Книга - Her Secret Cowboy

Her Secret Cowboy
Marin Thomas


The Cowboy And The Preacher’s DaughterYears ago, Will Cash wasn’t interested in being a dad. So Marsha Bugler left town to raise her baby alone. But when her father’s health begins to fail, she realizes she needs to return to Arizona—and introduce Will to his boy. Marsha is nervous to face Will not only because she lied, but because she’s never stopped thinking about her cowboy crush.Will is shocked to discover he has a son. And, he can hardly believe the changes in Marsha. She’s strong, sexy and a PhD while Will’s still a part-time cowboy living in a bunkhouse with his brothers. What does he have to offer her and his teenage son? Will has a lot to prove if he’s going to get what he wants—the family he never knew he had.







The Cowboy And The Preacher’s Daughter

Years ago, Will Cash wasn’t interested in being a dad. So Marsha Bugler left town to raise her baby alone. But when her father’s health begins to fail, she realizes she needs to return to Arizona—and introduce Will to his boy. Marsha is nervous to face Will not only because she lied, but because she’s never stopped thinking about her cowboy crush.

Will is shocked to discover he has a son. And he can hardly believe the changes in Marsha. She’s strong, sexy and a Ph.D. while Will’s still a part-time cowboy living in a bunkhouse with his brothers. What does he have to offer her and his teenage son? Will has a lot to prove if he’s going to get what he wants—the family he never knew he had.


“I want this to work out for you and Ryan.”

“Do you?”

Marsha bristled but held her tongue.

“Or are you hoping I’ll make mistakes, so Ryan will want nothing to do with me?”

“I can’t believe you’d think that.”

“Why not? If things don’t work out for me and Ryan, you head back to California with a clear conscience.”

The brown eyes staring at her were filled with pain, and shame swept through Marsha. She expected that this father-son reunion would be difficult, but her main concern had been for Ryan’s emotional well-being. She hadn’t given much thought to the turmoil Will might be dealing with. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you both, but you’ll have to communicate with me. I can’t read your mind.”

Will stared into space. “We’re strangers who made a baby.”

“Then why don’t we get reacquainted,” she said.


Dear Reader,

The famous Willie Nelson song “Always on my Mind” was the inspiration for Will and Marsha’s story.

Will Cash has never been able to forget the one-night stand he had with the pastor’s daughter back in high school, and for good reason—fourteen years later Marsha returns to town with his son, Ryan.

Keeping secrets can lead to big-time trouble and Marsha Bugler is about to discover just what kind of hornet’s nest she’s stirred up when she informs not only her parents who the father of their grandson is, but the father himself—Will Cash, who had no idea she’d kept their baby.

There’s plenty of drama in this story and I hope you enjoy watching Will, Marsha, their son and her parents find their own path toward forgiveness and reconciliation. And through it all the meaning of family shines true and bright.

Her Secret Cowboy is the third book in The Cash Brothers series. If you missed the first two stories, The Cowboy Next Door (July 1013) and Twins Under the Christmas Tree (Oct. 2013), the books remain available through online retailers.

For more information on future Cash Brothers books visit www.marinthomas.com (http://www.marinthomas.com). I love to connect with my readers—you’ll find me on FB, Twitter and Goodreads, and be sure to check out The Cash Brothers Facebook page as well as their Pinterest boards!

Happy Ever After…The Cowboy Way!

Marin


Her Secret

Cowboy

Marin Thomas






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marin Thomas grew up in Janesville, Wisconsin. She left the Midwest to attend college in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a B.A. in radio-TV. Following graduation she married her college sweetheart in a five-minute ceremony at the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Over the years she and her family have lived in seven different states, but they’ve now come full circle and returned to Arizona, where the rugged desert and breathtaking sunsets provide plenty of inspiration for Marin’s cowboy books.


To my new sister-in-law, Tammy O’Day Smith—“Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale.” Wishing you and Brett your very own happy-ever-after fairy tale—Texas-sized.


Contents

Chapter One (#u2828b133-fdcd-58b0-8266-21010036ac81)

Chapter Two (#u0e96a381-9653-536d-a238-59719cd25edd)

Chapter Three (#ub3fba31e-d39e-5cc8-838f-8783383a9420)

Chapter Four (#uffc1d82c-8c29-568a-9369-d1bf6baa6de4)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Will Cash pulled off the road and parked next to the mailbox at the entrance to the family pecan farm. Lately he’d been the only one who bothered to bring in the mail. Conway should train his twin stepsons to ride their bikes to the box, but maybe five-year-olds were too young for that kind of responsibility.

As usual the box was stuffed. He gathered the envelopes and hopped into the truck, then directed the air vents toward his face. Normal highs for June were in the low nineties but today’s temperature hovered near one hundred, promising a long hot summer for southwest Arizona.

Will sifted through the pile. Grocery-store ads, business fliers, electric bill, a statement from Warehouse Furniture—Conway and his new wife, Isi, were remodeling the farmhouse. A boot catalog for Merle Haggard Cash—otherwise known as Mack to friends and family. His younger brother spent way too much money on fancy footwear, but he liked to look sharp when his band, Cowboy Rebels, played at the local honky-tonks. His fingers froze on a letter addressed to Willie Nelson Cash. He didn’t recognize the feminine script and there was no return address. Before he examined the envelope further, his cell phone rang.

“Hold your horses, Porter. I’ll be there in a minute.” Wednesday night was poker night and his brothers and brother-in-law were waiting for him in the bunkhouse. If not for the weekly card game, they’d hardly see each other.

His sister, Dixie, and her husband, Gavin, lived in Yuma—forty-five minutes away. Will’s eldest brother, Johnny, had married his boss’s daughter, and he and Shannon lived in the foreman’s cabin at the Triple D Ranch. And Mack spent most of the week and every other weekend as a trail hand at the Black Jack Mountain Dude Ranch. That left Will, Buck and Porter living in the bunkhouse on the farm.

He tossed the mail aside and drove on—slowly. The days of racing along the dirt road had ended when Conway married Isi and they moved into the farmhouse with the twins and a black Lab named Bandit. He parked in the yard and as soon as he got out of the pickup, his nephews ambushed him.

“Uncle Will, guess what we made?”

Will walked up to the porch where the boys sat on the steps with the dog wedged between them. The twins wore blue jeans and identical Western shirts in different colors—Javier liked red and Miguel preferred blue. “What are you guys up to?”

Miguel held out a piece of paper. “It’s Bandit’s new doghouse.”

Will examined the crude drawing. “Who’s gonna build it?”

“Our dad said you could build Bandit a house.”

Of course he did. Will worked in construction, so naturally he was the go-to guy in the family for projects involving a hammer and nails.

“We can help.” Javier’s big brown eyes pleaded with Will.

“Okay, I’ll build Bandit a house, but you’ll have to wait awhile.” Will worked for a family-owned construction company run by Ben Wallace—a guy he’d gone to high school with. Ben had landed a new job to construct a classroom wing on the Mission Community Church. The work would keep them busy for weeks.

“I’ll give your dad a list of supplies to buy at the lumberyard,” Will said.

The boys raced down the porch steps and threw their arms around his legs. “Thanks, Uncle Will,” Miguel said.

“You’re welcome. Now go inside.”

Javier shook his head. “We have to stay out here ’cause baby Nate’s sleeping.”

