“Some folks just ain’t built for that, Lucas,” I said quietly. “And that’s okay.”
“Bullshit.” The curse sounded funny in his East Coast accent, like he was trying on cowboy boots that didn’t quite fit. “Everyone deserves someone who looks at them like they’re the most important thing in the world.”
I felt something twist in my chest at that. The way Beau looked at Lucas was something special, all right. Like Lucas hung the moon and painted the stars just for him. I’d never had anyone look at me like that, and I’d made my peace with it. Mostly.
“Maybe,” I said, taking another bite to avoid having to elaborate. The sandwich was damn good. Lucas might be a city boy, but he knew his way around quality ingredients.
“I’m serious, Diego,” he pressed. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re built like a brick shithouse.”
I glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised.
“Sorry, but it’s true.” He continued. “And you’ve got this whole mysterious cowboy thing going for you. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
The compliment hit harder than I expected, and I found myself looking down at my boots. “You’re gonna make me blush.”
“Good. Someone should.” He shifted against the fence post, and I could feel him studying me. “When’s the last time you went on an actual date?”
I scratched my jaw, the stubble rough under my fingers. “What makes you think I don’t date?”
“Because Beau said you haven’t brought anyone around since you started working here. And you’ve been here over a year.”
“Just ‘cause I don’t parade ‘em through the ranch don’t mean they don’t exist,” I countered, though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Truth was, I couldn’t remember the last actual date I’d been on. Hookups, sure. Those happened now and then when the right sort of guy came to visit the ranch. But sitting across from someone at dinner, making conversation that wasn’t just a prelude to getting naked? That was a different story.
“So, you’re dating someone?” Lucas perked up, his eyes bright with interest.
“I didn’t say that.” I took another bite of sandwich to buy time.
“Then what are you saying?” He crossed his arms, looking every bit the marketing executive he was. The man could smell bullshit from a mile away, which made lying to him particularly challenging.
I sighed. “I’m sayin’ that my personal life is personal for a reason.”
“Fine, keep your secrets.” He didn’t look convinced. “But Christmas is coming up, and nobody should be alone during the holidays.”
“I won’t be alone,” I said. “I’ll be right here, making sure this place runs smooth while you and Beau are busy playing Santa and decorating every inch of the property.” I gestured toward the main house, where a massive wreath already hung on the front door. “Besides, I got my own traditions.”
“Like what?”
I thought about my typical Christmas. A bottle of whiskey, whatever game was on TV, and takeout from whatever place was open. Not exactly Hallmark material.
“Just stuff,” I said vaguely. “Important cowboy rituals. Very sacred.”
Lucas snorted. “Uh-huh. Well, whatever your ‘sacred cowboy rituals’ are, you’re spending Christmas Eve with us. Jack’s making his famous eggnog, and Beau’s firing up the slow cooker.”
My chest did something funny at the invitation, like a horse shying away from a snake. “That’s real nice of y’all, but?—”
“No buts,” Lucas cut me off, pushing off from the fence post. “You’re family now, Diego. Whether you like it or not.”
Family. The word hit me sideways, and I had to look away, focusing on peeling the label off my beer bottle. Nobody had called me family in... hell, I couldn’t even remember. The foster homes sure as shit hadn’t, and the string of ranches I’d drifted through over the years treated hired hands exactly like that. Hired help.
“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental on me, city boy,” I muttered, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. Truth was, the thought of spending Christmas Eve somewhere that wasn’t a dive bar or my empty bunkhouse made something warm unfurl in my chest.
“Too late,” Lucas grinned. “I’m already planning the seating arrangements. And before you ask, yes, I’m absolutely going to invite every single gay man within a fifty-mile radius.”
I groaned. “Lucas...”
“What? It’s Christmas! Season of miracles and all that.” He checked his watch and started backing toward his truck. “Speaking of which, I should get back. Conference call with some investors in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t you go invitin’ anybody on my account,” I called after him.
