A Son For The Cowboy. Sasha Summers

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