While the men played cards the women sat in the house and did whatever it was that married women did—probably talk about their husbands. “Don’t get into trouble.” Will walked over to the bunkhouse, opening the letter addressed to him. When he removed the note inside, a photo fell out and landed on his steel-toed boot. He snatched it off the ground and stared at the teenage boy.

What the heck?

Dear Will... He read a few more lines but the words blurred and a loud buzzing filled his ears. The kid in the picture was named Ryan and he was fourteen years old.

Slowly Will’s eyes focused and he studied the photo. The young man had the same brownish-blond hair as Will’s but his eyes weren’t brown—they were blue like his mother’s.

“Buck!” he shouted. “Get your ass out here right now!”

The farmhouse door opened and his sister stepped outside. “Willie Nelson Cash, don’t you dare swear in front of the boys.”

“Take the twins inside, Dixie.” She must have sensed his dark mood, because she did as he asked without mouthing off. Will stared at the bunkhouse, afraid if he went inside he’d tear the place apart. When Buck came out, the rest of the Cash brothers and their brother-in-law, Gavin, followed.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny’s blue eyes darkened with concern.

Will ignored his eldest brother—if Johnny had his way he’d take control of the situation like he’d done all through their childhood. This was Will’s fight with Buck and no one else’s.

“What’s got you fired up?” Porter ran a hand through his shaggy hair and flashed his boyish grin—the one that stopped women from one to ninety-nine in their tracks. “Steam’s spewing from your ears.”

“Shut up, Porter.” Will glared at his younger brother. “This is between me and Buck.”

“I’ve never seen you this pissed.” Conway glanced at his brothers. “Maybe you ought to take a couple of deep breaths before you go off half-cocked.”

“Is that what you tell the twins when they’re itching for a fight?” Now that the handsomest Cash brother had settled down and become a father, he liked to believe he was the mature one.

“Conway’s right.” Mack’s deep baritone voice carried over the heads of his brothers. “Whatever’s got you riled, Will, it’s not like you to attack one of us.”

What Mack said was true, but Will had never been in a pickle like this before. His musician brother could write a song about the news he’d just received and make a fortune off Will’s misery.

“This concerns Buck and me.” Will shook the letter. “You knew all along.”

Buck stepped forward, using his broad shoulders to push his brothers out of the way. “Knew what?” Of all his siblings, Buck was the quietest and through the years he’d assumed the role of family peacemaker. Too bad this was one dispute he wouldn’t be able to settle to Will’s satisfaction.

“Remember Marsha Bugler?”

“Of course. Why?”

“She said you’d vouch for her that she’s telling the truth.”

His brother’s eye twitched—a sure sign of guilt. “The truth about what?”

“That after I got her pregnant, she kept the baby.”

The color drained from Buck’s face.

The tenuous hold Will had on his temper broke, and he let Buck have it. “You’ve kept in touch with Marsha since high school. How the hell could you not tell me that I had a son!”

Buck’s pleading gaze swung to Johnny. “Honest to God, I didn’t know Ryan was Will’s son until a short while ago.”

“What do you mean by that?” Will’s intestines twisted into a giant knot.

“Marsha didn’t tell me you were Ryan’s father until I saw her in March.”

“This past March?”

“A year ago March,” Buck muttered.

Will lunged for Buck, but Johnny held him tight. “You knew I had a son for over a year!”

“She made me promise not to spill the beans until she had a chance to tell you,” Buck said.

“To heck with promising Marsha, I’m your brother.” Will’s chest physically ached at the thought of his own flesh and blood keeping the truth from him.

“Marsha never planned to tell me at first, but I confronted her when I noticed Ryan looked like you.”

Will wasn’t buying his brother’s story. “It took you thirteen years to make the connection between me and Ryan?”

“I only looked up Marsha a few times since she’d moved to Los Angeles and Ryan was never there when I stopped by until...March.”

“How good of friends are you with Marsha? Have you slept with her?”

“It’s not like that between us, Will.”

Will had known the answer before he’d asked the question, but he was desperate to find a way out of this mess. “Is there a chance Ryan isn’t my kid?”

“Marsha’s not a slut.” Buck jabbed his finger in the air.

“If she had sex with me on the first date there’s no telling who she slept with before she went off to college.”

Buck jumped forward, his fist clipping Will across the jaw. Will stumbled, then regained his balance and threw a punch that connected with Buck’s cheek. His brothers attempted to intervene, but Will was too angry to care who he hit. He shoved Mack out of the way then took aim again, but Buck ducked and Will’s fist smashed into Porter’s face.

“Shit, Will! I think you broke my nose!” Porter held his face in his hands and moaned.

Johnny stepped forward and punched Will in the stomach. Will dropped to his knees and wheezed. “Are you going to behave or do I need to tie you down?”

His brother would carry through with his threat. When they were kids, they’d gotten into an argument and Johnny had tied Will’s hands to the porch post with a piece of rope then took off. Will had waited three hours for Grandma Ada and Dixie to come home and free him.

“Everyone get in the bunkhouse.” Johnny scowled at the brothers until they obeyed.

After the yard emptied out, Johnny said, “Let’s go.”

Will followed his brother, because he didn’t know what else to do. He’d never felt so lost, helpless or angry.

They hiked in silence until the family graveyard came into view. Johnny sat beneath the ancient pecan tree, which shaded the tombstones. Unable to articulate his thoughts and feelings Will paced in front of the ornate gate surrounding the plots.

“You’re about to explode. Let it out.”

“Look at me.” Will spread his arms wide. “I’ve got no business being a father.”

“Whether you do or don’t doesn’t matter. The deed is done.”

“I’ve got nothing to show my son. I’m a grown man who lives in a bunkhouse with his brothers. I drive a thirteen-year-old vehicle and the most expensive thing I own is my rodeo gear and my truck.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got plenty to offer.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like being a father to your son. That’s more than you grew up with.”

Johnny’s words sent a cold chill through Will.

“Did Marsha give a reason why she waited until now to contact you about Ryan?”

“No. I don’t have a clue why she suddenly wants to come clean with me.”

“Then she owes you some answers,” Johnny said.

“How am I supposed to look my son in the eye after I insisted his mother get rid of him?”

“Maybe Marsha hasn’t told Ryan the circumstances of his birth,” Johnny said.

“And if she did? Then what?”

Johnny shrugged. “You cross that bridge when you come to it.”

“Damn.” Will punched the air with his fist. “Ben signed a contract to work on the Mission Community Church.” And the church’s pastor was Jim Bugler—Marsha’s father. Ryan’s grandfather. “I can’t face the pastor after I abandoned his grandson.”

“You can’t abandon a person you didn’t know existed.”

“You’re wrong, Johnny. I deserted Ryan when I told Marsha I didn’t want to be a father.” There was no getting past that fact.

“Give yourself time to get used to the idea.”

“No chance of that happening. Marsha and Ryan are spending the summer in Stagecoach.”

“When does she plan to arrive?”

“Tomorrow.”

In less than twenty-four hours Will would head down a path he’d never planned to travel.

* * *

“HOW COME WE’RE staying the whole summer at Grandpa and Grandma’s?”

Marsha took her eyes off the road for a second and glanced at her son. “Because they’re getting older and they won’t be here forever.” The forever part might come sooner rather than later for her father.

