“Think they’ll be okay?” I ask Marcos. “I suppose it’s probably a little awkward, staying with someone else’s family thatyou just met. Maybe we should have offered them the loft, and me and you could have bunked at Jes’ for the week.”
Marcos puts his hand on my leg. “Max would never have agreed to that. And they’ll be fine—Luke’s never met a person he couldn’t befriend. By the end of the week, he and your uncle will be spending the evenings together, watching baseball games.”
“You’re probably right,” I agree, chuckling and pulling up in front of the barn.
We say a quick goodnight to the horses, and I smile as Marcos stops to grab a sugar cube for Tuna. He sees me watching and scowls.
“He deserves a treat.”
“I didn’t say anything!” I hold up my hands in surrender.
Upstairs, we get ready for bed by the light of a single lamp. As always, I enjoy watching Marcos undress. He’s lost almost all of the extra weight he’d had in college when he was playing ball and working out consistently. His shoulders aren’t quite so muscled and his flat stomach is framed by pointy hip bones. Any muscle he does have is working muscle—earned on the ranch, not a gym. It looks good on him. Everything looks good on him.
He glances up from where he’s tying the waist of his pajama pants and sees me watching, before pulling a long-sleeved shirt over his head and tugging it down. Marcos fully covered at bedtime has become our universal sign forno touching tonight. Crawling into bed, I prop up on an elbow to watch as he goes through his nightly routine of folding, putting away, wiping down the counter that’s already clean, and finally flicking off the light.
I hold up the blanket and wait for him to settle. We leave the window mostly uncovered, so the room is lit by enoughmoonlight for me to still make out the lines of his face. Carefully, I wrap my fingers around his forearm, above the shirt.
“Your uncle’s barn needs a new roof,” he tells me, voice soft. “And the water heater in the housing for the stable hands is going to have to be replaced. He’s having someone look at it tomorrow.”
Marcos, who has fully taken over the finances of the ranch, has integrated himself so seamlessly into the business that my uncle hasn’t stopped singing his praises. He calls him the banker, and doesn’t buy anything more expensive than a hoof pick without clearing it through Marcos first.
“I’ve got a few potential buyers lined up for the stock horses,” I tell him, thinking of the three geldings I’ve been dividing my time with.
“Full price?” Marcos asks hopefully, making me laugh.
“Let’s hope. Axel’s got it in his head that we need to stud racehorses.” Marcos groans. “He knows that’s where the money is at.”
“And how much is it going to cost tobuythe racehorse we’re going to stud?”
“You truly do not want to know.”
He snorts. I rub idle circles against his inner arm with my thumb, thinking. The others haven’t texted, which I hope means they’re okay.
“Max and Luke will be waiting outside the barn at 4:45 tomorrow morning to help with chores,” Marcos whispers.
“Sure will,” I agree. “Better get some sleep. Love you.”
“Descansa, amor,” he says on a sigh, shifting a touch closer. Even when we’re fighting, he says the same thing every night. I wait, knowing there’s more. “Te veo al amanecer.”
