Page 44

Nate

A stick cracks under the hoof of my horse, startling a bird from the brush.

I look over at Marcos, ready to grab his reins, but Friday does nothing more than bob her head and swivel her ears.

I’d picked her for Marcos for a reason, but even so—accidents happen and I’m terrified of him being thrown off and getting hurt; being too scared to try again.

We’re walking through a section of the woods that’s wide enough for us to have the horses next to one another.

Every now and then our legs bump and Marcos looks over at me, expression serious as he tries to concentrate.

After several weeks of practice, he’s a lot more comfortable on horseback than he was, but still not at the point where we might go galloping across a meadow together. Maybe one day.

The sun slants through the trees, dappling the path ahead of us.

It’s cooler here in the shade—a much more comfortable temperature than the unrelenting heat of riding across the open fields.

Leaning down, I pull a water bottle from the saddlebag, take a swig, and offer it to Marcos.

He starts to reach for it, but changes his mind halfway there.

I pull my horse to a stop and Friday halts as well, without any direction from Marcos.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, taking the bottle from me and sipping. Friday chews on her bit, ducking her face to scratch an itch on her leg with her nose.

“No worries. You’re doing so good, sometimes I forget you’re new to this.”

He hands the water back to me, and I take another drink before tucking it away. Adjusting my seat, I reach out and pat the neck of my horse.

“You good for more, or do you want to hop down and stretch your legs?” I ask Marcos. I’m not taking him too far away, but this will still be the longest ride he’s done here. No amount of breaks is going to stop him from being sore, but it’ll keep him more comfortable now. He looks around.

“Is there somewhere you usually stop to rest?”

“A little way up ahead we’re going to cross a river. We could take a quick break there, and let the horses drink.”

He looks a little perturbed by the mention of crossing a river, but nods. “Let’s do that.”

When we get to the river—which, really, is more of a stream than anything—Marcos staggers a bit once his feet hit the ground, still a little shaky on the dismount.

Gripping Friday’s reins tightly as though worried she’ll run off, he leads her over to the water and pats her shoulder as she lowers her head to drink.

Tossing the reins over the pommel, I leave my own horse to drink and walk over to Marcos.

“Don’t you have to hold him?” he asks, glancing behind me.

“No, and you don’t either. They’re very well behaved.” I tug the reins gently from him, and loop them around the saddle horn. Friday continues to drink, unbothered.

“Wait a second, that’s not the horse you were riding yesterday,” Marcos notes, peering more intently at Chance. “Is it? All the brown ones are sort of hard to tell apart.”

“No, yesterday was Rattlesnake, one of our geldings. This guy is Chance.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder.

“Didn’t make it as a racer, and he doesn’t quite have the pedigree for them to keep him as a stud.

My uncle has a thing for failed racers, so he bought him on a whim; he’s actually turned out to be a pretty good pleasure horse.

He’s chill as fuck, which probably explains why he wasn’t good at racing. ”

“Chance? Nate, you guys really aren’t good at picking names.”

Laughing, I lean down as though to kiss him, but wait for him to close the distance. He does, so I give him a peck on the cheek as well.

“Second Chance Romance is his actual name, if you can believe it. Racehorse names are even dumber than our food names.”

“Truly,” Marcos agrees. “So why are you riding him for the camping trip? I thought you were trying to get the other one used to trail riding?”

“Yeah,” I agree, pleased that he remembered.

“But this is your first time doing an overnight trip like this, and we’re going a lot farther from home.

Chance and Friday are both super calm, and they’ll feed off each other’s energy.

Snake, on the other hand, might get worked up, and then Friday could spook and?—”

“And you don’t want me to fall off,” he finishes. I nod.

“Everyone falls off eventually, but I’m on a mission to keep you nice and safe and pristine for as long as I can.” Arm around his shoulders, carefully avoiding skin, I pull him into my side and kiss the top of his head. He smells like fresh air, sun, and horse. Perfect. “Want a snack?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “Thank you.”

I head over to rummage around in Chance’s saddlebag, looking for a pair of granola bars.

Behind me, rocks crunch under Marcos’ feet as he strolls aimlessly around, stretching his legs.

Granola bars acquired, I turn around and just look at him for a moment.

His hair always looks so dark when we’re indoors, but out here in the direct sunlight I can see the deep brown of it.

His eyes, too, seem to change depending on the light.

Anyone who says brown eyes are boring has obviously never looked into Marcos. ’

I toss him a granola bar and we eat them silently, standing next to the water.

I think about filling up the water bottle and using an iodine tablet, but there isn’t too much farther to go and we’ve still got plenty.

Holding a hand out for his trash, I tuck it back into the saddlebag and smile at him.