Right after Christmas her mother had phoned with the news that her father’s prostate cancer had taken a turn for the worse. The most worrisome news had been learning he’d refused all further treatment except hormone therapy. At seventy-nine, she understood his reluctance to endure a second round of radiation and more surgery. Marsha hadn’t told Ryan the seriousness of his grandfather’s health, because her parents had asked her not to.

The day she’d first learned of her father’s cancer diagnosis she’d been in a state of panic and then Buck had shown up on her doorstep. He’d been in town for a rodeo and hadn’t called ahead to tell her he was stopping by. That morning Ryan had been home. Buck had taken one look at her thirteen-year-old son and recognized the resemblance to his brother.

Marsha’s secret was out.

After Ryan left the apartment to go to a friend’s house, Buck asked if Will was Ryan’s father and Marsha had told him the truth. Buck had been stunned and angry that she’d kept Ryan a secret all these years but Marsha had begged him not to tell Will. She’d confessed that she was having difficulty dealing with her father’s cancer diagnosis and feared revealing the identity of her son’s father right now would overwhelm Ryan. Buck had reluctantly agreed to keep her secret.

One month had turned into two then three and before she knew it, a year had passed since Buck’s visit and she still hadn’t found the courage to contact Will. The news that her father had stopped fighting his cancer had forced Marsha to confront the past head-on.

Marsha understood the risks in coming clean with Will after she’d gone against his wishes to keep their child. He’d been adamant that he wasn’t ready to be a father. And she hadn’t been ready to be a mother, but the conscience of a pastor’s daughter refused to allow her to abort a baby or let her father go to his grave without knowing who’d gotten her pregnant.

Ryan turned the page on his Kindle, then asked, “What are you gonna do all summer?”

“I’m working as an online tutor for the University of Southern California,” she reminded him. Marsha taught high-school chemistry and had completed her doctoral degree a year ago and hoped to work her way into a teaching position at a university.

“Does Grandma still have her library card?”

“I’m sure she does.” Her mother paid extra for a membership to the Yuma County Library so Ryan had plenty of reading material to keep him entertained. In exchange for the use of the library card, Ryan helped his grandmother in the church garden.

Even though she’d taken precautions by never telling Buck when she was in town and avoiding cowboy hangouts and local rodeos, Marsha was surprised that she’d managed to avoid running into Will or his siblings during her two-week visits home.

She slowed the car as it approached the four-way stop in Stagecoach. The town was comprised of a handful of businesses, their brick exteriors faded by the desert sun. The main drag consisted of bars, Vern’s Drive-In, the Pawn Palace, Mel’s Barber Shop, the Bee Luv Lee Beauty Salon, where Marsha’s former high-school friend worked, José’s Mexican Diner, a Chevron gas station and a Wells Fargo Savings and Loan.

“Not much has changed since last summer,” she said.

Ryan grunted, but didn’t glance up from his e-reader.

She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake introducing Ryan to his father. Unlike her son, Will hadn’t cared much about school or grades. She worried that instead of seeing all the special qualities Ryan possessed, Will would find him lacking.

“Can we go to the library tomorrow?” Ryan asked.

“I’ve got plans.”

“What are you doing?”

“Meeting an old friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“A boy I went to high school with.” She turned onto the gravel road that led to the Mission Community Church. A quarter mile later she parked in front of her parents’ stucco ranch house, which sat fifty yards from the church. “Grandma’s waiting at the door.”

Marsha turned off the car, and they both got out. “Leave the luggage for now.”

“Look at you, Ryan,” Sara Bugler exclaimed. “You’ve grown at least two inches since you were here last.”

Ryan hugged his grandmother. “I’m taller than Mom now.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You look good, Mom.” They exchanged hugs. “Where’s Dad?”

“He fell asleep on the patio.” Her mother led the way through the house. “Jim, Marsha and Ryan are here.”

His face gaunt, her father sat in a lounge chair with the newspaper folded in his lap. She held his hands and kissed his cheek. “How are you, Dad?”

“Fine, daughter.” His eyes sparkled when he held his arms out to Ryan.

Marsha’s throat tightened as she watched the two men in her life hug.

“I’ve got a new word game we can play, Grandpa,” Ryan said.

“Good. I was getting tired of beating you at the old one.”

No matter what happened between her and Will, Marsha refused to regret spending the next two and a half months with her parents.

“Come in the house, dear.” Marsha followed her mother inside while Ryan remained with his grandfather. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Iced tea if you have it,” Marsha said.

Her mother poured two glasses of tea and sat at the kitchen table. After a brief conversation on how Ryan had done in school this past semester and Marsha’s tutoring job, her mother said, “You haven’t spent an entire summer here since you graduated from high school.”

“I don’t know how fast Dad’s cancer is going to progress and I...” She blinked back tears. “I want him and Ryan to have as much time together as possible.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you two to stay so long.”

“Why? Are you concerned we might be too taxing on Dad?”

“No, your father is thrilled you’re here.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Her mother stared at the wall instead of answering.

“You’re acting weird, Mom. What’s going on?”

“Did I tell you that the church is getting a new classroom wing built this summer?”

“You did. What does that have to do with me and Ryan?”

“Ben Wallace’s construction company won the bid.”

Marsha had gone to school with Ben. “And that’s important because...?”

“Will Cash works for Ben.”

Oh, God. She knows. “Does Dad...”

Her mother sighed. “Don’t think for a minute I haven’t beaten myself up over the years and had many heart-to-heart talks with the Lord about keeping your secret.”

“Why haven’t you told Dad?”

“I worry how he’ll take the news.”

“I was planning to introduce Ryan to Will this visit.” Her mother gasped and Marsha held up her hand. “Hear me out. Dad’s the only male role model in Ryan’s life right now. If—” when “—something happens to Dad, Ryan’s going to need a man to lean on.”

“Will Cash isn’t a suitable role model for Ryan.”

This was why Marsha had never told her parents who’d fathered Ryan. As much as Sara and Jim Bugler were God-fearing people and had raised her to show empathy and compassion for the less fortunate, Marsha had grown up hearing her parents’ occasional comments about Will’s promiscuous mother, Aimee Cash, and the wild band of ruffians she handed over to her parents to raise while she gallivanted through the state sleeping with men.

“I won’t know if Will is a suitable role model until he has a chance to show me,” Marsha said.

“Ryan could get hurt. He’s nothing like those Cash boys.”

“The Cash brothers aren’t wild teenagers anymore—they’re grown men.” She closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Mom, I’m asking you to please not speak badly of Will. If he wants Ryan to know about the skeletons in the Cash family closet, he should be the one to tell him.”

“When is Ryan meeting Will?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You’ve told Ryan about his father then?”

“Not yet.” She’d chickened out.

Her mother took their empty glasses to the sink. “It certainly won’t be a dull summer.”

No, it wouldn’t. Marsha had a feeling it was going to be three months of fireworks—explosions she hoped didn’t all blow up in her face.


Chapter Two

Will sat on the sofa in the bunkhouse and waited for Marsha to arrive. He’d gotten home from work an hour ago and had showered and dressed in clean clothes. His chest felt as if a fifty-pound anvil rested on his rib cage and drawing air into his lungs took major effort.

He glanced at his watch. She was late.

