Читать книгу Her Secret Cowboy - Marin Thomas - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Ladies and gents, welcome to the thirty-fifth annual Midway Rodeo and Stock Show.”

Applause filled the outdoor arena that held two thousand people. From the corner of her eye Marsha observed Ryan soaking in the atmosphere. He’d been quiet since they’d arrived at the fairgrounds. He was nervous about meeting his father, but all she could do was offer her silent support and be there for him if he needed her.

“When’s he competing?” Ryan asked.

Marsha flipped through the program she’d purchased while the announcer droned on about the history of the rodeo and famous cowboys who’d claimed national titles. “Looks like your father and uncle are up after the barrel racing event.” She pointed to the rodeo workers setting out the barrels in the arena.

“Can I see the bulls before he rides?”

Ryan wasn’t into girls yet and she teased him. “Don’t you want to watch the cowgirls ride?” He rolled his eyes and she laughed. “Let’s look for the livestock pens.” She wasn’t surprised that Ryan found rodeo boring. He wasn’t into sports and his only competition experience came from chess-club matches.

As they approached the livestock pens, Marsha plugged her nose. “Whew, it stinks.”

“The bulls don’t look mean,” Ryan said.

“Maybe not now, but once the gate opens, they turn into ruthless bucking machines.”

“Rodeo’s stupid.”

Oh, boy. Will would not welcome hearing his son’s opinion of the sport. “It’s difficult to appreciate things you don’t have any experience in.”

“Where are the steers they use for team roping?”

She nodded to a barn. “Maybe in there.”

Quite a few cowboys had gathered outside the building but Will and Porter weren’t in the group. So as not to interfere with Will’s concentration, Marsha hadn’t planned on father and son meeting until after the Cash brothers competed. “Let’s buy a bag of popcorn.”

Ten minutes later they found their seats and the announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Ladies and gents, we’re ready to kick off the team-roping event.”

A group of young women dressed in flashy Western clothes and wearing more makeup than a Mary Kay representative stood and cheered. Marsha whispered in Ryan’s ear. “Buckle bunnies.”

“Buckle what’s?”

Most teenage boys drooled over pretty girls in tight T-shirts and skinny jeans, but not Marsha’s son. Ryan would rather bury his head in a book than chase after the opposite sex. As a teacher she appreciated his thirst for knowledge, but as a mother she worried he was missing out on the best part of his youth—first crushes and first kisses. “Buckle bunnies are girls who travel the circuit cheering for the cowboys.”

“Do they cheer for my dad?”

Surprised Ryan had referred to Will as his father, she said, “I don’t know.” As Marsha studied the bunny in front of her—painted-on jeans, rhinestone belt and designer boots—a burning sensation exploded inside her chest. After more than a decade, she still found Will attractive and hated the idea of him being with an empty-headed beauty. She knew from experience that some men were intimidated by smart women, but she refused to play the role of a dumb blonde to land a date.

“Next up in the team-roping competition are the Cash brothers—Porter and Will.”

Ryan watched his father and uncle mount their horses in the boxes on both sides of the chute holding the steer. “Which one is he?”

Back to he again. “Will’s the heeler. He’s going to toss—”

“Yeah, I know. He ropes the steer’s rear legs after the header ropes the animal’s horns.”

Her son and the internet were best friends. Ryan must have researched team roping before they’d hit the road this morning.

“The Cash brothers need to beat the ten-second mark to take over first place,” the announcer said.

The fans quieted and the rodeo helpers readied the chute. Marsha’s eyes remained on Will. At thirty-two he might be one of the older cowboys in rodeo, but he looked sexier today than he had in high school. His crimson shirt hugged his muscular chest and the silver championship belt buckle showed off his lean hips. When other guys in their high-school class were losing their hair and sporting beer bellies, Will was all lean, hard muscle.

“They’ve got the barrier in place across the header’s box.” The announcer chuckled. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss all the action.”

Marsha held her breath when the gate opened and the steer broke through the flag barrier and ran for freedom. Porter swung his rope twice before it sailed through the air and over the steer’s head. Porter turned the animal and Will roped the its hind legs on the first try.

“Well, folks, after adding in the penalty, it looks like the Cash brothers clocked in at thirteen seconds. Better luck next time, cowboys.”

“They’re not very good.” Ryan slouched in his seat.

Marsha felt the urge to defend Will—it wasn’t his fault that she’d put him in a position of having to impress a son he hadn’t known existed until a few days ago—but she held her tongue. Ryan rarely spoke harshly about others. Did he expect his father to find fault with him? Wanting to ease his anxiety she offered him an out. “We can drive home and meet your father later.”

“No.” He sat up straight. “Let’s find him.” Translation—let’s get this over with.

As they navigated the crowds, Marsha looked for a red shirt in the sea of Marlboro men. Ryan inched closer to her side and she wished she possessed a magic wand that could cast a spell on father and son, ensuring their first meeting was the stuff of fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

“There he is.” The Cash brothers were conversing with a rodeo helper. Will glanced her way and she pasted a smile on her face as she and Ryan approached. If her gaze hadn’t drifted down his body she would have missed the way he tensed when he noticed Ryan.

