowboy hats, well-worn leather cowboy boots and polished belt buckles. But it was more than their matching getups. Her boy was the mirror image of the man.

And she didn’t know how she felt about that.

Then her attention wandered to Toben Boone’s delectable rear. Those jeans. That butt. It was quite a view. She scrubbed the skillet with renewed vigor.

“Aunt Poppy, can we call Mom?” Dot asked. “I miss her.”

“I’m sure she’s missing you, too,” Poppy agreed. “You can call her.”

“Okay,” Dot said, slipping from the table, leaving half of her ice cream untouched and hurrying to the guest bedroom.

“If she’s not going to eat it.” Otis pulled his sister’s bowl closer.

“Is there anything you’d like to do, Otis, now that we’re here?” she asked, sitting across the table from him. “The river’s at the bottom of the hill. We could go tubing.” If the water was up. Considering how hot it had been this afternoon, she’d sit in a puddle if it helped cool things off.

He frowned at her. “Tubing?”

“Float down the river,” she explained. “In an inner tube.”

“Why would we do that?” He spooned ice cream into his mouth. “Isn’t there a pool?”

She stood again and peered out the window. Rowdy and Toben were almost to the barn. “No, there’s no pool here.” Why would she and Rowdy need a pool when the Medina River was practically in their backyard?

“Man, this place stinks.” His spoon clattered in his bowl.

By the time she’d turned around, Otis had joined Dot in the guest room, the floor squeaking with each step. So the house needed more work than she’d realized. But it didn’t stink. She eyed the stove. Okay, maybe it did stink a little. She wiped down the kitchen counter, trying not to stare out the window.

Her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Pops.” Mitchell’s voice was low and soothing.

“Hey, Mitchell, what’s up?”

“Figured I’d check on you all. See if Rowdy’s packed his cousins into an empty moving box and shipped them to Australia or something.”

She laughed. “No. They’re bigger than him, you know?”

“And slower,” he argued. “How’s it going?”

She pushed through the front screen door and sat on the porch swing, sighing. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“No, not right now. I’m too tired.” She yawned.

“You sound it. I’ll be up tomorrow with your babies,” he said. “How’s the town? Land? Just as pretty as the pictures looked?”

Her eyes wandered along the horizon, feathered clouds of cotton-candy pink and vibrant purple streaking across the sky. She stood, perched on the wraparound porch railing, leaning against the thick carved pillar, and stared out over the rolling hills dotted with stubby cedar trees. Sprawling Spanish oaks blew in the evening breeze, a calming sound that eased some of the knots from her shoulders. Rocky outcrops dotted the ground, adding to the rugged beauty of the land. Beyond the clumps of prickly cactus and thistle, Poppy spied the perfect place for a vegetable garden. She had plans for this place—saw a future here for her and Rowdy. “The house is rough but...the property? It’s gorgeous. Prettier than the pictures. I’d have paid a hell of a lot more than what we settled on.”

“That pretty?” He chuckled. “What’s Rowdy think?”

She paused, glancing toward the barn. Rowdy and Toben were talking. Rather, Rowdy was talking, and Toben was listening—wearing a beautiful smile. Her heart twisted sharply, a flare of warning tightening her stomach. Rowdy was her everything. Keeping him safe and happy was her only goal now. She just hadn’t figured on Toben Boone being involved. “He seems pretty happy at the moment.” She only hoped Toben’s interest wasn’t some passing notion. That once the newness of being a father, of having a son, wore off, he wouldn’t break Rowdy’s heart.

* * *

“YOU WERE AN ALL-AROUND?” Rowdy asked.

Toben nodded. In his day, he’d competed in all the rodeo events. And won a pretty penny and more than his fair share of belt buckles in the process. “Used to be. Now only if it’s something I really want to do. A bull or bronc I feel I need to ride. You want to rodeo?”

Rowdy smiled. “Not sure. It’s dangerous sometimes.”

He nodded. “True. You have to be careful. Have good instincts.”

“Ma said her daddy was both and he still ended up dying in the arena.” Rowdy frowned. “She saw it.”

Toben had grown up hearing about Barron White—anyone related to rodeo had. The man was a legend, a true ambassador for the sport. Toben had been at the Houston rodeo the day the man had died, but he hadn’t seen it. To hear about it was bad enough. He glanced at the house, his heart aching for Poppy. She’d seen her daddy gored, trampled in the dirt and dragged from the arena.

