Laughing, I nudge him back so I can open the door. I shoo Tuna away before he can make an ungainly attempt for freedom and step inside, waiting for Marcos to follow before closing us in.
“She’s a horse, not a grizzly,” I joke. “And she doesn’t mind, do you, beauty?”
I pat her rump and she snorts. Tuna, apparently feeling the need to show off for Marcos, attempts a round of the zoomies, but stumbles and falls. Marcos, muttering something under his breath in Spanish again, reaches down and pets him the way one might touch something made of glass. Carefully, he brushes the chips of bedding off of Tuna’s light-brown coat. I watch him, little bubbles of joy popping in my chest and making my skin tingle.
“Does he go outside?” Marcos asks, smiling as Tuna leans against his legs. “Or is he too small?”
“He goes out in the round pen. He was actually foaled by one of the other mares, but she rejected him. We’d been hoping that Shrimp here would be a nurse mare for him—hence the fish name—but mostly we just feed him by hand. If you want to stay here, I’ll go grab a bottle for him?”
Marcos nods, watching as I leave the stall and head toward the tack room. It only takes me a few minutes to prepare the milk replacer, before I’m walking back to him. He looks over as I approach, smiling in a way that is certain to put me in cardiac arrest if he does it too often. I hand him the bottle and rejoin him in the stall, leaning over to kiss hischeek for no reason other than I am desperately in love with him.
Tuna, who is nobody’s fool, whinnies at the sight of the bottle and flicks his little tail in excitement.
“Hungry?” I ask, taking the bottle back from Marcos and angling it down for him to latch on to. He eats like a fucking pig, so I wait for him to settle a bit before I shimmy to the left and gesture for Marcos to take the bottle. “You can hold it. Make sure you get a good grip, though, he’s a lot stronger than he looks.”
I step to the side to watch as Marcos gives his undivided attention to the task. He’s frowning, and looking far more serious than the chore warrants. I take a picture with my cellphone, and text it to Max. It’s not fair that I’m the only witness to this.
“How often does he need to eat? He’s acting like he hasn’t eaten in days,” he asks, watching Tuna in concern.
“Well, first couple of days they eat every hour, almost. Now, it’s about once every four hours, although he’s old enough that it’s time to slowly taper that down.”
“Oh my god,” Marcos says, glancing up at me. “That much? So, somebody always has to be here with him.”
“Yeah. That’s why we’d hoped Shrimp would take over, but she hasn’t had enough milk to keep the little monster happy. I don’t mind doing it, though.”
Tuna, having finished his breakfast but not believing it, sucks forcefully enough that he almost pulls the empty bottle from Marcos’ hand.
“All done,” he whispers to him. Swallowing painfully, I reach out to take the empty bottle. Marcos looks at me. “What does he do now? Sleep?”
“Nope. Now he acts crazy,” I respond, just as Tuna takes aturn around the stall before crashing into me and falling down. I grunt. A baby horse is still a lot of horse. “We can bring them outside.”
Shrimp waits patiently for me to clip a lead rope on her bridle and open the stall door. Marcos makes a soft noise of distress when I don’t do the same for Tuna.
“He’ll follow us,” I tell him.
Marcos walks beside me as we lead them from the barn, but glances over his shoulder at Tuna every thirty seconds as though waiting for him to run away. He doesn’t, but follows alongside Shrimp as we bring them to a round pen.
Here, Tuna manages to keep his feet underneath himself when he makes a second attempt at zoomies but is distracted halfway through by a patch of tall grass. He nibbles on it, tail flicking rapidly. Marcos, standing close enough to me that his arm brushes mine, pulls up the timer on his phone. I watch as he sets it for four hours.
“That way we won’t forget what time we need to feed him,” he explains, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “Are you sure you can leave him out here? What about wolves?”
“They wouldn’t come in this close. That’s why he stays in this pen and not out in one of the far pastures. And Shrimp would kick the shit out of a wolf if one got in here.”
Marcos, frowning as though he doesn’t believe me, glances around, apparently in search of wolves. I rest my cheek against the top rail of the pen, grinning at him helplessly. Oh yeah, I definitely love him.
“Maybe we should stay close by, just in case,” he suggests cautiously, still looking worried.
“Sure,” I agree. I’d been planning on spending today doing nothing more strenuous than blowing him, so it’s aneasy promise to make. I hold out a hand. “Let’s go get some more coffee and make breakfast.”
Unfortunately,the entire day cannot be spent naked in bed, because, as Marcos puts it, the baby needs to eat. Fully clothed once more, we leave the loft and head back out to check on Shrimp and Tuna. I let Marcos handle feeding once more, and spend the time making sure I’ve got sufficient photographic documentation.
“Uh-oh. Incoming,” I warn Marcos when I catch sight of a familiar figure in the distance, heading our way. He looks up at me before following my line of sight. “That’s my uncle.”
I hold up a hand in greeting, letting him know we can see him coming. Marcos watches silently as he approaches, hands clenched around the bottle that Tuna is attempting to suck dry.
“Morning,” Uncle Jes greets us, propping a foot on the bottom bar of the pen and resting his forearm across the top. In his other hand, a scratched and dented tumbler is steaming—I’ve never seen him use another mug after I gave that to him for Christmas one year. “You boys got in late last night.”
“Yeah, you know how traffic is near the airport.” I shrug, moving a step closer to Marcos. “Jes, this is Marcos. Marcos—my uncle Jesper, but most people call him Jes.”
