A Son for the Cowboy (The Boones of Texas 5)

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.”