“What about your dad?” Rowdy asked.

“Don’t know who he was,” Toben admitted. He looked at the boy, wishing it weren’t true.

“Why?”

Toben chuckled. “My mother won’t tell me.”

“She doesn’t know?”

Rowdy was too young to realize how painful that question was. He meant no offense. But the truth of it stung. “Nope.”

Rowdy nodded. “Sorry.”

Toben placed his hand on Rowdy’s shoulder. “No reason. I’ve got plenty of family to keep me in line.”

“It’s always been me and Mom.” There was no bitterness or sadness, just fact. But his son’s words stoked Toben’s anger. Rowdy was a Boone. He had a family, a big one at that. Something else Poppy’d kept from him.

Rowdy picked up a stick, whacking the thistle flowers as they ambled back down the road. “Aunt Rose comes around now and then but they don’t get along for long.”

“Dot and Otis’s mom?” Toben asked. If the kids were anything like their parents, Toben could easily understand why Poppy and Rose weren’t close.

“Yeah, Aunt Rose and Uncle Bob.” He whacked another thistle. “Uncle Bob’s nice. He always has candy in his pocket. Mitchell, too. Mitchell’s always around, helping me and Ma. He’s real funny.”

Mitchell? Who the hell was Mitchell? What did always around mean, exactly? But then, Poppy was a beautiful woman. It made sense for her to have a man in her life. A man in Rowdy’s life. His anger and frustration pressed hot and heavy against his chest. They were almost to the house and Toben realized he had at least a hundred questions he hadn’t asked. He’d have to make sure they had more time together—soon.

“Good walk?” Poppy asked, curled up on the front porch swing. Toben tried not to stare into her big brown eyes. Instead he focused on her long brown hair, braided over one shoulder. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved blue blouse, her scuffed and worn boots used for work—not for show. She wasn’t about making impressions or putting on airs, he’d always admired that about her. She was Poppy, take her or leave her. The same woman she’d been years ago. The same woman who’d turned his world on its head, put longing in his heart and made him run for the hills.

The mother of his son.

His anger warmed him—and helped him keep his guard up.

“Yep,” Rowdy said, sliding into the swing beside her. “Wish Cheeto was here. Maybe we can go for a ride when he gets here?” he asked Toben.

“Good idea,” Toben agreed, leaning against the porch railing. “Or you two could come out to the ranch tomorrow. I live there, on the Boone Ranch. Work there, too. We’ve got a lot of horses on the place, and the food’s good. Give you a break from cooking. And setting off smoke detectors.” He couldn’t stop his teasing smile.

When she smiled back at him, every inch of him responded.

“I don’t think Dot and Otis are big horse lovers.” She frowned at Rowdy. “They’re leaving soon, though.”

“Not soon enough,” Rowdy grumbled.

He saw that she tried not to laugh but failed. It was the sweetest sound. Free and easy. Like their son. He liked it.

“They’re not the most...agreeable kids, are they?” Toben asked, chuckling. They were a stark contrast to Rowdy, one he was suddenly very thankful to Poppy for. Not that he was ready to feel thankful to her. Not yet.

She shook her head. “When Rose got cancer, everyone just sort of gave them what they wanted to try to cheer them up. Now nothing seems to really make them happy.”

Toben nodded. “She better?” he asked. “Your sister?”

“Yes, much better.”

“Cancer’s a bitch.” He paused, staring at Rowdy, then Poppy. “That just sort of slipped out.”

She nodded at him, her brow arching. “It happens. And, since we’re talking about cancer, I’m fine with it.”

He grinned.

“I’ll get you both some pie,” she offered, disappearing into the house before he could answer.

They all sat on the porch swing, enjoying Clara’s apple pie and the company.

“Can we visit tomorrow night?” Rowdy asked. “Beats sitting at home and watching them play video games.”

Toben looked at Poppy over Rowdy’s head. He saw the indecision on her face, the nervousness. What was she worrying over? Considering how quickly this had come to light, he thought he’d been handling things pretty well. But...it was new for them all. And if he was smart, he wouldn’t start pushing for more time with Rowdy. Yet.

“It’s an open invitation. All you have to do is call, Poppy. And thanks for dinner.” His voice was soft. “For this evening.” He meant it.

Her gaze met his then. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. She was damn beautiful—the mother of his son. A boy he was well on his way to loving. A boy she’d kept from him... His anger tightened his jaw, but her brown eyes held him captive. The longer he stared, the more her wariness faded. And in its place he caught a flash of the fiery woman he’d loved for one night. The woman he’d never quite gotten over.

