Читать книгу A Son For The Cowboy - Sasha Summers - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThe 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.