Will’s brown eyes softened and Marsha’s knees went weak with relief. Father and son hadn’t exchanged a word but the warmth in Will’s gaze gave her hope that the meeting would go smoothly.

Will held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”

“Yes, sir.” Ryan barely squeezed Will’s hand before shoving his fingers inside the pocket of his khaki shorts.

“This is your uncle, Porter,” Will said.

Porter shook Ryan’s hand. “What do you think of the rodeo so far?”

Ryan shrugged.

“How would you like a tour of the cowboy ready area, Ryan?” Will asked.

“While you and your dad do that, I’ll buy your mom a hot dog.” The innocent expression on Porter’s face didn’t fool Marsha. He was helping his older brother finagle time alone with his son.

“How does that sound, Ryan?” Marsha asked.

Another shrug.

“When and where shall we meet up?” she asked.

“How about right here in an hour?” Porter said. “Will and I have a second go-round this afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” Marsha turned away, but Will snagged her arm. She shivered at the feel of his calloused fingers against her skin and an image of the two of them tangled up in the backseat of his pickup flashed before her eyes. Good Lord, she was in big trouble if it only took a simple touch from Will to send her heart slamming into her rib cage. She waited for him to speak. Instead, he released her and said nothing.

Marsha walked off with Porter but after a few yards glanced over her shoulder. Ryan’s gaze was glued to his shoes while Will spoke.

“They’ll be fine,” Porter said as if he sensed Marsha’s urge to rescue her son.

She had no one to blame but herself for putting Ryan in this awkward position and she deserved to suffer right along with him.

* * *

“YOU EVER BEEN to a rodeo before?” Will asked, aware that Ryan had yet to make eye contact with him. Didn’t the kid realize he was nervous, too?

“When I was little, Grandpa and Grandma took me to one.”

Will stared at the top of his son’s head as a swell of emotion—guilt, anxiety, curiosity, wariness and hope—threatened to drown him. He broke out in a sweat at the memory of meeting his own father for the first time. The circumstances had been different—his father had known all along about Will and he hadn’t cared. In this case, Will hadn’t known Ryan existed, but that important detail probably didn’t matter to the teen.

God, he resented Marsha for putting him in this tight spot.

Yeah, right. That’s not what you felt a few moments ago when you touched her.

Ignoring the voice in his head he focused on Ryan, wishing he had a manual on fatherhood—a guide to tell him how to handle this meeting.

A burning sensation attacked Will’s eyes as he realized this might possibly be the most humbling moment of his existence—walking alongside the young man whose life he’d wanted ended before it had begun.

Too late for a do-over. The only path remaining for him and Ryan to travel was the one right in front of them. “C’mon, I’ll show you what goes on behind the chutes.” He changed directions, but Ryan didn’t follow, his gaze avoiding Will’s. Obviously the teen was uncomfortable in his presence.

“If you want, you can text your mom and tell her that you’re ready to leave.” Ryan’s head snapped up and father and son looked each other in the eye. The teen was only a couple of inches shorter than Will. He and his son might not have the same eye color but they shared the same dark eyebrows, hair color and strong jaw.

“I don’t like rodeos,” Ryan said.

The confession stung Will, but he tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that he’d been raised by a single mother and probably hadn’t been exposed to a lot of guy activities growing up. “What do you like to do?” Will motioned for Ryan to move aside when a cowgirl walked a horse past them.

“I read a lot.”

Will didn’t read much because he got headaches from the letters in the words jumping in front of his eyes. In third grade, he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia and had read only enough to get by in his classes and graduate high school. College had never been on his radar. He motioned to a pair of chairs outside the restroom area. After they sat down, he asked, “What kinds of books do you read?”

Ryan’s expression lightened. “My favorite book is The Hobbit.”

Will had heard about the movie but hadn’t seen it. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Bilbo Baggins. Do you like Tolkien’s writing?”

“Sure,” he lied.

“I read The Lord of the Rings.”

At least Will had seen that movie.

“Tolkien was a professor at Pembroke College in Oxford, England. I want to go to college there, too.”

The arena walls closed in on Will and he changed the subject. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“No.”

“Would you like to? Your uncle Mack works at a dude ranch and he can take us on a trail ride.”

“What’s a trail ride?”

“Natural paths in the desert that horses can easily navigate.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Do you like fishing? We’ve got a water hole on the farm that—”

“I don’t like fishing.”

“Have you ever fished before?”

“No, but I don’t think I’d like it.”

Will dragged a hand down his face. Finding a common interest with his son was proving difficult. “Do you have any big plans for this summer?”

“Not really. I got a Kindle for my birthday and downloaded a lot of books before we drove out here.”

Will didn’t even know when his son had been born. “When was your birthday?”

“February twelfth.”

“Three days before my birthday.” Ryan didn’t comment. “Besides reading, what other hobbies do you have?”

“I like to play chess with my grandpa.”

Swell. Will played checkers but not chess.

“What grade in school are you?”

“This fall I’ll be a freshman at the high school where Mom teaches.”

