“Can I bring Cheyenne?” Rowdy asked Fisher.
“Of course,” Toben agreed. “I can bring Cheeto and Stormy over, too, if you want.” His gaze shifted to her.
Poppy understood. The ground was dry. All the small fires. The firefighters were soaking the ground now, but there was no guarantee. She glanced at the barn, then Toben. No reason to risk it. “Please,” she said, nodding. “If there’s room?”
His crooked grin wrapped around her heart. “I’ll make room.” He nodded at Fisher. “Can you take them to the Lodge? I’ll finish up here.”
“You got it,” Fisher said. “How about we get Cheyenne in the truck, Rowdy.”
Poppy stared after Toben, hesitating before following him. “Toben.”
He turned, the anguish on his face tearing at her insides. “Poppy,” he groaned. He stared at the house, then her—his eyes red rimmed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
She slid her arms around him, cradling his head against her shoulder. “You didn’t do this. You’re both fine. That’s all that matters.”
His arms tightened around her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and released her. “I’ll catch up to you.”
She nodded, then hurried back to Rowdy. She sat in the back seat, holding her son tight and rubbing Cheyenne’s soft black coat.
“She’s a good dog, Ma,” Rowdy said, yawning.
“She’s the best dog ever, Rowdy.” She kissed the top of his head.
* * *
TOBEN YAWNED, RUNNING a hand along the back of his neck. It was late, too late to wake Poppy or Rowdy. But if he didn’t see his boy, he’d never get any sleep. Rowdy had never been in any danger, not really. Cheyenne had had a hold of Rowdy’s pants and wouldn’t let go. Toben had told him to stay put in the barn and then Toben had run, knowing Poppy’s and Rowdy’s lives were in the house. If he could salvage anything, he was damn well going to try. But the closer he got, the more he knew there was nothing he could
do. The flames were roaring, sending off waves of heat—a warning he wasn’t about to ignore. Better to stay with Rowdy than upset the boy further.
He’d called the fire department and stayed with his son, feeling useless and—worse—responsible.
“Room one,” his uncle Teddy said, holding out the key. “You need some sleep, boy.”
“What are you doing up?” Toben asked, taking the key.
“Wanted to see you safe and sound for myself before I turned in.” His uncle came around the counter and hugged Toben. “I’m guessing that’s how you’re feeling right about now. You go check on your family and get some shut-eye.”
“Yes, sir.” Toben headed down the hall, stared at the door, then opened it.
Poppy lay in the far bed, almost hanging off the edge, to be near Rowdy. She’d want to stay close but not let Rowdy know how upset she was. And she had every reason to be upset. His heart was heavy with what might have been.
He sighed, looking at the second bed.
Cheyenne lay along Rowdy’s side, sprawled across the bed. She lifted her head, saw him, yawned and lay back down. Toben closed the door and rubbed the dog’s head. Apparently, she didn’t see him as a threat.
He bent over Rowdy, smoothing his still-damp curls from his forehead and breathing in his son’s sweet scent. All the panic of the day, of what could have happened, pressed in on him. “I love you,” he murmured. “You’re my boy.” He kissed Rowdy’s forehead once, then again, before resting his forehead against Rowdy’s. It helped ease the ache somewhat.
Poppy’s fingers gripped his jeans, tugging. He reached back, letting their fingers thread together. That was better, to have them both in his hold. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed right back. He drew in a slow breath, tucked the blanket over Rowdy and sat on the side of Poppy’s bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I just needed to see him.” He looked at her, tracing her cheek. “And you.”
She sat up, climbing into his lap.
“I haven’t showered,” he whispered, almost groaning at the feel of her soft and warm against him. She needed comfort right now, and so did he. If he held her long enough, maybe his fear would finally go away? He was willing to try.
“I don’t care,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.