She laughed, gripping his shoulders. “Glad to hear it. Hit the shower.”
Rowdy nodded, hugged her again and faced him. “I don’t know what to call you.”
Toben glanced at Poppy, taking in her fearful expression. “You can call me Toben.” He cleared his throat, then swallowed. “Or you can call me Dad.”
Rowdy nodded, his expression thoughtful.
“You don’t have to decide right away,” Poppy offered up.
“I’ve got to call him something,” Rowdy argued. “I’ll think on it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Toben agreed.
He wasn’t prepared for Rowdy’s hug. But the boy gave strong, solid ones. Toben was gripped with a love so fierce he held on. His son’s sweet smell, his small hands pressing against Toben’s shoulders... This was his boy. And his boy was giving him this hug.
“’Night,” Rowdy said, shooting him a devastating smile before hurrying from the kitchen. Toben stared after him, grappling with the longing that smile stirred. He didn’t know what this was, how something so simple could impact him so severely, but Rowdy seemed to have turned everything on its ear.
A thump sounded behind him. But when he turned, the kitchen was empty. He pushed through the screen door and onto the porch. Poppy stood, hugging herself, at the far side of the porch—staring into the night sky.
Fireflies blinked, crickets chirped, and the distant snort and stomp of the horses was a familiar soundtrack. He and Tandy had been born in Montana, raised by his mother and aunts, but he’d never truly felt at home until he found his way to Texas. And this place, with his boy, felt the way he’d always imagined a real home would feel.
“He’s falling hard for you.” Poppy’s voice was so soft he moved closer.
“That’s good.” He paused. “Isn’t it?”
She turned to face him, tears shining in her eyes. “I want to believe in you, Toben. For Rowdy’s sake. I want to believe that you’re going to stay—to be a real father.”
“What’s stopping you?” He frowned.
“Are you serious?” she managed, sniffing angrily. “We have a history. I know you—”
“No, you don’t. There’s no history between us. I...I left before that could happen.” He hated the vulnerability in his voice. But, dammit, it hurt. What was lost, what he’d taken from them all.
Her eyes went round. “Toben...this is about him. Every second of every day is about him.” She pointed at the door. “He’s put you on a pedestal his whole life. He—”
“Thank you,” Toben interrupted.
She sputtered to a stop.
“I mean it. You could have trashed me—told him I didn’t want him. But you didn’t. And for that I am truly grateful.” He paused, taking in every detail of her face. Her brown eyes were rimmed with gold. A perfectly round mole graced her upper left cheekbone. The middle of her full lower lip was flat—and tempting. So damn tempting. “You’ve done a good job.”
“He’s a good boy,” she murmured, eyeing him warily.
He held his hands up. “I’m complimenting you. No strings.”
Her eyes narrowed, darting to his mouth. “None?” The word was unsteady.
He felt a rush of desire, so hot and fast he gripped the porch railing. “What do you want me to say, Poppy?”
She shook her head, stepping back. “That you’re here for Rowdy.”
He stepped closer. “Nothing else?”
“No. Nothing else,” she whispered, her brow furrowing. “Rowdy’s all that matters. I don’t have room for anything else.”
“Not even Mitchell?” He couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice.
She shook her head. “What do you have against him?”