Once Marsha had gone off to college in California, Will had lost track of her—not that he’d tried to keep tabs on her whereabouts. He’d assumed she’d had an abortion so he’d moved on. If he’d asked around about her the first year she’d moved away, maybe he’d have learned she’d had a baby.

But you didn’t ask about her.

He could have spoken with Marsha’s parents or talked to her best friend Hillary Bancroft, who worked at the hair salon in town, but Will hadn’t—because he hadn’t wanted to know if Marsha had kept their baby. His worst nightmare would have been becoming a father and his eighteen-year-old mind insisted he was better off remaining in the dark.

“What subject does your mother teach?” He and Marsha hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences to each other the night of the prom, but he did remember her saying she’d wanted to earn a teaching degree.

“Chemistry.”

“That’s a tough subject.”

“Not really. I plan to take AP chemistry and physics before I graduate from high school.”

Will had no idea what AP meant, but he assumed that his son had inherited his mother’s IQ. If there was any blessing in this whole mess, it was that Will hadn’t passed on the gene for dyslexia to his son. “What are your plans after you graduate high school?”

“I’m going to apply to Stanford, Harvard and Yale.”

“Those are top-rated colleges. That’s pretty ambitious.”

“And don’t forget Oxford University. Mom says I have to go to the school that offers me the most financial aid and scholarships.”

Will’s heart raced. Now that he knew he had a son, he’d have to pay child support, which he intended to do, but how could he pay a hefty tuition bill on a small-town construction worker’s salary? “Do you know what you want to study?”

“Probably physics.”

“Great.” The more Will learned about Ryan the dumber he felt and the less confident he was that he and his son would ever become close.

Ryan fidgeted in his chair and Will sensed the kid was eager to end their discussion. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Let’s grab a hot dog and find your mom.” This afternoon couldn’t end soon enough. Will hadn’t felt this insignificant since the day he’d confronted his biological father.

Fast forward twenty-two years and nothing had changed—he was still irrelevant.

* * *

“I’M DISAPPOINTED IN you, daughter.”

Marsha had walked in the door less than a minute ago after a stressful afternoon at the rodeo and now her father was ready to face off with her.

“Let’s take a walk.” He gave her no choice but to tag along.

Feet dragging, she strolled with him across the patio and alongside the house to the front yard. Not until she and Ryan were driving home from the rodeo had she realized the extent of her exhaustion. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she’d made the decision to tell Will about Ryan. She wished she’d had a chance to talk with Will in private before they’d left the rodeo, but he and Porter had to prepare for their event and Ryan hadn’t wanted to stay and watch.

When they reached the end of the sidewalk, her father continued along the path that led to the church—his silence made Marsha nervous. She’d asked her mother to break the news about Will while she and Ryan were at the rodeo, hoping her father would work through his anger before she returned. The stern look on his face convinced her that her plan had backfired.

Marsha had been a good daughter through the years but having a child out of wedlock had hurt and embarrassed the pastor in front of his parishioners and members of the community. Nonetheless, he was a loving man and had forgiven her and embraced his grandson—for that she’d always be grateful.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” The words sounded inadequate, but what else could she say?

“Why did you keep us in the dark about William Cash?”

This was tricky. Her father would bend over backward to help a person in need and his actions always demonstrated his faith. However, years ago she’d learned that the man she’d believed walked on water was human and possessed prejudices like everyone else. “I didn’t tell you, because I knew you disliked the Cash family.”

He stopped walking. “I’ve never said—”

“You called them heathens the night I told you I was going to the prom with Will.” Marsha had gotten a glimpse of her father’s humanness that evening. He’d spouted a fiery speech, insisting she was too good for the likes of a Cash boy. She’d never heard him talk that way before but that night he hadn’t been a pastor—he’d been a father, trying to protect his only child and he’d let nothing stand in his way. Not even God.

They cut across the parking lot to the reflection garden behind the church and sat in the shade on a stone bench.

“Did he refuse to marry you?” her father asked.

“I hardly knew Will.” But she would have married him in a heartbeat if he’d proposed to her.

“You told him about the baby?”

She wouldn’t lie to her father to protect Will. “Yes, I told him.”

“Doesn’t surprise me that he wanted nothing to do with Ryan.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the gravel. “Has Ryan been asking questions about his father?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. You asked all kinds of questions about your parents before you were in kindergarten.”

She’d asked questions because her parents had been open with her about her adoption. “I told Ryan years ago that if he was curious about his father, I’d be more than happy to talk about him.”

“Why do you think he hasn’t asked about William?”

“Because you’re like a father to him. You’ve always been there for Ryan. Given him advice, guidance and love. Honestly, I don’t believe Ryan feels as if he’s missing out on anything by not having a father.”

“I won’t always be here for my grandson.”

She squeezed his hand. They hadn’t talked about his cancer since she’d arrived for the summer and she wasn’t ready to now. “Give Will a chance, Dad. Please.”

“I’ll think about it.” He retreated to the far side of the garden where he bowed his head in front of the statue of Mary. Marsha left him in peace as the doubts in her head went to war with the hope in her heart.