Chapter Four

“What do you mean, he’s here?” Mitchell stared down at her, hands on his hips, wearing a dazed expression. Poppy had waited to share the news of Toben’s appearance until they were near the barn, away from the house and Rowdy.

She knew exactly what was going through his mind—Mitchell had that sort of face. One of the many reasons she’d never let him get pulled into a poker game: he’d lose his shirt. His openness was something Poppy had always respected about the man. That and his reliability.

“Does he live here?” Mitchell asked, tipping his cowboy hat back on his head. “I mean...hell, Poppy, are you okay with...this?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She’d spent a lot of time wondering that same thing. How had she ended up here? Never in her wildest dreams had she thought they’d end up neighbors. But giving up on something—quitting—wasn’t in her. “I’m still reeling.”

Mitchell blew out a long, slow breath. “And Rowdy?” He shook his head. “After all this time he comes by with pie and wants to play house? I’m not a fightin’ man, but, damn, I’d like to knock that sonofabitch on his ass and—”

“Mitchell!” Rowdy came barreling down the fence line, all smiles.

“Still in your pj’s?” Mitchell squatted by her son, catching him in a hug. “Sleep good?”

Rowdy shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep. Dot and Otis were arguing over their game. And the house...makes noises.”

Poppy glanced back at the house. “We’ll set up the guest rooms today. That way you have your room to yourself and Mitchell’s not stuck on the couch, okay?” Since she couldn’t fix the noises right away—she needed to find a repairman. Soon.

Rowdy nodded, yawning widely. “Sounds like a plan, Ma.”

“How about some pancakes?” Mitchell asked. “I’m starved.”

“Not sure the stove can handle pancakes,” Poppy admitted. “Might not be a bad idea to replace most of the appliances in the place.”

“Saw a little restaurant on the square.” Mitchell glanced at his watch. “Bet we could get some breakfast grub before they stop serving. If you can find some clothes, of course.”

Rowdy’s head turned right, then left. “Okay, but where is—”

“They’re in the barn, Rowdy. Mitchell and I got them situated but you can go say hi real quick,” Poppy interrupted. “We’ll go for a ride after breakfast, okay?”

Rowdy dashed toward the barn, grinning. She was still smiling when she looked at Mitchell. In an instant her smile was gone. The man was staring at her, hard.

“What?” she asked, concerned.

“I don’t trust him,” he said, his voice low.

Poppy’s throat felt tight. She didn’t either.

“I’ve been with you and Rowdy through...everything. Don’t expect me to be all right with this asshole just showing up. Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “What’s his plan? What does he want?”

She stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly talked things through yet.” Something she’d rectify soon. She patted his arm. “For the record, I’m not fine with it either. But what can I do?”

He glanced at her, then at her hand on his arm.

She took a step back and shook her head. “I don’t like the look on your face, Mitchell Lee. So stop it. I’m going to wake my sister’s monsters so we can go eat.” She headed back toward the house, hoping Otis and Dot were already moving. They seemed to prefer staying up and sleeping in—the exact opposite of her and Rowdy’s schedule. “I thought you were coming in tonight,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Yeah, well... Poppy,” Mitchell called out, stopping her. “I like the place.”

She nodded, smiling. “Me, too.”

Dot and Otis were up, fighting over the sink and the toothpaste, the dripping faucet...even the towel. Poppy ignored their bickering, trying not to worry about whatever Mitchell’s look meant. And Rowdy. In the last twenty-four hours, Poppy’s level of anxiety had quadrupled. She wasn’t a worrier; she was a doer. But she didn’t know what to do about this situation.

“Why can’t we just eat cereal?” Otis asked. “It’s too early to go out.”

“It’s nine, Otis,” Poppy said. “And I don’t have any cereal. So we go out or you go hungry.”

“Figures,” Dot murmured. “Way to be prepared.”

Poppy shot her niece a look. “We’ll be more prepared when you help me shop later, Dot.”

Dot’s eyes narrowed and her lips flattened, but she didn’t say anything.

“Who’s ready?” Mitchell asked, standing in the doorway.

“I am,” Rowdy answered. “Starving.”