“Ready?”

He smiles back and reaches for Friday’s reins. “Ready.”

We make it to the campsite hours before nightfall, which was my plan. There is nothing worse than trying to set up camp in the dark.

“Here we go.” Pulling Chance to a stop, I climb off him and give him a vigorous rub behind the ears. He snorts and bobs his head, eyes closed. “Just a little longer and then you can relax, okay, beauty?”

Marcos turns in a half-circle as he looks around, noting the makeshift fire pit and the grassy meadow. Logs have already been placed around the fire ring, from all the times my family and I have camped here. There’s also a river close by, and at night the view of the stars is incredible .

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“Oh yeah. I used to come and camp alone sometimes, when I needed to get away. It feels like a vacation even though we’re still on our land. Have you been camping before?”

I realize, as I ask this, that I probably should have asked before we got here. Marcos’ least favorite thing in the world might be camping, but he’s too polite to say so. Marcos shakes his head, and my stomach falls. Damnit.

“No. Me and Max used to camp in the backyard sometimes, but not like this. I’m pretty excited, actually.”

My nerves settle, and I grin at him as I drop Chance’s reins to let him crop grass. Removing the saddlebags, I place them by the fire pit. Marcos reaches up to do the same for Friday.

“I can do it,” I tell him. “You can take a break, I’ll get camp set up.”

He shoots an incredulous look over his shoulder as he tries to figure out how to remove the saddlebags.

“Nate. I’m going to help, come on.”

He finally gets the bags undone and puts them next to mine.

I don’t have to show him how to remove Friday’s tack, having already gone through that lesson a couple weeks ago at the ranch.

I get mine off first, and demonstrate how we’ll rest them so the underside can dry off tonight.

When I pull off Chance’s saddle pad, his back is moist with sweat, brown fur darkened enough that you can see exactly where the saddle was sitting.

The moment the tack is removed, he gives a big shake and snorts happily.

Once Marcos is caught up, we pull off the bridles and I pass one of the lead lines over to him. We walk the horses back some yards from camp, bringing them through the trees until we reach the river. I hand off Chance’s rope to him.

“Hold him for a second, would you? I’m going to string up the high-line while they drink.”

He nods, giving the horses enough room to dip their noses into the cold water. I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk partway back to camp, and find the trees we usually use for this.

“What’s that for?” Marcos asks the moment I move back to his side.

“It’s a high-line. We’ll secure the horses to it tonight. Careful that you don’t clothes-line yourself on it—it has to be high enough that they won’t trip or get tangled up in it.” I pat Friday’s rump. Marcos nods seriously.

“Okay.”

“Come on.” Pulling Chance’s lead from him, I show him how to tether them to the line with a quick-release knot, ensuring the horses have just enough lead rope to graze. His forehead is scrunched in concentration as he listens, eyes on my hands as I teach him.

“All right. How do we want to make a fire: caveman-style or cheating?”

“I’m assuming caveman style is bashing rocks together until we get sparks?” Marcos asks dryly. I laugh and he shakes his head. “Cheating, obviously.”

“My man,” I agree warmly, and dig through my bag until I find the flint.

We gather wood and dried grass, and get the fire started in no time. The tent takes a similarly short amount of time, and by the time camp is set up, it’s barely been an hour. Hands on his hips, Marcos looks at me.

“What next? ”

I haven’t once stopped smiling since we started the ride this morning.

Doing things I love with Marcos only makes me love them more.

It helps that he’s cooperative and doesn’t get in the way; that he wants to learn how to do things for himself instead of just letting me do it.

I’m hoping that means he’ll be easier to convince to stay—I doubt he’d bother learning how to tie a quick-release knot if he never planned on coming back.

“Now, we go upstream a little bit and get some water. And then, dinner, because I’m fucking starving. You could also wash off if you wanted—I brought a doc kit. Fair warning, though, it’ll be freezing.”

“I might just…” He mimics rubbing a bar of soap under his arms and over his chest. “I don’t want to get in the water, though.”

The sun slowly starts to dip below the mountains as we wash the day off as best we can and prepare dinner. Marcos laughs and makes a joke about our well-rounded meal of campfire-roasted hot dogs, and then proceeds to eat six.

“I haven’t been this hungry in ages,” he says, and I nod.

“Riding is hard work,” I agree.

We get one more load of water boiling on the fire before darkness truly descends, and I check the lines to make sure the horses are still secure.

Marcos is seated by the fire, leaning back against one of the logs with his chin tipped up as he looks at the stars.

I want him so fucking bad, it’s almost too much.

This much love feels like pain, and I hardly know what to do with it.

How the fuck do you know when the right time to tell someone you love them is?