Page 14 of The Cowboy Who Worked Late

Henry wasn’t even a friend. She wasn’t even sure she liked him, though she was definitely attracted to him. Angel was still getting to know him as more than a farrier, more than a man who went out with a lot of women, and more than the man who kissed her last year for no reason.

He did have a reason, she reminded herself, and she decided a long time ago not to hold grudges against people. She had to, or she’d have a list a mile long to carry around with her. She thought of her granny and how she’d taught all her grandkids that whenever they had a problem with someone, they should write the person’s name on a slip of paper and put it in their shoe. Then, they could walk around all day on that person and feel like they had the upper hand over them.

Angel had heard similar advice when she took some business classes about interviewing. She was there as the person doing the interviewing, but the class had been more about those preparing for an interview. The instructor had said to wear something that nobody could see, something that only you knew about—your little secret. Like a special pair of underwear, a special necklace, or a ring, something that really meant something to you, so that you could have the confidence going into an interview and sitting across from someone that you really wanted a job from.

Angel had never done either of those things, because she didn’t believe she was better than anyone else. She didn’t believe Granny did either. Granny just held grudges, and eventually God would soften her heart. Granny would take the name out of her shoe, shred it up, and go make things right with that person.

Angel had seen her do it over and over. In fact, she’d witnessed her daddy doing the same thing. Maybe he didn’t wear names in his shoe, but he’d stomp around like an angrycat who’d been cornered, starved, and skinned. Then, when God finally got to his heart, it would be softened, and Daddy would come around.

She was a little bit like both of them, but she tried not to be. She really wanted her men at Lone Star to respect her and treat everyone with kindness. She wanted them to know that she cared about them individually, that they belonged to the same team, that they all needed to raise and care for the horses the best they could.

Horses meant the world to Angel, and she would not stand for any of them mistreated or uncared for. And none of the men who came to Lone Star stayed for long if they didn’t subscribe to her culture and her methods for how to treat horses—and that extended to the people who worked there.

Henry was an exemplar of both, and she really did like him. She could admit it to herself in the growing-lighter gray light of the bedroom that wasn’t hers.

The scent of coffee met her nose, and Angel decided she better get up. She rose early most mornings, and she hit the ground running. Today, she didn’t have to do that, so she stood slowly and stretched.

Last night, she hadn’t worried too much about the pajamas that Henry’s mother had laid out for her. Now, she glanced down and found they were a silky, light purple, one of her favorite colors.

She wasn’t sure she could just pad down the hall to get a cup of coffee in her pjs. At her house, she would have, and she had to believe that Henry and his family were just as casual in their own home as she would be in hers.

So she tiptoed over to the door and opened it. A light beamed down the hall from the kitchen, and she hitched her bravery in place, pulled her shoulders back, and stepped toward the kitchen.

When she arrived, she found the big room empty, which wasn’t that surprising. The clock on the stove said six-forty-four, and surprise stamped through her that she’d slept that long. Her alarm usually went off at five-thirty, but she’d silenced it last night when she’d finally made it to bed around eleven.

Henry’s momma had been up and waiting for them, and she’d given Angel another hug that had almost broken her. If she hadn’t gone to dinner with Henry, and then had such a great time with his friends at game night, Angel would’ve collapsed into sobs again.

But she was a little stronger last night, after having some of her own spirit fed. She’d made it all the way to the bedroom, she’d brushed her teeth with a brand-new toothbrush provided by Chelsea, and she’d changed into these pjs.

She’d noted the clothes Chelsea had gotten for her, and then she’d fallen into bed. And she’d slept all…night…long. Angel couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that long, without tossing and turning, getting up to use the bathroom, or simply lying awake.

“What a blessing,” she murmured to herself.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, found the sugar and cream sitting on the counter, doctored up her caffeine the way she wanted, and went back to the bedroom to get her phone.

Henry had texted.I went out to feed the horses with my daddy. I should be back around 7:30 to make breakfast. If you’re starving before then, Momma put some cereal out on the counter.

No emojis, and she’d never gotten any from Henry. But as Angel re-read the text, she wondered what it would be like to have a heart sitting right after his last word.

I should be back around 7:30 to make breakfast. If you’re starving before then, Momma put some cereal out on the counter. <3

Yes, that heart would be amazing there.

She wanted someone to send her a heart emoji. She wanted to know that someone loved and cared abouther.

Shaking away the negative feelings of loneliness and desperation, she took her phone and her coffee back into the kitchen. She sat at the little table that faced the back window and looked out over the ranch. From here, she could see fields for miles with horses dotting them, grazing already in the morning sunshine. Angel loved nothing more than this type of environment, and she could only imagine growing up here.

“Feels a lot like Lone Star,” she said, noting yet another similarity between her and Henry. For her daddy had built their house for her mama too, just like his had.

Another round of surprise marched through her when she realized neither her mama nor daddy had texted her. Daddy hadn’t asked who was going to run roll call. He hadn’t asked who was going to make his eggs. He hadn’t asked why she left and where she was going.

“Fascinating,” she whispered to herself. He did love Henry Marshall, and Angel figured that Daddy probably trusted him to take care of her wherever they were going. “Or,” she muttered to herself. “Perhaps Henry texted him and told him.”

That only made her curiosity brighten, but she didn’t get up. She wanted a slow start to the morning. She wanted to sip her coffee with nothing more to do.

She’d seen social media posts from people she’d known in high school. Some married now, maybe had children—women like Rory and Edith who had babies.

They got to do whatever they wanted all day long. They could go for a walk with their friends at eight-thirty in the morning if they wanted. They could go to lunch with their girlfriends.

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