Poppy followed them outside, reminding herself that she was the grown-up and she needed to keep her temper in check. Dot and Otis’s life had been tough the last year. She knew how difficult it was to see your mom waste away. It took a toll on children, made them harder. But Dot and Otis were lucky, Rose was getting stronger every day. Until their family was reunited, Poppy would continue to be calm and consistent with her niece and nephew—not lose her cool even though she was on edge.

They loaded into her truck, buckled in and drove out the gate of the small ranch she already thought of as home. She listened to Rowdy and Mitchell’s banter as they drove along the winding back roads, admiring the picturesque hills, cedar and stone fences, and lazily grazing cattle. This was beautiful country.

A few homesteads cropped up as they drew closer to town.

Turn-of-the-century homes. Church turrets. A city park with a grand gazebo. Then Main Street led into town square. Stonewall Crossing had a grand 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 to leave Poppy’s place, he’d been unable to sleep. He replayed every second with his son—over and over. He lay in his bunk, his mind racing with questions he wanted answered. Stupid things like Rowdy’s bedtime routine. Did he have one, growing up on the circuit? What was his favorite food? He’d said he liked pie but Toben didn’t know if he was being polite or honest. Did he like rope tricks? Know how to play horseshoes? Was he left-handed, like Toben was?

He wanted to know more. To see more.

Rowdy’s smile. His laugh. He was a fine boy. Poppy had done a good job.

But once he started thinking about Poppy, things got mixed up. It’d be easier if she weren’t...Poppy. But she was. She was the same. And now she was the mother of his son. And while he was undeniably proud of his son, Poppy’s part in this turn of events was a raw and open wound.

He slammed his coffee cup down on the table with unexpected force.

“Still stewing?” Deacon asked, entering the break room and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Archer trailed behind.

“Hush,” Renata said. “I don’t know what’s eating him, but it’s too early to pick. Be nice, boys.”

Toben shot his cousin a grin, accepting the kiss she pressed to his temple.

“Archer, I have an idea,” Renata said. “I know it’s early, but I met Poppy White at Pop’s Bakery today and she might be someone to bring in for next summer’s riding camp. We could finally have an advanced camp, see if she’d agree to teach some tricks, maybe even consider some one-on-one training for future barrel racers?”

Toben sat back in his chair. Here he was hoping he’d catch a break. Couldn’t a man eat his breakfast in peace? He glanced at Archer—curious to hear what his prickly cousin would have to say.

“Poppy who?” Archer asked.

“White.” Renata rolled her eyes. “She’s rodeo royalty, someone that could help the refuge.”

“Why would she want to?” Archer asked, pouring himself some coffee.

“She has a son.” Renata leaned against the counter. “Well-spoken little guy, all manners and smiles. Made me think she might be good with kids.”

Toben was grinning as he stared into his coffee cup. She’d described Rowdy to a T. His boy did have manners. And a smile—his mama’s smile. His grin faded.

“Guess so. If Toben’s okay with it?” Archer asked, peering into the pastry box.

Toben sat up then, leveling a hard stare at Deacon. “Really?” Archer knew? Shit.

Deacon held up his hands. “He heard us talking.”

Archer looked back and forth between them, one brow arching high. “What?”

“I’m missing something.” Renata pushed off the counter, her attention bouncing between the three of them. “What’s going on?”

Archer and Deacon stared at him, clearly intending for him to be the one to share the news.

“You don’t like her?” Renata asked. “I guess you know her from your rodeo days? She seemed perfectly nice to me. So did her son and fella. Good-looking guy and a real cute family—”

Toben stood so fast he bumped his coffee cup onto the floor. He shook his head, mumbling a curse as he hunted down some paper towels. He knew they were watching him, knew he was making a jackass out of himself and knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

So her boyfriend was here, the one Rowdy had mentioned? So what? Shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care. It didn’t change the fact that Rowdy was his son... He needed to make sure Poppy’s fella understood that. He finished wiping up his mess and put the coffee cup in the sink, his chest heavy.

He was a near perfect stranger to his son. Apparently this man wasn’t. He got to have breakfast with him. Might even have the chance to put him to bed. His grip on the counter tightened.

“Toben?” Renata’s voice was concerned. “I’m really sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I didn’t mean to get you all riled up.”

He shook his head, taking his time before he turned to face them. When he did, he tried his best to keep his emotions in check. “You didn’t do a thing, Renata. I did.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” Deacon interrupted. “Normally I’d agree with you.”

“She should have told you,” Archer joined in. “She’s in the wrong. Plain and simple.”

