Page 7 of The Cowboy Who Worked Late

“Yes, well, some people don’t know how to deal with or talk to a disabled person.”

“Mm, sure,” Henry said again, and he made the turn onto the main highway, aiming the truck toward Three Rivers and not Amarillo. “Okay, we’ve got better service here. Let me call my momma. She can find you some pajamas and clothes for the weekend. She’ll probably need to get a bedroom ready for you.”

“If it’s too much?—”

“It’s not.” He cut her a look out of the side of his eye and tapped on the screen in his truck. A loud chirp filled the vehicle, and he said in a loud, clear, slow voice, “Call Momma Chelsea.”

“Calling Momma Chelsea,” his truck repeated to him, and Angel couldn’t hide her smile this time. Oh, and now she knewhis mother’s name. She’d run into the woman when Henry had moved in last summer, but she’d deliberately kept all the doors between her and him closed, hoping her insane and intense attraction to him would diminish with time and space.

Sadly, that hadn’t happened yet, and now she was currently riding in his vehicle, toward his cousin’s house for game night, and then a weekend away at his parent’s house.

“Henry, baby, hey,” his momma said. “Are you still coming tonight?”

“Yes, Momma,” he said. “And I need to beware you: you’re on speaker with me and a friend.”

“Okay,” she said.

Henry looked over to her, and Angel had looked at him when he’d called her “a friend.” She would not classify Henry as a friend, and she really didn’t like him calling her that. Not because they weren’t friends yet, but because he hadn’t used the wordgirlfriend.

And why would he? The very thought was insane—and absolutely not allowed due to Lone Star’s dating policies.

“Momma, my friend is a woman in desperate need of a break from the stables. But I forgot to tell her I was coming for the weekend, and she doesn’t have anything. Not a toothbrush, a stick of deodorant, or any pajamas.”

His mother stayed silent for a couple of seconds. “And I’m assuming she’ll be staying for the weekend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “It’s Angel, Momma.”

“Oh, Angel.” His mother’s voice brightened, and Angel could only imagine what he’d told her. At least it sounded like they were good things. “Okay, so you’re on your way to game night?”

“Dinner first,” Henry said. “Then game night. Who knows what Finn and Edith have planned, but they’ve got that baby now, so I’m guessing we’ll get to Three Rivers by like….” He hemmed and hawed for a moment and then said, “Ten-thirty.”

“Okay,” his momma said.

“Is that too late? We can leave early.”

“Ten-thirty is fine, baby.”

“Okay,” he said. “Ten-thirty then.”

“I’ll make sure she has what she needs.”

“You’re the best, Momma.”

“Thank you, Misses Marshall,” Angel said, leaning toward the screen where a clock ticked up the length of the phone call.

“You’re welcome, honey. See you two soon.”

“‘Bye, Momma.” Henry reached out to the screen. “Love you.”

“Love you, baby.”

Henry tapped the screen to end the call, and he relaxed back into his seat. “That actually went better than I thought it would.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah, well, I mean—yeah, she didn’t ask a bunch of questions about why you’re coming with me, if we’re dating, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Will anyone assume that?”

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