Poppy edged around Toben, but his hand caught her arm.
“I won’t let him down again,” Toben said. “I promise you that.”
His blue gaze locked with hers, searching for something... His hand was warm, his thumb featherlight on her skin. Too simple a touch to leave her breathless.
Poppy tugged free—but she knew Mitchell had seen the awkward exchange. She didn’t look at Mitchell until the back door had swung shut, signaling Toben’s departure. If Mitchell was smart, he’d keep his comments to himself.
“Needing help finding those graham crackers?” Mitchell asked.
She glared at him.
He chuckled. “He gets under your skin something fierce.”
She continued to glare at him.
“Is that what you want?” Mitchell asked. “All that fire?”
“Toben?” she asked, taking the box of graham crackers out of the pantry.
Mitchell raised a brow. “Hard to miss. You two were talking about something important.”
“Rowdy... That’s all.” She paused, shaking her head and speaking with a little more emphasis. “What else—”
“Looks like there’s more going on.” Mitchell’s gaze never wavered. “Like you two might be working out the kinks in your relationship.”
“There’s no relationship,” she murmured. How the hell did she define what they had? They’d had a child together. Was there a label for that? Her irritation ratcheted up.
“Good.” Mitchell’s hand covered hers. “Because he gets you all in a frenzy. I worry once that fire’s gone, he will be, too.”
Poppy dropped the box of graham crackers, hearing her own concerns voiced aloud.
“We’re best friends,” he continued. “I love Rowdy like my own. We, you and me, understand each other. You want to give Rowdy a steady, good life. Make sure you know he can give that to you before you let things go too far. Okay?” Mitchell’s gaze searched hers.
Poppy smiled, then nodded. He was right. She knew he was right.
“Where are the graham crackers?” Rowdy asked, slamming into the kitchen with Otis following.
“Here,” Mitchell said. “Your ma dropped the box, so they might be broken.” He winked at her. She rolled her eyes in answer.
“Ma.” Rowdy sighed.
“Harder to make s’mores like that,” Otis agreed.
“Bet we can figure it out.” Mitchell steered them to the back door.
Poppy let them go, holding on to the kitchen counter as her emotions swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. As attracted as she might be to Toben, she knew there was no future with him—not romantically. She wasn’t willing to risk her heart on him. No, Toben’s only interest was being there for Rowdy.
She blew out a deep breath and stared out the screen door.
If she had it her way, she’d kick them all out, bar the gate and enjoy some peace and quiet—just her, Rowdy and the horses.
* * *
TOBEN PROMISED ROWDY a ride on Boone Ranch—after his aunt and uncle left. Nothing like receiving icy looks and veiled insults to make a fella feel at home. The fact that Mitchell wore a smug grin most of the evening made it worse. Yes, the family liked the guy. Yes, he had history with Rowdy and Poppy that Toben would never have. He knew better than to start something with the man, but it was hard not to take the bait.
The only consolation he had was Poppy. It was plain to see she considered Mitchell a friend—that was all.
The exact opposite of the way she reacted to Toben. Tensing up, trying to keep distance between them or wrapping her arms around her waist, like she was holding back. From reaching for him? As much as he wanted to kiss her until she was breathless and soft in his arms, he didn’t want to scare her off. If something were to happen between them, he’d make damn sure there was no ambivalence on her part. Their night together had been her idea, on her terms. He suspected those terms—one night of no-holds-barred bedroom fun—wouldn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t just his body that ached for her. Until he knew what that meant, he wasn’t going off half-cocked.
Monday was long. He sent a few pics to Rowdy on Poppy’s phone, but he didn’t get a response. By late afternoon, he was restless. He and Deacon headed into town for some pool at Cutter’s bar. The crowd and noise might be just the right distraction for him.
“Beer?” Deacon asked, heading toward the bar.