Toben took heart in their support. And let his anger rise.

Deacon read the change in his posture and said, “But what you said yesterday was right—you’ve got to keep a cool head. If you’re wanting to get close to this boy, you can’t make an enemy out of his mother.”

Toben nodded. He knew this. But, damn, he was angry. Furious. At her. And himself.

“I hate to pry here but—”

“I’m her son’s father,” Toben said, answering Renata’s question before she could ask it. “Poppy White’s boy? He’s my son.” Pride welled within him.

Renata’s eyes went round. “Oh...well...” She blinked, the play of emotions on her face almost comical. “You...you didn’t know?”

“She didn’t tell him,” Deacon offered.

Renata slumped back against the counter.

“Wrong. Plain and simple,” Archer repeated, smacking his hat against his thigh. “Gotta get back to the refuge. Think before you act.” He nodded at Toben, grabbed two pastries and headed back to his truck.

“I don’t know what to say,” Renata said. “Does Tandy know?”

Toben shook his head. He hadn’t told his twin sister. He couldn’t. She’d be just as devastated as he was—but for her own reasons. Besides, he didn’t want everyone involved in his business. Having Archer, Deacon and Renata involved was three people too many in his book. “I’m trying to keep some kind of lid on it for now. Hard enough trying to figure things out on my own without getting the family involved.”

“Guess that means I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut?” she asked. “Did you tell Archer that?”

Toben shook his head. “Figured he wouldn’t say much, considering the topic.”

Renata nodded. “Probably right. If it’s not horses or Eden and the girls, he doesn’t have much to say.”

He glanced at the wall clock. “Daylight’s a-wasting.”

“If you’ve got something to do, I can get started without you,” Deacon offered.

His first instinct was to go. He didn’t know who Poppy had in her life or what role he played in Rowdy’s. But if the man had been around for a while, then Toben couldn’t let himself get all fired up about it—in front of Rowdy. “I’m not sure now’s the right time for a visit,” he admitted. “I don’t want to press my luck or do something stupid in the process.”

“I hate to agree with Archer, but...‘think before you act’ is pretty good advice.” Renata hugged him again. “And congratulations. You might not be ready for it yet, but the family’s going to welcome your boy with open arms.”

She was right. The Boones believed in family. And Rowdy was family.

He and Deacon headed out shortly afterward, intent on repairing one of the windmills. A tornado had skirted the ranch a couple of weeks back and the strong winds had damaged two of the blades, throwing off the spin and affecting the entire mechanism. With drought concerns on the rise, the windmill needed to be working so the livestock had plenty of water.

By the time the sun was high, they’d replaced the two blades. They ate a late lunch in the mill’s long shadow, barely a word said between them.

It took effort, but Toben kept all thoughts of Poppy at bay. Rowdy not so much. He wanted to do something with his son—but what? That was the question. How did he make up for six years in a couple of days? It would take time to earn the boy’s trust—he knew that. But patience had never been one of his strengths. If he had it his way, he and Rowdy would jump right into it—father and son. Something he figured Poppy wasn’t ready for.

He pushed aside her image, the lingering sound of her laughter as they’d sat on her porch enjoying pie. He loaded his toolbox into the back of the truck, frustrated all over again.

They headed to the vaccination shed next. Toben’s uncle Teddy, owner of the entire ranch, had plans to vaccinate the cattle next week. It was no small undertaking, something that required working chutes, sturdy pens and all hands on deck. Safety was a top priority on the ranch—for the animals and the employees. A faulty chute or damaged pen could cause disaster. Between him and Deacon, they tested every fence, chute and gate latch that afternoon.

“I’m calling it,” Deacon said, pouring water over the back of his head.

“Tired already?” Toben teased, smiling. They’d worked hard. Uncle Teddy would be happy.

“Damn straight,” Deacon answered. “And hungry. Those were some sad sandwiches you packed.”

Toben laughed. “I didn’t hear you complain when you were eating them.” He climbed in the truck as Deacon made the engine roar to life. He wiped his face with his bandanna and hung his arm out the window. He glanced at the dash. It was only six thirty-five. Not too late to stop by for a visit.

“You going over there?” Deacon asked.

“Thinking about it,” he murmured. All damn day. He’d had a welcome-enough reception the night before. But now that another man was in Poppy’s house, would that still be the case?

Chapter Five

A steady cloud of dust rose up behind the white truck pulling up her drive. It read Boone Ranch on the side—sending Poppy’s stomach into knots and Rowdy running down the steps to meet the truck.