Marsha had texted him last night, asking to meet alone this afternoon. At first he’d been puzzled, wondering how she’d gotten his number, then realized all she’d had to do was ask her father. Both Ben and Will’s cell numbers were on the construction contract with the church.

“You’re going to burn a hole in that wall if you stare at it any harder,” Buck said.

Will studied his brother who sat at the table drinking coffee. “I thought you were working today.” This was the first exchange he’d had with Buck since their confrontation over Marsha’s letter.

“Troy took off early to drive to Tucson for a car show.”

“Heck of a way to run a business.”

Buck carried his mug to the sink. “One day I’ll start my own auto-repair shop.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past two years.” Porter flipped through the pages of an American Cowboy magazine.

“You don’t have a job right now so you don’t get to comment.” Buck swatted Porter upside the head.

“Hey, don’t mess with the hair.” Porter smoothed his hand over his golden-brown locks. “Rodeo is a job.”

“It’s employment only when you win, which you don’t do often,” Buck said.

Will went back to staring at the wall. Not even his brothers’ bickering distracted him from the feeling of impending doom that had nagged him since Marsha’s text.

“Mack’s too busy at the dude ranch to rodeo on weekends,” Porter said. “I need a new roping partner.” He tore a page from the magazine, wadded it into a ball and threw it at Will, pinging him in the shoulder. “Want to team rope with me this Saturday at the Midway Rodeo?”

Will didn’t rodeo much anymore, because he often ended up working seven days a week to finish a construction job. “What about horses?”

“Greg Patterson said he’d bring an extra pair if we give him a cut of the winnings.”

“You that confident we’re gonna win?” Will asked.

Porter chuckled. “No.”

“Count me in.” Will needed an outlet for his anxiety.

The rumble of a car engine drifted through the bunkhouse walls and Will bolted to the window. A red Honda SUV pulled into the yard.

“Let me see.” Porter pushed his way between Buck and Will. “When did she get boobs?”

Will gaped at the woman who stepped from the car. This was not the Marsha Bugler he’d taken to the prom his senior year.

“Show some respect, Porter.” Buck elbowed his brother. “She’s the pastor’s daughter.”

Will soaked in the sight of his son’s mother. Marsha was tall, and the tight, faded jeans and fancy cowgirl boots emphasized her long legs. Shoot, he couldn’t recall what shoes she’d worn to the prom, never mind the color of her dress. Golden curls fell over her shoulders and the black V-neck T-shirt showed off her generous breasts. The curls were familiar but not the boobs—their groping in the pickup had been done with most of their clothes on.

“They might be fake,” Porter said.

Marsha stumbled when she walked up the porch steps. The way her breasts jiggled settled the matter—they were real.

“I heard that some women go through a second puberty and—”

“Get lost, Porter,” Will said.

Isi had taken the boys into town earlier and there was no one to answer Marsha’s knock on the farmhouse door. She shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun and stared in the direction of the bunkhouse.

“Aren’t you going to go out there?” Buck asked.

“I’m going.” Will stepped outside, slamming the door behind him. The noise drew Marsha’s attention and for the first time in over fourteen years they made eye contact.

Aware Buck and Porter spied through the window and Conway stood in the barn watching, Will ignored the urge to flee and met Marsha in the middle of the yard.

“Hello, Will.”

Her voice rang with confidence and the directness of her gaze knocked him off balance. The woman standing before him was nothing like the high school girl who’d barely conversed with him. “Marsha.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

It wasn’t every day a man found out he was a father. Did she have any idea how her letter had turned his life upside down? Her expression remained neutral, but she clenched and unclenched her hands. She was more nervous than she let on. Good. She should be.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she said.

“A few.”

She squared her shoulders. He hadn’t remembered her being spirited—only shy and studious. She’d been the complete opposite of the girls he’d chased in school. The wild girls had been the only ones willing to date a guy like him.

“If you expect me to apologize—” her eyes blazed “—I’m not going to.”

She might as well have slapped him across the face with her stinging statement. Of course the pastor’s daughter considered herself above needing forgiveness.

“I had my reasons, Will, whether they were right or wrong, they were mine and I don’t regret keeping Ryan. Nothing you say or do can make me feel guilty for not aborting my son.”

“Your son?”

A pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Our son.”

“What about hiding Ryan from me? Feel any guilt over that?”

She lowered her gaze. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“The front porch.” Away from his brothers’ prying eyes. They walked past the house in silence, the intermittent breeze carrying the scent of Marsha’s perfume beneath Will’s nose—a light, citrusy smell that made him want to take off her clothes. He ground his teeth and silently cursed himself for finding her attractive.

When they reached the front yard, he spoke. “Why did you suddenly decide to tell me about Ryan?” He doubted her reason had to do with guilt, otherwise she’d have come forward years ago.

“My father’s ill.”

Stagecoach was a small town. Will’s boss happened to be a member of the Community Mission Church and had told him about the pastor’s health issues. “What does your father’s prostate cancer have to do with being truthful with me?”

“Ryan’s very close to his grandfather and when he’s gone...” She cleared her throat. “Ryan won’t have a man to look up to.”

Will was the last person on earth who should be a role model. Feeling as if Marsha had backed him into a corner, he lashed out—more from fear than anger. “Would you have ever told me about Ryan if your father hadn’t become ill?”

She stared him in the eye, which wasn’t difficult considering she was at least five feet ten inches in her boots and he was six feet in his boots. “You told me to get an abortion. You said under no circumstances did you want to be a father.”

“I was eighteen, Marsha.” He paced in front of her. “That’s what a typical eighteen-year-old guy tells the girl he got pregnant.” He hadn’t suggested giving the baby up for adoption because he was afraid he’d be just like his old man.

“I was eighteen, too. Old enough to make up my own mind about whether or not I was ready to be a mother.”

She’d avoided answering his question, so he answered it for her. “You wouldn’t have told me about Ryan if your father hadn’t become ill.”

“I would have told you...eventually.”

“You’re a liar. Buck forced your hand.” When she didn’t respond, Will said, “My brother should have told me right away when he found out.”

“I’m not here to talk about what Buck should or shouldn’t have done. I was prepared to tell Ryan about you years ago, but he didn’t show any interest in learning who his father was.”

“None at all?” The question escaped his mouth in a choked whisper.

She shook her head.

Stunned, Will closed his eyes as a memory better left buried resurrected itself. When he’d turned twelve, he’d wanted to know more about his father and had pestered his mother for information. She’d brushed off Will’s questions, but he’d badgered her until one afternoon she’d dragged him by the shirt collar to the car and drove him to Tucson.

She never said a word the entire trip until she stopped in front of a single-story home with toys strewn across the yard.

“Your father lives in that house.”

“What’s his name?”

“Henry Blythe.”

“Can I ring the doorbell?” he’d asked.

“It’s up to you.”

Will was cocky enough to believe he could handle anything, so he strolled up to the house and rang the bell. A woman answered the door and two little kids poked their heads out from behind her legs. “Is Mr. Blythe home?” Will asked.

“Yes, who are you?”

“Willie Cash, ma’am.”

“Wait here.” She shut the door in his face. He stood on the porch so long his legs became tired and he sat on the stoop. His mother waited with him—never leaving the car. After an hour Will rang the doorbell again. And again. And again. The sun set. And he waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally the door opened.

A man stood in the shadows. Will couldn’t make out his features, but his voice sounded hoarse and mean. “Go away, kid.”