Toben nodded, making his way to the pool tables. His gaze swept the room. Mostly familiar faces. A few sunburned tourists and wannabe cowboys, too. With the Fourth coming up, the town would be full of freshly purchased ill-fitting cowboy hats and boots that had never seen real work or dust. Toben grinned at two female tourists who were whispering and giggling, staring openly him. He wasn’t one to shy away from attention. If tipping his hat made their night, he’d do it. Might just throw in a wink for good measure.
“Next you’ll be buying them a drink.” Poppy’s voice startled him, drawing his attention around the pool table. She stood, pool cue in hand. “What was it you’d say? ‘I was looking for you’? or ‘Were you looking for me?’ Or was it ‘I found you’? It worked, normally.” She shook her head. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
Toben felt heat in his cheeks. “I never said, ‘I found you,’” he argued, but she remembered the others? Course, she’d been front row center for more than a few of his conquests. And each time she’d been sitting there, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him, he’d gone home alone—amused. “I was smiling, Poppy, being a cowboy they can remember fondly.”
“Smiling, huh?” she asked, rubbing the cue tip in chalk. “I’ve seen where your smiles lead.”
Damn straight she had. Not that it had worked on her. Not until she’d turned the tables on him. That night was the best night of his life—and the worst morning. He cleared his throat, turning all his charm on her. He loved the way her eyes widened, then narrowed. She wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted to be. “No harm ever came from smiling at a pretty lady, Poppy White.”
Poppy’s brows rose. “I guess that depends on how you define harm.”
“Rowdy here?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the room.
“In a bar?” she asked, her brows ever higher.
“It’s not that kind of place. No hard liquor, just beer. On weekends there’s dancing in the back. Families come.” He could just imagine Rowdy running around, making friends and learning to dance. “Rowdy know how to two-step?”
Poppy nodded. “A little. Not much time for dancing.”
“That’s a shame. You should always make time for dancing.” He grinned. “But seriously, you’re raising that boy right.”
Her expression changed, softening beneath his praise. He liked her full of fight, but her sweetness was a thing to see. All rosy cheeks, wide eyes and a hesitant smile.
“Speaking of dancing.” He nodded through the doors. “How about it?”
That snapped her out of it. “No.”
“Feeling rusty?” He nodded, sighing. “Guess I should thank you for saving my toes.”
“It’s not going to work.” She rolled her eyes.
“What?” he teased, his smile growing.
“I’m not going to dance with you. Besides, can’t imagine your date would appreciate it.” Her brown gaze darted around.
“That’s considerate. But I’m pretty sure my cousin won’t mind.” He pointed at Deacon, resting his elbows on the counter and staring at the television. Clips of bull rides were playing. “Looks like I’ll be waiting on my beer. Might as well dance with me, pass the time.”
She grinned. “Nope.”
“Your date mind?” he asked.
“He might.” Her gaze locked with his.
Dammit. “Where is Mitchell, the good man?” He couldn’t keep the
sneer out of his voice.
“He got a call,” she said, nodding at the window.
Toben turned. There he was, cell phone to his ear, slowly walking back and forth on the porch. “He going back on the road?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
Her tone pulled him back to her. She looked...confused. A little sad, maybe. He didn’t like it. “How about we go one round. I win, you dance with me.”
Her eyes slammed into his, her grin instantaneous. “What do I get if I win?”
He swallowed back the offer that sprang to his lips. Whatever she wanted, he’d give it to her. Did she know how much she got to him? That standing here so close, her scent pulled at him, willing him to step closer—and touch her. “What does a woman like you want, Poppy White?”
Her brows, and her temper, were up again. “A woman like me? Meaning?”
He stepped closer, letting his arm brush against her as he reached for a pool cue. He felt her shiver. Hell, he shivered, too. Touching her was like touching fire. Fluid, electric, alive. His voice was rough when he spoke. “Strong. Independent. Smart. Determined.” He stared down at her. “Beautiful. Sexy.”
Her lips parted, her flush deepening.
“All good things,” he finished. “An original.”
