“Do you mind helping me with the horses?”
He nods, and I turn to the three young captains of industry. Charlie looks toward the stables and lifts his chin. A very large man makes his way over.
“Erik, can you show Joaquin and…I'm sorry—tell me your name again?”
Wick smiles and shakes his hand. “You might not remember me, but I met you once or twice when you were a scrawny kid. I’m Warwick. My friends call me Wick.”
A genuine smile cracks Charlie’s face, and the tiny lines around his eyes make me think he prefers to smile when he can.
“Of course.” Turning to his guy, he asks, “Can you show Joaquin and Warwick where to put our new horses?”
With a slight tilt of his chin, Erik joins us at the trailer.
He seems a little shy, so I go first. “After we put up the horses, we can talk through their training, etcetera, with you.”
He nods, then silently helps us lead the two geldings and a mare to the old stable.
Gesturing up at the tall structure, Wick says, “This is just like the original setup of our bunkhouse. It’s got good bones.”
I nod in agreement. The wood is an aged gray, just like the bunkhouse, and it’ll be a solid structure for years to come. Erik slides open the barn door and walks us over to the stalls as he takes the mare. Wick handles one gelding and I hold the other, leading them into their new homes with no issue at all.
Fresh hay and feed are available for them, and Wick nods as he surveys the space. “Someone’s as specific and demanding of cleanliness as I am.”
“It’s hard to imagine, but true,” I say, chucking his shoulder.
He’s thrown by the compliment or the contact, but either way, my beautiful problem is quiet. He shifts on his feet, and I imagine him as a little boy, unsure of himself. I cannot wait for him to get out of his own way.
We’re distracted from our little bubble of silence when a small, white kitten peers out of one of the empty stalls, giving a plaintive mew. Erik strides over and picks up the tiny ball of fluff, careful as he scratches behind the cat’s ears. The kitten rubs its face against the scruff on his jaw.
“You’re not from here, are you?” I ask, trying to start a conversation with the gentle giant.
He gives me a tight grin and shakes his head. After an awkward moment, we say goodbye to the horses and then head out of the stable.
Charlie, Sebastián, and Trip still seem to be deep in conversation, so Wick and I go on a perimeter walk as Erik goes over to the main house.
“I wonder what’s that guy’s story,” Wick says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ha. You just want to know if he likes men.”
Wick rolls his eyes at me then pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He taps the screen for a few seconds, then shakes his head.
“Not on Grindr.”
As he says this, the notification sounds off. Popping his brows at me, he starts typing out a message. A small grunt tickles the back of my throat.Cabrón.
I mean, I know Grindr is practically Wick’s church, but I’m not going to pretend to be super-thrilled about watching him schedule a hookup. I scrunch my nose, and maybe I imagine it, but Wick’s beard parts with a sideways grin.
My own jealousy is definitely not part of the plan, so I switch my focus to the property around us.
They’ve clearly been busy. There’s a big wooden cabin surrounded by a handful of old buildings, including an old-school low-slung bunkhouse. The grounds have recently been graded and covered with crushed granite. There’s no greenery, not even a shrub in sight.
“This place looks like a movie set for one of those old ranch westerns,” Warwick observes, shoving his phone in his back pocket. Good.
“Aye, que si. Lo veo,” I agree, admiring the rustic wood cabin aesthetic, even if it’s a little sparse.I see it.
“From what Renée said, this is about what Rebel Sky looked like before the tornado.”
“Wow. Rebel Sky looks nothing like this now.”