“He call?” Mitchell asked.

She shot Mitchell a look. “No, he didn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be polite and neighborly, Mitchell. Please.”

He scowled. “Neighborly, Poppy? Him driving in here like he owns the place just feels like having dirt kicked in my face.”

She shook her head, trying not to laugh at his over-the-top reaction. “No one’s kicking dirt in anyone’s face.”

Mitchell’s scowl didn’t ease, so Poppy nudged him in the side. “Lighten up. No matter what, you hold a special place in Rowdy’s heart. You know that.”

His expression softened then, his attention shifting to her son. She never doubted Mitchell loved her boy. Mitchell’s way with words and deep, resonant voice made him one of the most sought-after rodeo emcees—taking him out of the country a handful of times. But he always seemed to find time for them. In a way, Mitchell was Rowdy’s father. A sobering realization when Rowdy’s biological father was currently climbing out of the truck.

“You came!” Rowdy said. “I wanted you to meet Cheeto.”

“He’s here?” Toben asked.

“Mitchell brought him this morning. Man, was he glad to see me.”

Rowdy laughed, and it warmed her through. She wasn’t going to worry over why he was laughing. For now, she’d accept that Toben wanted to know their son. And be ready to ease Rowdy’s loss when Toben moved on. The Toben Boone she’d known had been a restless soul. He was always talking about the next town, the next rodeo, the next prize...the next woman. He’d had no interest in planting roots or making commitments.

Maybe it was her? Maybe committing to her, to their son, was the reason he’d turned his back on her—on them both.

It’s been seven years. People change.

But that sounded too good to be true.

“Evening,” Toben said, tipping his hat.

“Toben,” she said. “This is Mitchell Lee. Mitchell, Toben Boone. Well, you might know each other from the circuit?”

Toben’s eyes tightened a little, his blue gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of them before he held out his hand. “The emcee? I remember you,” Toben said, offering a tight smile.

“That’s me,” Mitchell agreed, his tone anything but welcoming. “I remember you, too.”

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Everything about Toben stiffened. From his back to his jaw, he bristled. Poppy bit back her irritation. At least they shook hands, even if the tension between them was so thick it might just knock them both to the ground.

“Wanna meet him?” Rowdy asked, oblivious.

Toben and Mitchell were still sizing each other up, their mutual head-to-toe assessment almost comical. Almost.

“Sure he does,” Poppy said, desperate to end the silent standoff. “Right, Toben? You want to meet Rowdy’s horse?”

Toben’s attention immediately shifted to Rowdy, his posture relaxing and his smile—that damn smile—returning. “Yes, sir. How’d he make the trip?”

“He’s a good traveler,” Rowdy said, kicking a rock. “We were always going somewhere. But not now.” He smiled up at Toben. “We’re here to stay.”

Poppy felt that now-familiar unease settle in her stomach. They had been here to stay. Now she didn’t know what the hell to do. She wanted a place Rowdy could grow up strong and happy, with good friends who watched him grow, helped him become a good man. She’d thought that Stonewall Crossing would be all those things and more.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Toben said. “Did your mom tell you the Boones founded Stonewall Crossing?”

She heard Mitchell snort softly and stepped back, hard, on his toe with the heel of her boot. She didn’t need him complicating a situation that was already far beyond her normal level of complication.

If Toben heard him, and it would be pretty hard to miss, he gave no indication. For that, Poppy was thankful. And confused. Everything about this Toben was confusing and frustrating.

“Really?” Rowdy asked.

Toben nodded. “This place is part of your family. When you come riding at the Boone Ranch, you’ll get to meet a whole passel of aunts, uncles, great-uncles, cousins... You name it.”

Rowdy’s eyes were round. “You mean it’s not just Dot and Otis?” The relief in his voice made the three adults laugh.

“How many kids do you have?” Mitchell asked.

The hard look Toben leveled the man’s way made alarm bells go off. “One,” he answered, running a tentative hand over Rowdy’s riotous curls.

The look of awe on Toben’s face shook Poppy to the bone. The man Poppy had known wasn’t capable of real emotion. He was a player. Life had been a series of games, challenges and conquests. He’d never been careful with his words...or his choice of women. He’d have punched Mitchell by now, or insulted him.

Seeing him standing here looking at Rowdy like he was his whole world wasn’t something Poppy was prepared to handle. “Go on,” she encouraged. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Can he stay for dinner, Ma?” Rowdy asked. “Mitchell’s grilling since the stove keeps catching fire.”