She blinked, tearing her gaze from his and circling the pool table. “Rack ’em up. Or do you want me to?”
He chuckled and placed the pool balls into the break, centered them and stepped back. “Ladies first.”
Her smile was impish, and fifteen minutes later, he knew why. She’d beaten him without giving him a single shot. “I figured out a few ways to earn money on the circuit,” she explained.
He held up his hands in defeat. “That was impressive.”
She kept on smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“So what do you want?” he asked. “You won, fair and square.”
Her gaze fell to his lips, lingering just long enough to have him shifting in his starched jeans. “I’ll let you know.” She put the pool cue back on the rack.
“She just handed you your ass.” Deacon arrived, handing his longneck to Poppy. “So she deserves the beer. Deacon Boone. Glad to meet a woman who can knock this cocky son of a gun down a peg.”
Poppy took the beer, laughing. “I’m not going to lie. It’s nice.”
Deacon nodded. “I take it you know him?”
She shrugged. “Sort of. Used to, anyway. I’d sit in the corner and watch him. I don’t know what was more disappointing—that he went home with someone warm and willing nine times out of ten...or that so many women are so damn gullible.”
“I like her,” Deacon said. “What’d you do to lose this one?”
“What can I say, I’m an idiot.” Toben shook his head. “Remember it all too well.”
She snorted. “Right. I broke your heart. It took you a whole...week before you were out trawling again.”
Toben stared at her, remembering just how quick he was to stumble into every bar—hoping she’d be there. When she wasn’t, he’d drink until he could almost believe the woman he took back to his hotel room was enough. And every damn morning, he’d wake up wishing Poppy were next to him so he could beg her to stay. “I’m not sure my heart ever got over you, Poppy.”
“You’re Poppy?” Deacon groaned.
But Poppy was studying him.
“It took him six months to sober up. Damn hard work, dragging his passed-out ass from hotel room to hotel room so he could sleep it off.” Deacon paused. “Guess you weren’t doing much drinking, though. Where’s the boy? Rowdy?”
“He’s home with his aunt and uncle,” Poppy said, her gaze staying fixed on Toben. “They’re leaving in the morning.”
“Nice of them. Considering you’ve had Otis and Dot for...?” Toben asked. Her brother-in-law seemed okay. The sister, he wasn’t sure about.
“A couple of weeks,” Poppy answered. “It’s going to be awfully quiet once they’re gone.” But she didn’t look disappointed.
“When’s Mitchell headed out?” he asked, studying her right back.
“No idea,” she answered, her attention shifting to the window.
His gaze followed, but Mitchell wasn’t there. He was inside, carrying two longnecks toward the pool table. He nodded at Toben and Deacon, apparently not the least bit bothered by their presence. So why the hell did Mitchell being here bother Toben so much?
“Beer?” he asked, holding the longneck out to her.
“It’s his,” she said, pointing at Toben. “I won his in pool.”
“That’s not what you won,” Toben argued.
“She’s a pool shark,” Mitchell said. “What did you win?”
Poppy took a long swig of her beer, looking between him and Mitchell. She chuckled. “I don’t know yet.”
“Lady’s choice,” Toben offered, enjoying the instant tightening of Mitchell’s jaw far too much.
Chapter Twelve
“Anything else over here, Ma?” Rowdy called to her.
Poppy dug through the packing paper, pulling out the last trophy. Her dad’s. The gold had been all but rubbed off the plastic cup, and the metal nameplate was slipping on the marble base, but it was a treasure. She smiled, running her finger over her father’s name. Barron White. Calf Scramble Champion, Gillespie County Fair. “Your grandpa’s trophy,” she answered, carrying it from the break room.
Rowdy waited, arranging memorabilia on the wooden shelf that ran around the top of the shop. Her entire family’s career was on display, including some of her mother’s handiwork. She’d been a master seamstress and quilter. Poppy had mounted the christening gown her mother had pieced, smocked and embroidered by hand in an oblong case.