Shaking in his shoes, Will asked, “Are you my father?”

“With a mother like yours, you’re not good enough to be anyone’s kid.” The door slammed in his face.

From that day forward Will hadn’t given Henry Blythe a second thought, but deep down the man’s rejection had left its mark. Will accepted that he was no good because of who his mother was—a woman who’d borne seven children—six of them fathered by different men. That Ryan had never been interested in knowing Will reminded him of the shame he carried.

Feeling like a cornered animal Will lashed out, “What do you want from me?”

Marsha backpedaled. “If you don’t want to meet your son, say so and we won’t interfere in your life.”

“It’s easy to paint me the bad guy, isn’t it?” He pointed his finger. “You want everything on your terms and you expect me to be grateful that you’re allowing me to see my son.”

“You don’t know what it was like to be in my shoes—eighteen, pregnant and...” She rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. Go ahead and hate me. I don’t care.”

Will might have believed her if her voice hadn’t cracked.

“What matters now is doing what’s best for Ryan,” she said.

Damn, he admired her spunk. To his knowledge his mother had never stood up to any of his siblings’ fathers the way Marsha stood up to Will. Maybe the outcome of his confrontation with Henry Blythe would have been different if his mother had accompanied him to the door that afternoon.

“Do you want to meet your son or not?”

“Of course.” The words sounded sure, but deep down Will was terrified.

“When?”

“There’s a rodeo in Midway on Saturday. I told Porter I’d team rope with him. You and Ryan could meet us there.”

“What time?”

“One o’clock,” he said.

“Fine.”

“Are you going to tell Ryan about me before Saturday?”

“Yes.”

He’d like to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. “What have your parents got to say about all this?”

“I didn’t tell them you were Ryan’s father.”

Now he knew why the pastor had never shown up at the pecan farm with a shotgun, demanding he do right by his daughter.

“My mother suspected it was you a while ago.” The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Ryan looks like you.”

Her words barely registered with Will as he stared at her mouth. Blame it on his confused emotional state but right now all he wanted to do was taste Marsha’s kiss. Why he’d want to kiss the woman who’d betrayed him was a mystery, but there was no denying her presence was causing a spike in his testosterone levels.

“Are you okay?” She frowned.

“I’m fine.” Pull it together, man. “Your mother didn’t share her suspicions with your father?”

“No.”

He didn’t envy Marsha the task of breaking the news to the pastor—the man had never held the Cash family in high esteem. Working at the church next week would prove interesting.

When they walked to Marsha’s car, Will said, “In case no one told you...I work for Ben Wallace’s construction company and we’re—”

“I heard.” She opened the driver-side door. “I’m sorry if I came off... I didn’t mean to be...” She nibbled her lip. “I’m worried about my father.”

Unlike Will, Marsha had a good relationship with her parents and he sympathized with her having to deal with the pastor’s illness. “See you Saturday,” he said. Her car had no sooner disappeared from sight than all three of his brothers appeared at Will’s side.

“Well?” Conway said. “Are you positive you’re Ryan’s father?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?” Porter asked.

“Marsha’s bringing him to the rodeo on Saturday.”

“Want me to tag along?” Buck asked.

“No, thanks.” The last thing he needed was to overwhelm Ryan with all his uncles. “Porter, we’re taking separate vehicles. I’ll meet you in Midway.”

“Whatever works best for you.” Porter nodded toward his truck. “Buck and I are heading into Yuma to grocery shop. You got any requests?”

Will shook his head. Once his brothers peeled out of the yard, Conway spoke. “You okay?”

“I don’t know the first thing about being a father.”

“I didn’t either,” Conway said.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“You learn as you go.”

That sounded risky.

“My advice is to not push yourself on Ryan. Let him call the shots.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s not. And as soon as you think you understand your kid, they do something that takes you by surprise.” Conway retreated to the barn, leaving Will alone with his misgivings.

* * *

“RYAN, LET’S TAKE a walk,” Marsha said after supper. Her father had retreated to the living room to nap in his recliner and her mother was pulling weeds in the garden.

“I don’t want to take a walk. I’m reading the Land of Varagon.” Ryan had gotten hooked on a new fantasy series after one of the kids in his after-school book club recommended it. There were twelve stories in the series and Ryan was reading number six. She’d kept track of the characters and plots through the fourth book, then things had become confusing and she’d given up.

“I need to talk to you. It’s important.” She waited by the door.

Ryan set his e-reader on the kitchen table and they walked through the garage then along the path that led to the church.

“How do you feel about meeting your father this summer?” When Ryan remained silent, she said, “You’ve never asked about him.”

“I didn’t ask, because I thought you didn’t want me to know who he was.”

Shocked, she put the brakes on. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want you to know who your father was?”

“You never talked about him and he never came to our house.” Ryan shrugged. “I thought he was a bad person.”

Dear God what had she done? “I’m sorry, Ryan. I assumed your silence meant you weren’t interested in getting to know him.” As soon as she said the words, a sharp pain struck her in the chest—guilt. How dare she lay the blame at Ryan’s feet when her reluctance to include Will in their lives had to do with her own insecurities and nothing to do with wanting to prevent Will from hurting Ryan.

“It’s not a big deal, Mom. Lots of kids in my school have only one parent.”

“Since we’re spending the entire summer with Grandpa and Grandma I thought you should know that your father lives in Stagecoach.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How come he never wanted to see me when we came to Grandma and Grandpa’s?”

“Your father didn’t know you existed until recently.”

Her throat tightened as she envisioned the wary look on Will’s face when they’d met today. It was clear her decision to keep Ryan a secret had wounded him deeply. Then she reminded herself that over a decade had passed since she’d revealed her pregnancy to him and his reaction then had been very different.

“Why didn’t you want him to know about me?” Ryan asked.

“I didn’t think he was ready to be a father. We’d both just graduated from high school.”

“Does he want to meet me or are you forcing him to?”

“Of course he wants to meet you. He’d like for you and I to go to a rodeo and watch him compete this Saturday.”

“I don’t like rodeos.”

“Since when?”

“Since Grandma and Grandpa took me to one when I was six.”

“I’d forgotten about that.” When Ryan had returned from the event all he’d told her was that it was too noisy and the place stunk like poop.

They arrived at the church and Ryan held the door open for her. They sat in the pew at the front of the sanctuary.

“Is he any good at rodeo?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll find out on Saturday.”

“Do I have to go?”

“Yes.” It would be easy to give in to him, but she held firm.

“Mom? What if I don’t like him?”

Marsha smiled—she’d always been drawn to Will’s brooding personality and good looks. He’d been the quintessential bad boy, the kid with a troubled past, and she’d been the sweet daughter of the local pastor who’d believed she could save him.

“Why are you smiling?” Ryan’s question ended her trip down memory lane.

“I bumped into your father in the school hallway once. All my books went flying.”

“Did he get mad?”

“No, he helped me pick them up.” Then the next day when they’d passed in the hall again she’d said “Hi” but Will had looked right through her.

“You’re weird, Mom.”

“I know.” She stared into Ryan’s blue eyes—the same blue as hers. His light brown hair and square jaw were all Will. A wavy lock fell across his forehead and she brushed it away even though he didn’t like her fussing over him. “Don’t mention meeting your dad to Grandpa.”

