believed in family. And Rowdy was family.
He and Deacon headed out shortly afterward, intent on repairing one of the windmills. A tornado had skirted the ranch a couple of weeks back and the strong winds had damaged two of the blades, throwing off the spin and affecting the entire mechanism. With drought concerns on the rise, the windmill needed to be working so the livestock had plenty of water.
By the time the sun was high, they’d replaced the two blades. They ate a late lunch in the mill’s long shadow, barely a word said between them.
It took effort, but Toben kept all thoughts of Poppy at bay. Rowdy not so much. He wanted to do something with his son—but what? That was the question. How did he make up for six years in a couple of days? It would take time to earn the boy’s trust—he knew that. But patience had never been one of his strengths. If he had it his way, he and Rowdy would jump right into it—father and son. Something he figured Poppy wasn’t ready for.
He pushed aside her image, the lingering sound of her laughter as they’d sat on her porch enjoying pie. He loaded his toolbox into the back of the truck, frustrated all over again.
They headed to the vaccination shed next. Toben’s uncle Teddy, owner of the entire ranch, had plans to vaccinate the cattle next week. It was no small undertaking, something that required working chutes, sturdy pens and all hands on deck. Safety was a top priority on the ranch—for the animals and the employees. A faulty chute or damaged pen could cause disaster. Between him and Deacon, they tested every fence, chute and gate latch that afternoon.
“I’m calling it,” Deacon said, pouring water over the back of his head.
“Tired already?” Toben teased, smiling. They’d worked hard. Uncle Teddy would be happy.
“Damn straight,” Deacon answered. “And hungry. Those were some sad sandwiches you packed.”
Toben laughed. “I didn’t hear you complain when you were eating them.” He climbed in the truck as Deacon made the engine roar to life. He wiped his face with his bandanna and hung his arm out the window. He glanced at the dash. It was only six thirty-five. Not too late to stop by for a visit.
“You going over there?” Deacon asked.
“Thinking about it,” he murmured. All damn day. He’d had a welcome-enough reception the night before. But now that another man was in Poppy’s house, would that still be the case?
A steady cloud of dust rose up behind the white truck pulling up her drive. It read Boone Ranch on the side—sending Poppy’s stomach into knots and Rowdy running down the steps to meet the truck.
“He call?” Mitchell asked.
She shot Mitchell a look. “No, he didn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be polite and neighborly, Mitchell. Please.”
He scowled. “Neighborly, Poppy? Him driving in here like he owns the place just feels like having dirt kicked in my face.”
She shook her head, trying not to laugh at his over-the-top reaction. “No one’s kicking dirt in anyone’s face.”
Mitchell’s scowl didn’t ease, so Poppy nudged him in the side. “Lighten up. No matter what, you hold a special place in Rowdy’s heart. You know that.”
His expression softened then, his attention shifting to her son. She never doubted Mitchell loved her boy. Mitchell’s way with words and deep, resonant voice made him one of the most sought-after rodeo emcees—taking him out of the country a handful of times. But he always seemed to find time for them. In a way, Mitchell was Rowdy’s father. A sobering realization when Rowdy’s biological father was currently climbing out of the truck.
“You came!” Rowdy said. “I wanted you to meet Cheeto.”
“He’s here?” Toben asked.
“Mitchell brought him this morning. Man, was he glad to see me.”
Rowdy laughed, and it warmed her through. She wasn’t going to worry over why he was laughing. For now, she’d accept that Toben wanted to know their son. And be ready to ease Rowdy’s loss when Toben moved on. The Toben Boone she’d known had been a restless soul. He was always talking about the next town, the next rodeo, the next prize...the next woman. He’d had no interest in planting roots or making commitments.
Maybe it was her? Maybe committing to her, to their son, was the reason he’d turned his back on her—on them both.
It’s been seven years. People change.
But that sounded too good to be true.
“Evening,” Toben said, tipping his hat.
“Toben,” she said. “This is Mitchell Lee. Mitchell, Toben Boone. Well, you might know each other from the circuit?”
Toben’s eyes tightened a little, his blue gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of them before he held out his hand. “The emcee? I remember you,” Toben said, offering a tight smile.
“That’s me,” Mitchell agreed, his tone anything but welcoming. “I remember you, too.”
She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Everything about Toben stiffened. From his back to his jaw, he bristled. Poppy bit back her irritation. At least they shook hands, even if the tension between them was so thick it might just knock them both to the ground.
“Wanna meet him?” Rowdy asked, oblivious.
Toben and Mitchell were still sizing each other up, their mutual head-to-toe assessment almost comical. Almost.
“Sure he does,” Poppy said, desperate to end the silent standoff. “Right, Toben? You want to meet Rowdy’s horse?”
Toben’s attention immediately shifted to Rowdy, his posture relaxing and his smile—that damn smile—returning. “Yes, sir. How’d he make the trip?”
“He’s a good traveler,” Rowdy said, kicking a rock. “We were always going somewhere. But not now.” He smiled up at Toben. “We’re here to stay.”
Poppy felt that now-familiar unease settle in her stomach. They had been here to stay. Now she didn’t know what the hell to do. She wanted a place Rowdy could grow up strong and happy, with good friends who watched him grow, helped him become a good man. She’d thought that Stonewall Crossing would be all those things and more.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Toben said. “Did your mom tell you the Boones founded Stonewall Crossing?”
She heard Mitchell snort softly and stepped back, hard, on his toe with the heel of her boot. She didn’t need him complicating a situation that was already far beyond her normal level of complication.
If Toben heard him, and it would be pretty hard to miss, he gave no indication. For that, Poppy was thankful. And confused. Everything about this Toben was confusing and frustrating.
“Really?” Rowdy asked.
Toben nodded.
