Marin Thomas - Her Secret Cowboy

“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.”