Page 58 of Road to a Cowboy

He rose to check the photo on the LCD screen. The stars shone, the mountain was a dusky shadow, and there, in the foreground, was the silhouette of two men sitting side by side.

Something zinged through him. Recognition that he’d taken a good photo. That feeling of a job well done, that he’d just captured something special.

No one looking at the photo could tell that the cowboy was laughing.

But Austin knew. Would remember every time he looked at this photo. Would remember and feel the punch to his gut that told him Cal was his, and he was laughing because of him.

“How’s it look?” Cal asked.

“It’s perfect.”

Chapter Seventeen

“You’re late,” Barbara snapped when Cal walked up her porch steps with the missing items from her weekly grocery order the following day, after dropping Austin off at the airport in Jackson Hole.

“I told you I’d be by around three.” Jaw tightening, Cal’s fingers clenched on the handles of his shopping bags. “It’s two fifteen.”

His mom harrumphed.

She sat on a rocker on the porch, people-watching from her throne—or maybe just waiting for him, because at two fifteen on a Friday, there wasn’t much activity happening on her street.

She looked better almost two weeks after her fall. It would take a little longer for her to heal completely, but her movements were easier and her eyes weren’t creased in pain.

“I’ll put these away,” he said, stepping into the house.

“And then you’ll pull the weeds out of the garden.” It wasn’t a question. “I haven’t been able to bend down to do it myself.”

“Can’t,” Cal called from the kitchen, raising his voice so it carried out the screen door. “I’ve got to get back to the ranch.”

“The ranch.” The venom with which Barbara said those two words raised the hairs on the back of Cal’s neck. “It’s always about the ranch with you.”

Suddenly bone-weary, and not because of yesterday’s late night with Austin, Cal sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s my job, Mom.”

“Those Windsor-Marches. Think they’re better than everyone because they’re great-great-whatever founded this town.”

Cal stared toward the front door and thought of Whitney Windsor-March and how she often got right into ranch work, getting her hands dirty just like the rest of them. Thought too of Derek March, giggling helplessly over his Have a beary Christmas social media holiday greeting that he’d posted with a picture of a grizzly bear last Christmas. And of Las and Alice, the former who was determined to make the ranch sustainable and the latter who worked so hard to ensure the guests had a nice time.

“They’re really not like that,” Cal said hoarsely. “They’re some of the nicest, most down-to-earth people you’ll ever meet.”

And the most supportive too. Cal didn’t know many ranch owners who wouldn’t have automatically shut down his idea of a ranching co-op.

“Sponsoring the Saturday market,” Barbara went on, as though Cal hadn’t spoken. “And that community spirit award thing. Splashing their name all over town to make the rest of us feel like underlings.”

She kept going, spewing hatred and poison faster than Cal could keep up.

Gritting his teeth, Cal didn’t bother speaking up in defense of the Windsor-Marches again. It wouldn’t make a difference; he might as well save himself the breath and the frustration.

He knew the truth, and that was enough.

He put the groceries away as fast as he could manage, bundled the reusable bags under his arm, and strode outside.

“I’ve put everything away,” he said, interrupting a tirade about the uselessness of the ranch’s monthly dance parties. “I’ll be back tomorrow to deal with the weeds.”

“And I’ll need the grass cut and that tree over there trimmed,” she called to his retreating back. “And I have a few things that need to go to the dry cleaners. But not the one in town. They ruined my favorite dress last month. Drop them off at the cleaners in Jackson Hole.”

“If the dry cleaning can wait, I’ll be in Jackson Hole next weekend to pick up Austin from the airport. I can drop it off at the same time. Two birds, one stone, and all that.”

“Pah. Austin. Of course, you’ll make the trip when he asks, but when I ask for one favor?—”

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