“Not sure I got enough ribs, Rowdy.” Mitchell’s answer was quick.

Toben’s jaw locked, but his attention stayed on Rowdy. “Better not. I like ribs. Might not be enough for you. Or Dot and Otis. Where are Dot and Otis?”

“Video game,” she and Rowdy answered in unison.

Toben shook his head, staring out over the three hundred acres she’d just purchased for her family with an appreciative eye. Poppy nodded. She didn’t get it either. When she’d been their age, she was climbing trees, skipping rocks and riding any animal she could climb onto.

“Let’s go,” Rowdy said, grabbing Toben’s hand and pulling him toward the far pasture. Cheeto was there, waiting for Rowdy, his head resting on the fence line and his ears cocked forward.

Toben kept holding Rowdy’s hand. And her son noticed. His happiness was all she wanted. Maybe...maybe Toben could be a part of that.

“He hasn’t changed much.” Mitchell’s words snapped her out of it.

“What was that?” she asked. “I don’t need you getting territorial, Mitchell. I need you to be my friend. I can’t be worried about you and Toben throwing punches to establish the pecking order around here. I’m the one in charge, got it?”

Mitchell smiled down at her. He was tall, well over six feet. “I hear you, Pops. Don’t get all riled up. I’ll behave.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

“I’ll try. I get that he has a right to know his son. You just promise me you won’t let him worm his way back into your heart, and I’ll leave it alone.”

Poppy stared at Mitchell, horrified. “He was never in my heart—”

“Pops,” Mitchell interrupted. “Come on, now. I was there, remember?”

She glared, then stomped past him and into the house. His heavy footsteps told her he was following. “I don’t know where you come up with this stuff. I wasn’t heartbroken over him. I was heartsick for my baby. There’s a huge difference.” She’d been lying so long there was no way she was going to change her story now.

“Pops.” His tone was soothing.

“Don’t Pops me. Get the grill started while I get this corn cooking. Hopefully, I won’t burn down the damn house.” She turned her back on him, refusing to let the concern in his gray eyes soften her anger.

“Fine, fine.” Mitchell chuckled. “Wish I could skip the preseason exhibition tour. I don’t like leaving y’all alone right now.”

She spun on her heel then, outraged. “Mitchell Lee, we do just fine on our own, thank you. I love it when you visit. Rowdy loves it, too. But don’t think, for one minute, that I can’t manage my life without you.”

Mitchell’s smile grew. “Or any man.”

“Or any man. I have no interest in raising two boys on my own,” she added, snapping.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Mitchell’s smile was entirely too smug.

“See, I told you.” Dot was leaning against the doorway, watching them. “They do act like it.”

“Huh, guess so,” Otis added.

“Act like what?” Mitchell asked.

“You’re married,” Dot answered. “You argue just like our parents. And you’re always around.”

“You gonna marry her?” Otis asked.

Mitchell smiled at Poppy, teasing her and loving every minute of it. “I’ve tried, but she won’t have me.”

Poppy burst out laughing then. He didn’t want to marry a woman he thought of as his sister. “Okay, you two, since you’re here, how about some help setting the table?”

The both groaned, and complained, and argued, but they did it.

“Where’s Rowdy?” Dot asked.

“Yeah, why isn’t he helping out?” Otis joined in, placing each fork on the table with a heavy thump.

“He’s out with Cheeto. Horses need a lot of work.” Poppy continued chopping salad, keeping a close watch on the ears of corn boiling on the stove. So far, the smoke was minimal.

“Mom won’t let us have a pet,” Otis said.

“Because you killed the fish,” Dot explained.

“What happened?” Poppy turned, grabbing the chance to engage with her niece and nephew.

“We each picked out a betta fish. Mine was all pretty and pink and red,” Dot said, folding napkins. “His was boy colored.”

“I didn’t know they wouldn’t get along,” Otis protested. “Who knew fish could do that?”

“That’s why they come in separate cups, Otis. They need their own personal space.” Dot shook her head. “His fish killed my fish and then he was so freaked out he gave his away.”

“Oh.” Poppy frowned. “Poor little fish.”

“And that’s why we can’t have a pet.” Dot shook her head. “It’s your fault, so stop whining about it.”

And just like that, Otis snapped. “Shut up, Dot! I’m sick of you being so bossy.”

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