Page 72 of Road to a Cowboy

Which begged the question—what did he really have to prove to Whitney? He was the foreman. She wouldn’t have given him the job in the first place if she didn’t think he could do it.

His parents had taught him that he only had value in what he could contribute.

But Austin, his parents, and Whitney had taught him that he had value in who he was. He didn’t have to contribute anything to be worthy—he just had to... be.

You could run this entire ranch by yourself if you had to.

Fuck yeah, he could.

“You look like a proud peacock.”

He jerked his gaze to the doorway, where a different Windsor-March stood. “Huh?”

“You look like a proud peacock,” Las repeated.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“All...” Las stood straighter, puffed his chest out, and wiped imaginary lint off his shoulder.

Cal couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut up. What do you want? If you’re looking for your mom, you just missed her.”

“Nah, I was looking for you. I want to ride to lunch together so I can quiz you about Norway. You can give me tips on what to see and do.”

“I didn’t know you were planning a trip.”

“I’m not, but it’s on my bucket list.”

“Is it on Marco’s bucket list?”

Las grinned. “My bucket list is his bucket list, and his is mine, forevermore. Except for that thing about learning French. I don’t really care about that.”

“Why does Marco want to learn French?” Cal asked, saving his spreadsheet.

“Beats me.” Las shrugged. “So? You coming?”

Cal rose. “Yeah, let’s?—”

His phone beeped with an incoming message from his mom.

Mom

I said 10:30, Cal. It’s almost NOON. The ladies arrived for brunch almost an hour ago and you still haven’t brought our order from The Mountain Peak Diner.

Cal clenched his jaw, the muscles in his shoulders tensing.

Last night, when he and Austin had landed and Cal’s cell phone had reconnected to local service, his phone had pinged with message after message after message from Barbara. She didn’t like the way the teenager Cal had hired had mowed her lawn, the pasta sauce he’d prepped for her was too spicy, The Mountain Peak Diner’s app was giving her trouble, how dare he take a vacation when she was injured.

Cal hadn’t answered any of her texts, just gritted his teeth and tucked his phone away before Austin could see.

Then, this morning, because Cal had made the mistake of giving her his itinerary, had come the litany of demands, from Where’s my dry cleaning, Cal? to Stop by the diner at 10:30 and bring me the food I ordered. The ladies are coming for brunch. Don’t be late, Cal.

Cal had only responded to that last one because it was his first day back after a week off and he couldn’t leave in the middle of his workday. He’d reminded her—again—that The Mountain Peak Diner delivered, which, evidently, had made no difference.

He tapped his phone against the desktop and shot Las a smile he suspected looked more like a grimace given Las’s narrowed gaze. “Rain check on the Norway debrief? There’s something I’ve got to deal with over lunch.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, but thanks. I’ll be back in an hour.”

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