Page 8 of Road to a Cowboy

“You said two,” Cal returned calmly, though Austin didn’t miss the twitch of his left cheek.

“I said—oh.” Her gaze landed on Austin, and her jaw firmed. “Austin.”

Oh, the venom in her voice. Austin didn’t know why her dislike for him made him so damn happy.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shot her a sharp smile. “Barbara.”

“Still a hanger-on, I see.”

“Still taking advantage of your son, I see.”

Cal shot him a look. “Austin...”

“You can put the groceries in the kitchen,” Barbara told Cal.

Austin raised an eyebrow, knowing the expression made him appear judgy as shit and not caring. “Are your legs broken?”

“Austin...” Cal repeated on a weary sigh.

Barbara drew herself up to her full height of almost six feet—only a couple of inches shorter than Cal and Austin—and crossed her arms over her chest. Her facial features went tight, accentuating the lines at the corners of her mouth and aging her several years past the sixty she’d just turned.

For as long as Austin had known her, she’d worked as an esthetician at the salon in town. Now she managed the place, though Austin had always wondered how in the hell she got repeat customers with her sunny personality.

Maybe she was nice to everyone except him and Cal.

She opened her mouth to say something—probably to kick Austin out; wouldn’t be the first time—when Cal interrupted with a smooth but pointed, “Austin drove me and your groceries here. That was nice of him, wasn’t it?”

Barbara’s expression remained stony.

For Cal’s sake, Austin shut his trap. He was here as moral support, not to antagonize the woman.

His ulterior motive, though? Making sure Barbara didn’t keep Cal around for the rest of the day with requests to clean the bathroom or scrub the shelves in the fridge. Cal would do it too, if not happily, then out of a sense of duty so strong he’d never consider saying no.

Austin would happily say no on his behalf.

He stayed by the front door as Cal went into the kitchen to put the groceries away. Barbara followed her son, and a second later, her harsh whispers drifted out to Austin. He couldn’t hear what she said. Probably something along the lines of That boy is a bad influence on you, which was rich, coming from her. Austin had never figured out what her problem was. Did she resent being a mother? Had she grown up in a household where she’d had to fight tooth and nail for everything she had? Was she just resentful of life in general? Too lazy to do things herself?

Cal didn’t like talking about his home life, so Austin had never asked the questions that burned the back of his throat.

Barbara’s house had a homey vibe with its cozy couch, area rugs, and hanging plants. At least it should’ve been homey. Probably was to anyone else. But knowing who owned the house made the place seemed cold to Austin.

Also, he wanted to walk around with muddy boots and mar the perfect floor, but that was the petty, childish side of him talking.

Besides, Cal would be stuck cleaning it up.

Cal returned from the kitchen, shoulders set in a rigid line of tension. Barbara was right behind him, demanding he come by sometime next week to set out the patio furniture now that the weather was nicer.

Austin opened his mouth to remind Barbara that her legs still weren’t broken, but one look at Cal’s expression and Austin bit the words back.

Weary was the only adjective Austin could think of to describe his best friend. Not physical fatigue—Cal could go all day. But a bone-deep weariness that came with trying and trying and trying and getting nothing in return for your effort.

“Ready to go?” Austin asked, not waiting for an answer before he tugged the door open.

“Yeah. Mom, I’ll be by next week to mow the lawn.”

“Before Monday morning,” she snapped, bare feet soundless against the hardwood. “I’m hosting the ladies for brunch at eleven and I want the yard to look nice.”

There are services you can call, Austin almost said, but he didn’t want to prolong this visit. It was time to get Cal the hell out of here.

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