A Son For The Cowboy. Sasha Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