Most of the pictures she displayed were copies, the originals showcased back at the house. Wherever she was, she liked to have her family around her. The quilts that covered every bed in the house and filled her large wood chest were made by her mother and grandmother. Cuddling up beneath them was as close to a hug as she could get. “Am I old enough to try the calf scramble this year?” Rowdy asked, placing the trophy on the shelf.
“Not yet. The youngest I’ve seen is ten. But we’ll check and see, okay? Safety first.” She wasn’t worried about Rowdy’s behavior, but some of the older boys could get a little competitive in the arena. He was big for six, but the cutoff for a calf scramble was seventeen. And while she knew being rough-and-tumble was part of being a cowboy, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see her boy knocked around—or his confidence dinged.
“I know, Ma.” But his sigh said it all. He was disappointed. “How’s it look?”
She stepped back. “Maybe a little to the left?” She nodded when he moved it. “Perfect. Just enough room to put a few of yours up there.”
“What about Dad?” Rowdy asked, climbing down the ladder. “Think he’d want to put any of his stuff up here? Since he’s family and all?”
Poppy smiled at her son, hiding the conflict his words stirred. Toben was Rowdy’s father, not necessarily her family. And yet she understood his desire to include him. To Rowdy, Toben’s addition was a gift. For her... Well, she still wasn’t sure what he was to her—beyond exasperating. “You can ask him.”
“Okay.” Rowdy nodded. He sat, looking around the shop. “The place looks good, Ma. Real good.”
Poppy looked around the shop as well, excited to see her vision coming to life. This was real. And, if she did say so herself, awesome. Every nook and cranny just as she’d imagined—neat, tidy and inviting to shoppers. Not just tourists, mind you, but hardworking ranching and rodeo folk, too.
The left of the shop was all fashion—men’s and women’s. Everything from boots to hats, silly socks to cowboy-print pajamas, ladies’ blinged-out jeans, jewelry, Wranglers, work wear, his-and-hers pearl-
snap button-downs and some fancier rodeo-worthy attire.
The right side of the shop was housewares, rodeo gear, and saddle and tack supplies. The smell of leather and wood polish scented the air. She’d stocked harnesses, saddle pads, stirrups and a sample book of fabric for saddle pads. She had little figurines made from discarded horseshoes, painted plaques, cowboy joke books and a wide array of cookbooks and kitchenware.
All surrounded by rodeo posters, memorabilia and bits and pieces of her family’s history.
“Yep,” she said, hands on hips, nodding. “Almost ready, don’t you think?”
The door opened, admitting Renata Boone. “Am I intruding?” she asked, her attention lingering on Rowdy.
So she knew about Rowdy. Did all the Boones know he was one of them? “No, come on in,” Poppy said, smiling. “We were just putting up a few things.”
“I love what you’ve done with the shop, Poppy. We’ve got the one hat and boot shop, but they don’t have the selection you’ve got.” Renata spun slowly around, then poked and explored several shelves. “This is adorable.” She smiled. “When are you opening?”
“I thought Fourth of July weekend made the most sense.”
She nodded. “That’s a great idea. I know the Shops Association would love to throw a grand opening celebration for you, invite your shop neighbors and friends. Maybe a day or two before?” She paused. “Good way to meet everyone on Main Street.”
“Thank you—that sounds wonderful, Renata.” Poppy was stunned by the offer.
“Well, it is part of my job.” Renata grinned. “But I’m really excited you’ve picked Stonewall Crossing to call home. But I do have a favor to ask. We’d love for you to ride in the Grand Entry, carry the American flag. If you’re interested?”
Poppy’s side ached just thinking about balancing the heavy flagpole while riding.
“Will you, Ma?” Rowdy asked. “Stormy would love that.”
“You want me to?” she asked, his answer written all over his face.
“You don’t have to let me know right away.” Renata smiled at Rowdy. “You planning on rodeoing?”
A Son for the Cowboy Page 13