Her Secret Cowboy

A group of young women dressed in flashy Western clothes and wearing more makeup than a Mary Kay representative stood and cheered. Marsha whispered in Ryan’s ear. “Buckle bunnies.”

“Buckle what’s?”

Most teenage boys drooled over pretty girls in tight T-shirts and skinny jeans, but not Marsha’s son. Ryan would rather bury his head in a book than chase after the opposite sex. As a teacher she appreciated his thirst for knowledge, but as a mother she worried he was missing out on the best part of his youth—first crushes and first kisses. “Buckle bunnies are girls who travel the circuit cheering for the cowboys.”

“Do they cheer for my dad?”

Surprised Ryan had referred to Will as his father, she said, “I don’t know.” As Marsha studied the bunny in front of her—painted-on jeans, rhinestone belt and designer boots—a burning sensation exploded inside her chest. After more than a decade, she still found Will attractive and hated the idea of him being with an empty-headed beauty. She knew from experience that some men were intimidated by smart women, but she refused to play the role of a dumb blonde to land a date.

“Next up in the team-roping competition are the Cash brothers—Porter and Will.”

Ryan watched his father and uncle mount their horses in the boxes on both sides of the chute holding the steer. “Which one is he?”

Back to he again. “Will’s the heeler. He’s going to toss—”

“Yeah, I know. He ropes the steer’s rear legs after the header ropes the animal’s horns.”

Her son and the internet were best friends. Ryan must have researched team roping before they’d hit the road this morning.

“The Cash brothers need to beat the ten-second mark to take over first place,” the announcer said.

The fans quieted and the rodeo helpers readied the chute. Marsha’s eyes remained on Will. At thirty-two he might be one of the older cowboys in rodeo, but he looked sexier today than he had in high school. His crimson shirt hugged his muscular chest and the silver championship belt buckle showed off his lean hips. When other guys in their high-school class were losing their hair and sporting beer bellies, Will was all lean, hard muscle.

“They’ve got the barrier in place across the header’s box.” The announcer chuckled. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss all the action.”

Marsha held her breath when the gate opened and the steer broke through the flag barrier and ran for freedom. Porter swung his rope twice before it sailed through the air and over the steer’s head. Porter turned the animal and Will roped the its hind legs on the first try.

“Well, folks, after adding in the penalty, it looks like the Cash brothers clocked in at thirteen seconds. Better luck next time, cowboys.”

“They’re not very good.” Ryan slouched in his seat.

Marsha felt the urge to defend Will—it wasn’t his fault that she’d put him in a position of having to impress a son he hadn’t known existed until a few days ago—but she held her tongue. Ryan rarely spoke harshly about others. Did he expect his father to find fault with him? Wanting to ease his anxiety she offered him an out. “We can drive home and meet your father later.”

“No.” He sat up straight. “Let’s find him.” Translation—let’s get this over with.

As they navigated the crowds, Marsha looked for a red shirt in the sea of Marlboro men. Ryan inched closer to her side and she wished she possessed a magic wand that could cast a spell on father and son, ensuring their first meeting was the stuff of fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

“There he is.” The Cash brothers were conversing with a rodeo helper. Will glanced her way and she pasted a smile on her face as she and Ryan approached. If her gaze hadn’t drifted down his body she would have missed the way he tensed when he noticed Ryan.

Will’s brown eyes softened and Marsha’s knees went weak with relief. Father and son hadn’t exchanged a word but the warmth in Will’s gaze gave her hope that the meeting would go smoothly.

Will held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”

“Yes, sir.” Ryan barely squeezed Will’s hand before shoving his fingers inside the pocket of his khaki shorts.

“This is your uncle, Porter,” Will said.

Porter shook Ryan’s hand. “What do you think of the rodeo so far?”

Ryan shrugged.

“How would you like a tour of the cowboy ready area, Ryan?” Will asked.

“While you and your dad do that, I’ll buy your mom a hot dog.” The innocent expression on Porter’s face didn’t fool Marsha. He was helping his older brother finagle time alone with his son.

“How does that sound, Ryan?” Marsha asked.

Another shrug.

“When and where shall we meet up?” she asked.

“How about right here in an hour?” Porter said. “Will and I have a second go-round this afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” Marsha turned away, but Will snagged her arm. She shivered at the feel of his calloused fingers against her skin and an image of the two of them tangled up in the backseat of his pickup flashed before her eyes. Good Lord, she was in big trouble if it only took a simple touch from Will to send her heart slamming into her rib cage. She waited for him to speak. Instead, he released her and said nothing.

Marsha walked off with Porter but after a few yards glanced over her shoulder. Ryan’s gaze was glued to his shoes while Will spoke.

“They’ll be fine,” Porter said as if he sensed Marsha’s urge to rescue her son.

She had no one to blame but herself for putting Ryan in this awkward position and she deserved to suffer right along with him.

* * *

“YOU EVER BEEN to a rodeo before?” Will asked, aware that Ryan had yet to make eye contact with him. Didn’t the kid realize he was nervous, too?

“When I was little, Grandpa and Grandma took me to one.”

Will stared at the top of his son’s head as a swell of emotion—guilt, anxiety, curiosity, wariness and hope—threatened to drown him. He broke out in a sweat at the memory of meeting his own father for the first time. The circumstances had been different—his father had known all along about Will and he hadn’t cared. In this case, Will hadn’t known Ryan existed, but that important detail probably didn’t matter to the teen.

God, he resented Marsha for putting him in this tight spot.

Yeah, right. That’s not what you felt a few moments ago when you touched her.

Ignoring the voice in his head he focused on Ryan, wishing he had a manual on fatherhood—a guide to tell him how to handle this meeting.

A burning sensation attacked Will’s eyes as he realized this might possibly be the most humbling moment of his existence—walking alongside the young man whose life he’d wanted ended before it had begun.

Too late for a do-over. The only path remaining for him and Ryan to travel was the one right in front of them. “C’mon, I’ll show you what goes on behind the chutes.” He changed directions, but Ryan didn’t follow, his gaze avoiding Will’s. Obviously the teen was uncomfortable in his presence.

“If you want, you can text your mom and tell her that you’re ready to leave.” Ryan’s head snapped up and father and son looked each other in the eye. The teen was only a couple of inches shorter than Will. He and his son might not have the same eye color but they shared the same dark eyebrows, hair color and strong jaw.

“I don’t like rodeos,” Ryan said.

The confession stung Will, but he tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that he’d been raised by a single mother and probably hadn’t been exposed to a lot of guy activities growing up. “What do you like to do?” Will motioned for Ryan to move aside when a cowgirl walked a horse past them.

“I read a lot.”

Will didn’t read much because he got headaches from the letters in the words jumping in front of his eyes. In third grade, he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia and had read only enough to get by in his classes and graduate high school. College had never been on his radar. He motioned to a pair of chairs outside the restroom area. After they sat down, he asked, “What kinds of books do you read?”