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

Her gaze met his then. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. She was damn beautiful—the mother of his son. A boy he was well on his way to loving. A boy she’d kept from him... His anger tightened his jaw, but her brown eyes held him captive. The longer he stared, the more her wari

ness faded. And in its place he caught a flash of the fiery woman he’d loved for one night. The woman he’d never quite gotten over.

Chapter Four

“What do you mean, he’s here?” Mitchell stared down at her, hands on his hips, wearing a dazed expression. Poppy had waited to share the news of Toben’s appearance until they were near the barn, away from the house and Rowdy.

She knew exactly what was going through his mind—Mitchell had that sort of face. One of the many reasons she’d never let him get pulled into a poker game: he’d lose his shirt. His openness was something Poppy had always respected about the man. That and his reliability.

“Does he live here?” Mitchell asked, tipping his cowboy hat back on his head. “I mean...hell, Poppy, are you okay with...this?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She’d spent a lot of time wondering that same thing. How had she ended up here? Never in her wildest dreams had she thought they’d end up neighbors. But giving up on something—quitting—wasn’t in her. “I’m still reeling.”

Mitchell blew out a long, slow breath. “And Rowdy?” He shook his head. “After all this time he comes by with pie and wants to play house? I’m not a fightin’ man, but, damn, I’d like to knock that sonofabitch on his ass and—”

“Mitchell!” Rowdy came barreling down the fence line, all smiles.

“Still in your pj’s?” Mitchell squatted by her son, catching him in a hug. “Sleep good?”

Rowdy shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep. Dot and Otis were arguing over their game. And the house...makes noises.”

Poppy glanced back at the house. “We’ll set up the guest rooms today. That way you have your room to yourself and Mitchell’s not stuck on the couch, okay?” Since she couldn’t fix the noises right away—she needed to find a repairman. Soon.

Rowdy nodded, yawning widely. “Sounds like a plan, Ma.”

“How about some pancakes?” Mitchell asked. “I’m starved.”

“Not sure the stove can handle pancakes,” Poppy admitted. “Might not be a bad idea to replace most of the appliances in the place.”

“Saw a little restaurant on the square.” Mitchell glanced at his watch. “Bet we could get some breakfast grub before they stop serving. If you can find some clothes, of course.”

Rowdy’s head turned right, then left. “Okay, but where is—”

“They’re in the barn, Rowdy. Mitchell and I got them situated but you can go say hi real quick,” Poppy interrupted. “We’ll go for a ride after breakfast, okay?”

Rowdy dashed toward the barn, grinning. She was still smiling when she looked at Mitchell. In an instant her smile was gone. The man was staring at her, hard.

“What?” she asked, concerned.

“I don’t trust him,” he said, his voice low.

Poppy’s throat felt tight. She didn’t either.

“I’ve been with you and Rowdy through...everything. Don’t expect me to be all right with this asshole just showing up. Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “What’s his plan? What does he want?”

She stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly talked things through yet.” Something she’d rectify soon. She patted his arm. “For the record, I’m not fine with it either. But what can I do?”

He glanced at her, then at her hand on his arm.

She took a step back and shook her head. “I don’t like the look on your face, Mitchell Lee. So stop it. I’m going to wake my sister’s monsters so we can go eat.” She headed back toward the house, hoping Otis and Dot were already moving. They seemed to prefer staying up and sleeping in—the exact opposite of her and Rowdy’s schedule. “I thought you were coming in tonight,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Yeah, well... Poppy,” Mitchell called out, stopping her. “I like the place.”

She nodded, smiling. “Me, too.”

Dot and Otis were up, fighting over the sink and the toothpaste, the dripping faucet...even the towel. Poppy ignored their bickering, trying not to worry about whatever Mitchell’s look meant. And Rowdy. In the last twenty-four hours, Poppy’s level of anxiety had quadrupled. She wasn’t a worrier; she was a doer. But she didn’t know what to do about this situation.

“Why can’t we just eat cereal?” Otis asked. “It’s too early to go out.”