“Grandpa doesn’t know who my dad is?”

“No.” She’d taught Ryan from an early age to always tell the truth and she was ashamed that she hadn’t modeled the same behavior.

“What’s his name?”

“Will Cash.”

Ryan’s eyes grew round. “Is he Buck’s brother?”

“Will is Buck’s older brother.”

“Am I supposed to call him Dad?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Is he smart?”

Marsha winced. Ryan’s high IQ skewed the way he viewed the world and people. “I’ve told you before that not all intelligence comes from book learning.”

“Did he go to college?”

“I don’t know.” Marsha didn’t think Will had.

“What’s his job?”

“He’s a construction worker. As a matter of fact, he’s helping to build the new addition on Grandpa’s church.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “I’m going to see him every day?”

“Probably, but he’ll be busy working.”

“I don’t have to help, do I?”

“I hope you’ll pitch in if your grandfather or father asks you to.” The conversation needed to end, before it spiraled downward. “You’re okay then with going to the rodeo?”

“If I have to.”

You have to.

As they walked to the house, Marsha wondered again if she was doing the right thing in bringing father and son together. Ryan was nothing like Will might envision for a son and Will was nothing like Ryan might envision for a father.


Chapter Three

“Ladies and gents, welcome to the thirty-fifth annual Midway Rodeo and Stock Show.”

Applause filled the outdoor arena that held two thousand people. From the corner of her eye Marsha observed Ryan soaking in the atmosphere. He’d been quiet since they’d arrived at the fairgrounds. He was nervous about meeting his father, but all she could do was offer her silent support and be there for him if he needed her.

“When’s he competing?” Ryan asked.

Marsha flipped through the program she’d purchased while the announcer droned on about the history of the rodeo and famous cowboys who’d claimed national titles. “Looks like your father and uncle are up after the barrel racing event.” She pointed to the rodeo workers setting out the barrels in the arena.

“Can I see the bulls before he rides?”

Ryan wasn’t into girls yet and she teased him. “Don’t you want to watch the cowgirls ride?” He rolled his eyes and she laughed. “Let’s look for the livestock pens.” She wasn’t surprised that Ryan found rodeo boring. He wasn’t into sports and his only competition experience came from chess-club matches.

As they approached the livestock pens, Marsha plugged her nose. “Whew, it stinks.”

“The bulls don’t look mean,” Ryan said.

“Maybe not now, but once the gate opens, they turn into ruthless bucking machines.”

“Rodeo’s stupid.”

Oh, boy. Will would not welcome hearing his son’s opinion of the sport. “It’s difficult to appreciate things you don’t have any experience in.”

“Where are the steers they use for team roping?”

She nodded to a barn. “Maybe in there.”

Quite a few cowboys had gathered outside the building but Will and Porter weren’t in the group. So as not to interfere with Will’s concentration, Marsha hadn’t planned on father and son meeting until after the Cash brothers competed. “Let’s buy a bag of popcorn.”

Ten minutes later they found their seats and the announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Ladies and gents, we’re ready to kick off the team-roping event.”

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?”

Ryan’s expression lightened. “My favorite book is The Hobbit.”

Will had heard about the movie but hadn’t seen it. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Bilbo Baggins. Do you like Tolkien’s writing?”

“Sure,” he lied.

“I read The Lord of the Rings.”

At least Will had seen that movie.

“Tolkien was a professor at Pembroke College in Oxford, England. I want to go to college there, too.”

The arena walls closed in on Will and he changed the subject. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“No.”

“Would you like to? Your uncle Mack works at a dude ranch and he can take us on a trail ride.”

“What’s a trail ride?”

“Natural paths in the desert that horses can easily navigate.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Do you like fishing? We’ve got a water hole on the farm that—”

“I don’t like fishing.”

“Have you ever fished before?”

“No, but I don’t think I’d like it.”

Will dragged a hand down his face. Finding a common interest with his son was proving difficult. “Do you have any big plans for this summer?”

“Not really. I got a Kindle for my birthday and downloaded a lot of books before we drove out here.”

Will didn’t even know when his son had been born. “When was your birthday?”

“February twelfth.”

“Three days before my birthday.” Ryan didn’t comment. “Besides reading, what other hobbies do you have?”

“I like to play chess with my grandpa.”

Swell. Will played checkers but not chess.

“What grade in school are you?”

“This fall I’ll be a freshman at the high school where Mom teaches.”

Once Marsha had gone off to college in California, Will had lost track of her—not that he’d tried to keep tabs on her whereabouts. He’d assumed she’d had an abortion so he’d moved on. If he’d asked around about her the first year she’d moved away, maybe he’d have learned she’d had a baby.

But you didn’t ask about her.

He could have spoken with Marsha’s parents or talked to her best friend Hillary Bancroft, who worked at the hair salon in town, but Will hadn’t—because he hadn’t wanted to know if Marsha had kept their baby. His worst nightmare would have been becoming a father and his eighteen-year-old mind insisted he was better off remaining in the dark.

“What subject does your mother teach?” He and Marsha hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences to each other the night of the prom, but he did remember her saying she’d wanted to earn a teaching degree.

“Chemistry.”

“That’s a tough subject.”

“Not really. I plan to take AP chemistry and physics before I graduate from high school.”

Will had no idea what AP meant, but he assumed that his son had inherited his mother’s IQ. If there was any blessing in this whole mess, it was that Will hadn’t passed on the gene for dyslexia to his son. “What are your plans after you graduate high school?”

“I’m going to apply to Stanford, Harvard and Yale.”

“Those are top-rated colleges. That’s pretty ambitious.”

“And don’t forget Oxford University. Mom says I have to go to the school that offers me the most financial aid and scholarships.”

Will’s heart raced. Now that he knew he had a son, he’d have to pay child support, which he intended to do, but how could he pay a hefty tuition bill on a small-town construction worker’s salary? “Do you know what you want to study?”

“Probably physics.”

“Great.” The more Will learned about Ryan the dumber he felt and the less confident he was that he and his son would ever become close.

Ryan fidgeted in his chair and Will sensed the kid was eager to end their discussion. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Let’s grab a hot dog and find your mom.” This afternoon couldn’t end soon enough. Will hadn’t felt this insignificant since the day he’d confronted his biological father.

Fast forward twenty-two years and nothing had changed—he was still irrelevant.

* * *

“I’M DISAPPOINTED IN you, daughter.”

Marsha had walked in the door less than a minute ago after a stressful afternoon at the rodeo and now her father was ready to face off with her.

“Let’s take a walk.” He gave her no choice but to tag along.

Feet dragging, she strolled with him across the patio and alongside the house to the front yard. Not until she and Ryan were driving home from the rodeo had she realized the extent of her exhaustion. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she’d made the decision to tell Will about Ryan. She wished she’d had a chance to talk with Will in private before they’d left the rodeo, but he and Porter had to prepare for their event and Ryan hadn’t wanted to stay and watch.

When they reached the end of the sidewalk, her father continued along the path that led to the church—his silence made Marsha nervous. She’d asked her mother to break the news about Will while she and Ryan were at the rodeo, hoping her father would work through his anger before she returned. The stern look on his face convinced her that her plan had backfired.

