The 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.”