Page 15 of The Cowboy Who Worked Late

They didn’t have to live and die by the clock. They didn’t have to run payroll. They didn’t have to live with over two dozen men,aging and disabled parents and siblings, and over two hundred horses who needed constant care.

Angel shoved the thoughts out and replaced them with ones of gratitude. “I love my life,” she whispered. “I have a very good life. It’s the life I want.”

And in so many ways, it was. She adored horses. She loved Lone Star. She loved her parents. She loved having fields like these here at Three Rivers.

She also wanted a family. She also wanted someone to take care of her. She wanted to break down into sobs and have someone who would take her in his arms and say,Shh, my angel. It’s okay.

Tears touched her eyes, and Angel sniffed and wiped one away quickly. She did not want to cry in the next two days. She wanted this to be a healing time for her. She wanted to smile and laugh. She wanted to walk through the sunlit fields, and she wanted to be with horses.

She couldn’t do any of that in her pajamas. So she got up, and as she turned to put her coffee cup in the sink, having only drunk half of it, she heard footsteps coming down the hall.

She arrived at the sink just as Chelsea entered the kitchen. “Oh, good morning, Angel,” Chelsea said with a bright smile. She had dark hair that hung down past her shoulders and almost olive skin, but that could have been a suntan as well.

“Good morning,” Angel said. “Thank you so much for everything. I really appreciate it.”

Chelsea looked at her with such knowing eyes, and Angel wasn’t sure what she saw. Angel was very good at hiding how she felt, and she simply waved back at Henry’s mom and said, “Henry said he’d be back at seven-thirty to make breakfast.”

“Yeah,” she said. “My husband always makes breakfast on Sunday morning.” Chelsea smiled as she poured herself a cup of coffee, her eyes trained down on the mug. “It’s a luxury I’vegotten used to. He’s a much better cook than I am, and he taught all the boys.”

“How many boys do you have?” Angel asked.

“Four,” Chelsea said with obvious pride in her voice. “Henry is the second oldest. Paul is our oldest, and he works here at Courage Reins with Pete. Then we have John, who’s down at Baylor finishing up his senior year. He’ll graduate in a couple of months. And Rich, who just went to Amarillo with a few friends for college.” She threw a smile at Angel without truly looking at her and turned toward the island where she also put sugar and cream in her coffee. “What about you, dear?”

“I just have the one brother,” Angel said. “He’s seven years older than me, and he lives on the ranch with us.”

“That’s great,” Chelsea said. “Henry says you run the ranch.”

“Yeah.” Angel blew out her breath. “Yeah, I do.” She hugged herself and looked out the window. “Trevor fell off a horse five or six years ago, and he has a traumatic brain injury and limited use of his legs.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Chelsea said, lifting her eyes to meet Angel’s fully. “I—I—Henry didn’t tell us that. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Angel said, though she needed a second, stronger skin to keep all her emotions inside. “He’s real good with horses still.” She flashed Chelsea a smile. “Once we get him in the saddle, he can get ‘em to do whatever he wants. He trains cutting horses and sells them.”

“That’s fantastic,” Chelsea said. “A good cutting horse is hard to come by and worth his weight in gold.”

“That he is,” Angel agreed. “I think I’ll go get dressed and go out to the stables. Is that all right?”

“I’d wait until after breakfast,” Chelsea said. “Henry said he was going to take you over to the therapy stables and get the horses out there.”

“Yeah,” Angel said. “He said you guys might have clients this afternoon.”

“You could come to church too.”

Angel gave her a closed-mouth smile. “I’ll talk to Henry about it.”

Chelsea nodded, resignation flashing across her face. She obviously knew Henry wouldn’t go to church with them that morning. Angel wasn’t sure if it upset her or if his momma had just accepted it.

“What time will y’all be back?” Angel asked. “We could make lunch.”

Chelsea gaped at her. “Oh, honey, Henry doesn’t make lunch.”

Angel laughed lightly. “Well, he’s twenty-six-years-old and has managed to keep himself alive this long.”

Chelsea added her giggles to the conversation. “Yeah, he likes going to the grocery store and getting food from the bars there. He can put together eggs and bowls of cereal. But lunch for everyone?” She shook her head and laughed more fully. “Not one of his strong suits.”

“I organize and help prepare dinner three times a week for all of the men at Lone Star.” She swallowed and added, “I could do it.”

Chelsea started shaking her head before Angel even finished speaking. “Absolutely not. You’re our guest. You don’t need to make lunch for us.”

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