Marsha had been a good daughter through the years but having a child out of wedlock had hurt and embarrassed the pastor in front of his parishioners and members of the community. Nonetheless, he was a loving man and had forgiven her and embraced his grandson—for that she’d always be grateful.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” The words sounded inadequate, but what else could she say?

“Why did you keep us in the dark about William Cash?”

This was tricky. Her father would bend over backward to help a person in need and his actions always demonstrated his faith. However, years ago she’d learned that the man she’d believed walked on water was human and possessed prejudices like everyone else. “I didn’t tell you, because I knew you disliked the Cash family.”

He stopped walking. “I’ve never said—”

“You called them heathens the night I told you I was going to the prom with Will.” Marsha had gotten a glimpse of her father’s humanness that evening. He’d spouted a fiery speech, insisting she was too good for the likes of a Cash boy. She’d never heard him talk that way before but that night he hadn’t been a pastor—he’d been a father, trying to protect his only child and he’d let nothing stand in his way. Not even God.

They cut across the parking lot to the reflection garden behind the church and sat in the shade on a stone bench.

“Did he refuse to marry you?” her father asked.

“I hardly knew Will.” But she would have married him in a heartbeat if he’d proposed to her.

“You told him about the baby?”

She wouldn’t lie to her father to protect Will. “Yes, I told him.”

“Doesn’t surprise me that he wanted nothing to do with Ryan.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the gravel. “Has Ryan been asking questions about his father?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. You asked all kinds of questions about your parents before you were in kindergarten.”

She’d asked questions because her parents had been open with her about her adoption. “I told Ryan years ago that if he was curious about his father, I’d be more than happy to talk about him.”

“Why do you think he hasn’t asked about William?”

“Because you’re like a father to him. You’ve always been there for Ryan. Given him advice, guidance and love. Honestly, I don’t believe Ryan feels as if he’s missing out on anything by not having a father.”

“I won’t always be here for my grandson.”

She squeezed his hand. They hadn’t talked about his cancer since she’d arrived for the summer and she wasn’t ready to now. “Give Will a chance, Dad. Please.”

“I’ll think about it.” He retreated to the far side of the garden where he bowed his head in front of the statue of Mary. Marsha left him in peace as the doubts in her head went to war with the hope in her heart.


Chapter Four

“What happened?”

Will stopped on his way to the bunkhouse when Conway crossed his path.

“Porter and I came in fourth.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Conway said.

“I’m not in the mood to talk.” Will continued walking and his brother fell into step beside him.

“Things didn’t go well?”

Will didn’t have a chance to answer before the farmhouse door opened and his nephews raced outside.

“Uncle Will! Uncle Will!”

Oh, hell. He could easily ignore his brother but not the twins. He waited for the boys and Bandit to catch up. When the trio skidded to a stop, the dog slammed into the boys’ legs, almost knocking them to the ground.

“Did you and Uncle Porter win a buckle?” Miguel asked.

“No, but we came close.”

“Dad, can we go with Uncle Will to his next rodeo?” Javier spoke.

“If your uncle says it’s okay.”

A sliver of jealousy worked its way beneath Will’s skin when he considered how fortunate Conway was that the twins idolized him. At least his nephews believed their uncle Will led an exciting life, because he went to rodeos and built things—unlike his son who’d rather stick his head in a book and read all day than watch his father rope a steer.

Will silently cursed himself for the uncharitable thought. A thirty-minute talk with Ryan had hardly made a dent in getting to know the young man. He ruffled the boys’ hair and pointed to the dog. “Looks like Bandit wants to play catch.”

The Lab understood the word catch and raced across the lawn, snatching the tennis ball from the ground in front of the porch. As soon as the boys ran after their four-legged pal, Conway spoke. “What happened with Ryan today?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Will went inside the bunkhouse where he hung his cowboy hat on the hook above his bed, then sat on the mattress and stared into space.

“You want me to call Johnny?” Conway hovered in the doorway.

Will was only a year younger than the eldest Cash brother but his siblings had elected Johnny head of the family after Grandpa Ely had died. “Johnny can’t fix this.” If his brother could, he wouldn’t have hesitated seeking his advice. The problem was that no matter what Will did or said, he’d fall short in Ryan’s eyes.

“When do the rest of us get to meet Ryan?” Conway asked.

“I don’t know.” He glared until his brother got the message and closed the door on his way out.

Will didn’t give a crap that he’d been rude. He felt like a bear with a thorn in his paw and he wasn’t fit for company. He stared at the ceiling. What was he supposed to do next? Was the ball in his court? Ryan’s? Or was Marsha calling the shots?

Marsha.

Man, had she changed—and all in good ways. This afternoon she’d worn a pair of slim-fitting jeans and boots. The pink western shirt with black trim accentuated her breasts and had drawn the eye of more than a few cowboys. She hardly looked old enough to be the mother of a teenager.

An image of her walking down the hall in high school, head bent over the stack of books in her arms, popped into his mind. Today, she’d stood before him confident she could handle any obstacle in her way. He sure in heck could have used some of her self-assurance when he’d been introduced to his son.

Why Marsha? Why had he gotten the daughter of a church pastor pregnant? Their date to the prom had only happened because Buck had suggested he take Marsha after Will’s first choice, Linda Snyder—the cheerleader he’d had a crush on—turned him down flat, claiming she’d have to be desperate before she’d be seen with a Cash boy. Will had taken Marsha to show Linda that if a Cash boy was good enough for a pastor’s daughter...

The joke had been on him. In the end, the pastor’s daughter hadn’t believed Will good enough, otherwise she’d have told him she’d kept his baby instead of waiting until circumstances beyond her control had forced her to tell the truth.

The bunkhouse door opened and Will braced himself for an interrogation. “I told you to get lost, Conway.”

“I’m not Conway.”

Buck. This day couldn’t get much worse.

“I ran into Porter at the drive-in. He said you guys took fourth place.”

Will swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up. There was no peace, living with three brothers. If he needed space to think, he was better off taking a drive or a walk in the desert.

“How’d your meeting with Ryan go?”

“I assumed you’d have heard by now.” Will stood and faced his brother.

“Why would you think that? I’ve been fixing cars at Troy’s garage all day.”

The frustration and anger Will had kept bottled up inside him threatened to explode if he didn’t have it out with Buck right now. “You knew for over a year that Ryan was my son and you didn’t tell me.”

“I made a promise to Marsha—”

“Forget Marsha! I’m your flesh and blood. You were supposed to have my back and you betrayed me. I don’t know how your conscience allowed you to sleep at night.”

Buck’s eyes widened.

“It should have never come to this.”

“What do you mean?” Buck watched him warily.

“You knew she’d had a baby years ago and although you didn’t see Ryan when you stopped by her place...couldn’t you put two and two together and solve the fatherhood puzzle?”

“I asked her who Ryan’s father was but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“And then there’s the big question...why you never mentioned to me or any of our brothers that Marsha had had a baby.” Will moved closer, getting right up in Buck’s grill. “None of us knew you’d seen her in California.”

“I don’t know why you’d expect me to mention Marsha. You only went to the prom with her to get even with Linda what’s-her-name.” Buck pointed a finger. “You didn’t care about Marsha.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I cared or not. We made a baby!”

Buck clenched his hands but remained silent.

“Because of you my son has grown into a teenager I have nothing in common with. Zero. Zilch.”

