Page 5 of Road to a Cowboy

Cal did owe his dad some measure of credit, though—if it hadn’t been for him getting Cal a job as a stablehand at the ranch he worked on, Cal never would’ve discovered his love of ranching. He’d fallen in love with horses the first time Austin had brought him to Windsor Ranch with his mom to wreak havoc—to be fair, Austin was usually the instigator—but it was his job at the ranch in Idaho that had fed his love of ranching.

Not wanting to dwell on crappy childhood memories, he poured coffee into two insulated mugs, spread jam on half his toasted slice of bread before folding it in two, then headed out, one mug tucked into the crook of his elbow while he ate.

Whereas a foreman usually lived on the ranch they worked on, Cal had his own home a few minutes away from Windsor Ranch. He’d lived on the ranch for a bit after getting promoted to foreman, just long enough to save money and buy his own place. He’d spent his entire life living with other people; by the time he’d made foreman, he’d been ready to be on his own.

From his house in one of Windsor’s many middle-class neighborhoods, the walk to Windsor Town Square in the heart of town was an easy fifteen minutes under a cloudless blue sky. Despite the morning chill, he warmed quickly on his walk, and by the time he reached the Saturday market in the square, he was regretting his decision to toss a flannel shirt over his T-shirt.

The market was a Windsor institution and ran every Saturday from the first week of June to the end of August. White tents housed vendors selling everything from local honey to cowboy hats to genuine leather belts to pottery.

At the end of a row, where he’d paid a small fortune for two end spots from which to sell his photographs, Austin sat at the tiny folding table that held his laptop.

Cal’s steps stuttered, a heartbeat where every wish painted itself against his eyelids. But then he squared his shoulders and kept moving.

Austin wasn’t for him.

That didn’t mean Cal didn’t drink him in as though he were dying of thirst.

Austin had been attracting people to him since before they’d hit puberty, when he’d been a scrawny thing with too much charm and a disarming smile that lit up his face. As a thirty-three-year-old man, there was nothing scrawny about him. He was all height and breadth, golden skin and golden hair, aquamarine eyes, and a chin that models would pay for.

And he still had a smile that lit Cal’s soul on fire.

He aimed that smile Cal’s way now, glancing up from his conversation with his assistant as Cal walked into his tent. “What are your thoughts on aliens?” Austin asked.

Cal handed him one of the coffee mugs. “Any particular kind or just in general?”

Austin grinned at him, clearly delighted, and Cal’s heart missed a beat.

When he’d been a teenager, a smile from Austin had often sent Cal straight into fantasyland, where he’d spend the next ten minutes envisioning a future with his best friend.

Now, Cal knew better. Austin was bisexual, sure, but his tastes ran to people like Lindsay, his late wife: effervescent. Like fizzy champagne or popping soap bubbles.

Cal was just... Cal.

Marco, Austin’s assistant, snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes at them. Then he nodded at Cal’s remaining mug. “Guessing that’s not for me.”

Cal shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d be here.” He took a long sip of his coffee because it was fun to tease the kid.

Marco just shook his head, his mouth quirking upward. He was young, a decade younger than Cal and Austin, and only a year out of college. Austin had hired him as his assistant last summer, after his former assistant had gone into labor. Carine had decided to become a stay-at-home mom instead of returning to work for Austin, and Marco had been the perfect replacement. He was a transplant from the East Coast who’d arrived in Windsor a year ago for a seasonal summer position at Windsor Ranch—the same ranch Cal worked at. He’d started taking Austin’s photography workshops almost as soon as he’d arrived, and he was already a budding night sky photographer in his own right, thriving under Austin’s mentorship.

Cal looked at Austin and jerked his head to the side. “Want to grab breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” Austin said with a groan. “I’m starving. Took forever to set up today.” He stood, unfolding his six-foot-two frame from the little folding chair. He wore a white long-sleeved T-shirt that brought out the natural bronze of his skin and stylishly ripped jeans paired with a belt that, for some reason, made Cal gulp.

Maybe because he could imagine unbuckling it and threading it out of the belt loops before he sank to his knees and unzipped Austin’s jeans?

“Hold down the fort for twenty minutes?” Austin said to Marco, jarring Cal out of his inappropriate thoughts.

Marco nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll Photoshop the smudge out of this photo while you’re gone.”

Frowning, Austin pointed at him. “It’s an alien spaceship.”

“It’s a smudge.”

“An alien.”

“Want anything?” Cal asked Marco, interrupting before the two of them could get going.

“Nah. Las is meeting me for lunch later,” Marco said, referring to his boyfriend. “I can wait until then.”

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