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Toben looked at her. “That was true, once. But not anymore.”
“How long has it been since you were on the circuit?” Mitchell asked, sitting down on the log, prompting Poppy to do so, as well. “Couple of years now?”
Toben nodded.
“And in that time you’ve been working on your family’s ranch?” Rose asked.
Toben nodded again.
“Does this work provide a decent income?”
Poppy stared at her sister.
“What?” Rose refused to back down. “He has a son, responsibilities. I’m Rowdy’s aunt—I care about him. And you.” She took Poppy’s hand in hers.
“And while I appreciate that, this isn’t the time or the place.” Poppy leveled a stare at her sister. Her sister’s lack of understanding about boundaries was stepping on her last nerve.
“You don’t have to worry, Mom,” Otis said. “Toben wants Rowdy now.”
The only sound was the pop of the burning wood and the rhythmic chirp of the crickets.
Poppy didn’t know who she was more irritated with: Rose or Toben. Otis was a kid—he thought he was reassuring his mother. When all he’d done was remind everyone what was really going on. Not that she had a clear understanding of what, exactly, was going on. She sighed. Why hadn’t Toben just left? She knew Mitchell would have been as persuasive as possible—so why resist? It could have been a perfectly nice evening if he’d just driven away.
“We need more graham crackers.” She needed space to collect herself.
“I’ll get them,” Mitchell offered.
“No.” She stood, shot him a tight smile and headed into the house.
Poppy hurried to her bathroom and washed her face and hands, running cold water along the back of her neck. She paced the room twice, drawing in long, deep breaths. Why was she so agitated? Her sister was a pain in the ass, but that was nothing new. And this time, she was trying to put Rowdy’s best interests first. Poppy understood—part of her shared the same worries.
And Toben? Learning to control her reaction to him was a necessary survival skill. He wasn’t stupid; he was aware she wasn’t immune
to him. Hopefully, he didn’t realize the extent to which she ached for him—wildly, dangerously... But she didn’t like it. Worse, she didn’t know how to stop. Even now, though she was frustrated and angry with him, the pull of heat between them was there.
She headed back down the hall to the kitchen, her steps slowing when she saw Toben was waiting for her. “I need a minute—”
“I know.” But he stood there—looking far too tempting. His gray shirt hugged his broad shoulders and clung to the well-muscled contours of his chest. “I’m sorry.”
His apology was a surprise. She crossed her arms over her chest, holding herself tightly. He did look sorry. “For what?” A blanket apology wasn’t going to cut it, not this time. She wasn’t about to make this easy on him.
He stepped forward. “Where do I start?” He frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows.
She swallowed, his heat rolling over her and weakening her resolve. “Now’s not the time, Toben. And I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”
“No?” he asked, closing the gap between them. “I think we’ve wasted enough time. I’m sorry for being a selfish sonofabitch. I’m sorry you had to raise Rowdy on your own. I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want him...or you. Because I do, every damn day.”
“Every day?” Her expression was surprised. She was not going to let his words make her feel warm and fuzzy. Nope. No way. “Even the last three days? Toben, you should have been here. Or called.”
“You’re right—I should have,” he agreed.
But she wasn’t done. “The last few days Rowdy’s wondered what he did to send you away. He asked me if it was because he hadn’t gone to dinner with the Boones, that maybe his cousins were right about you changing your mind.” She let her anger swallow the tingles his closeness stirred. “I won’t lie for you, Toben. I don’t lie.”
“I know.” His voice was raw, his expression devastated.
“I didn’t know what to say to him. You can’t just show up when you want, like now, then leave him with no word. He’s a boy, a child. Children need reassurance and consistency and routine. Maybe...maybe we should talk to a lawyer about a formal custody—”
“Poppy?” Mitchell’s voice, Mitchell’s booted steps on the wooden porch.