“Give it a chance, Will. He’ll—”

“Do you know he hates rodeo? And get this...Ryan loves to read and I can’t read worth a damn.” Will needed someone to blame for the situation he was in and Buck was an easy target because he’d been closest to Marsha. “Ryan’s never going to look up to me as a father.”

Buck’s face paled.

“You’re my brother! You should have been looking out for me. Once you learned I was Ryan’s father you should have told me.”

Buck’s brooding expression pissed Will off and he punched him in the face, splitting his lip. Buck stumbled sideways but didn’t raise a fist.

“You’re right. I should have told you.”

“Coward!” Will punched Buck in the chest. “You robbed me and my son of fourteen years together!” Will took an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and threw it. Buck dodged the missile, which hit the aluminum wall and made a dent.

“Would it have mattered if you knew you’d fathered Ryan?”

Will gaped.

“You always said you never wanted to be a father.”

Will cringed at Buck’s statement. His brother had hit a nerve and Will tried to defend himself. “What eighteen-year-old is ready to become a father? I didn’t have a steady job. I’d barely managed to graduate from high school.” And their mother had died earlier that year. The family had been in turmoil and he’d been in no shape to raise a child. “Go away.”

“Let me make it up to you.” Buck’s pleading tone grated on Will’s nerves. “I’ll talk to Marsha and—”

“No.” Will sliced the air with his hand. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“Then tell me how to make it right.”

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Get out of town,” Will said.

“For how long?” The whispered question hung in the air.

“Until I figure things out with Marsha and Ryan.” Will didn’t need his brother interfering when he was searching for a way to fit into his son’s life. If Buck hung around, Marsha might run to him when she had a disagreement with Will over Ryan.

Buck opened his mouth but no words came out. It must have been a trick of the light that made his brother’s eyes look watery.

The crushing pain in Will’s chest pushed the air from his lungs. Damn it, he wasn’t the bad guy. Buck had betrayed him.

So why did he feel as if he’d just kicked his brother in the balls?

* * *

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Will asked when he spotted Johnny walking along the path to the fishing hole.

Shell-shocked after meeting his son yesterday and then brawling with Buck, Will had taken his pole and escaped to the one place he could find peace and quiet on the farm. Or so he’d thought.

“I wanted to find out how things went with Ryan,” Johnny said.

“I don’t want to talk about Ryan.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about Buck. I heard you told him to take off.”

“What if I did?”

“Troy’s pretty pissed at you.”

“Troy can find another mechanic to fix his cars.” Will expected his brother to do an about-face, but Johnny stayed put—he was as stubborn as Will.

“You’d better learn how to deal with your situation, because I won’t let you tear this family apart.”

“No one’s tearing anything apart. Besides, what does it matter if Buck’s gone for a while? These days we all go our separate ways.”

“You might not care, but Shannon’s due date is two weeks away. I’d hoped to have my entire family here to welcome my son or daughter into the world.”

Well, shit. Will had been caught up in his own situation and had forgotten about Shannon and the baby. “I’ll talk to Buck and apologize.”

“Good luck with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Buck’s not answering his phone, and I bet he won’t pick up when he sees your number.”

Will set the pole on the ground, then paced in front of the pond. “What do you want me to do, Johnny?” The look of disappointment in his older brother’s eyes cut him to the core.

“Buck told me the reason you sent him away.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was disloyal to a brother. Buck should have spoken up for me when I couldn’t.” Will winced. His shout had probably scattered the fish to the bottom of the pond.

“Buck isn’t the one to blame, Will. Marsha hid your son from you.”

Will searched for a rock and when he found a decent-size one he kicked it twenty yards. Johnny was right. Why was it easier to let Marsha’s trespass slide and nail Buck’s hide to the wall for his?

Because Buck’s kin. And it hurts a lot more when family betrays you.

Will didn’t want to care what Marsha thought of him, because he’d never measure up in her eyes or Pastor Bugler’s, but what Ryan thought of him mattered. He wanted a chance to earn his son’s respect.

Johnny nodded to the pond. “While you’re fishing maybe you should consider your role in this situation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The afternoon we caught Dixie and Gavin taking a shower together before they got married.”

“What about that day?”

“We all got into an argument in the hallway and Buck let it slip that Marsha had told him you’d gotten her pregnant.”

“Yeah.”

“You could have asked Buck when he and Marsha had talked.”

“Why would I care when she told him?”

“You didn’t care, Will, because you didn’t want to ask Buck if Marsha had kept the baby.”

“Marsha told me she was getting an abortion and I believed her.”

No, she told you not to worry about the baby, that she’d take care of it.

Will rubbed a hand down his jaw. He’d wanted to believe she’d meant she’d abort the baby but fear that she might not had kept him from seeking the truth.

Johnny quirked an eyebrow. “You having unprotected sex with Marsha set in motion everyone’s destiny— including yours.” Johnny turned away.

“Wait. Tell me what to do. How do I make this right?”

The sympathetic expression on Johnny’s face sent a sharp pain through Will’s chest. “I don’t have any answers. You’ll have to find your own way through this, but don’t forget...”

Will swallowed hard.

“What’s done is done. All you can change now is the future.”

When Johnny disappeared from view, Will sank to the ground and stared into space. His brother was right. The only option was to move forward and find a place for himself in his son’s life. Will waited a half hour for a fish to bite, then packed up his gear. When he reached the barn, he noticed the pile of new lumber by the front porch.

Damn. He’d promised the twins he’d build Bandit a doghouse this weekend. An idea came to mind—he’d ask Ryan to help and hope that the twins’ constant babble would put his son at ease.

* * *

“I’M SO EXCITED,” Hillary Bancroft said when Marsha slipped into the stylist’s chair at the Bee Luv Lee Hair Salon. “I can’t believe you and Ryan are staying in Stagecoach for the whole summer.”

“I’m looking forward to spending more time with my father,” Marsha said. And Will. She wanted to get to know her son’s father and find out what kind of man he’d become.

Hillary draped a black cape over Marsha and fussed with her wavy locks. “How’s your dad feeling?”

“Dad’s slowed down since our last trip home.” There was no need to go into the details of her father’s battle with prostate cancer—Hillary and her twelve-year-old daughter were members of the Mission Community Church.

“What does Ryan think about being stuck in the desert for two and a half months?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Marsha glanced across the room where the new owner of the salon, Rosie Davis, was styling Fiona Wilson’s gray hair. Fiona had been Marsha’s English teacher in high school but had since retired. Marsha glanced in the mirror and caught Hillary watching her.

“Rosie’s making a bank run as soon as she finishes Fiona’s hair. We’ll have the place to ourselves for a few minutes.”

Good. Marsha didn’t want Hillary learning Will was Ryan’s father through the Stagecoach grapevine.

“Are we doing highlights today and trimming the ends?”

“Highlights,” Marsha said.

“I’ll mix up your color.”

After Hillary disappeared, Rosie twirled Fiona’s chair and Marsha smiled at the schoolteacher. “Any summer plans, Fiona?”

“Nothing too exciting,” Fiona said. “Now how old is that son of yours?”

“Ryan turned fourteen this past February.”

“It’s not too early to discuss colleges.”

“No worries there.” Marsha laughed. “Ryan has his top four already picked out.”

Fiona closed her eyes when Rosie reached for the can of hair spray.

“Ryan would love to study abroad in England, but that’s not in the budget,” Marsha said.





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