Page 102 of The Cowboy and the Dealer

“What do you mean?”

Bede took a sip of his red wine, wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, rested the wooden spoon on a small plate put by the stove for that purpose, and turned his full focus on Galen. Which always took Galen’s breath away.

“Barefoot and pregnant,” said Galen, laughing as Bede raised his eyebrows as though he was deeply shocked.

“You want to shackle me to this stove,” Bede said, pretending do be hurt by this. “To this kitchen. To you?—”

Bede’s eyes darkened as Galen got up and moved close to Bede. He tugged him away from the stove, even as Bede turned down the gas beneath the mushrooms.

“Shackled, yes,” said Galen, as he gathered Bede’s warm body to him. “But to me, only to me.”

Bede stuck out his chest, his arms going around Galen’s waist. Now they were in an embrace, and Galen didn’t care if the mushrooms burned.

“Are you proposing to me, Mr. Parole Officer, sir?” asked Bede.

His eyes were dark and hooded and Galen’s breath left him all over again.

He wasn’t afraid of Bede, even when Bede found humor in the dark things of the world. But he was a little afraid of the intensity with which he loved this man.

“You will marry me come spring,” he said, pretending to be the fierce landlord, twirling his imaginary mustache while he demanded favors from the sweet young thing who was at his mercy.

Galen saw the laughter dancing in Bede’s eyes, the desire for playfulness always in the center of Bede’s being every waking moment. Behind that laughter, though, was a darkness, still waiting, as though Bede wanted Galen to propose to him for real.

He kissed Bede softly on the mouth and said, “Please marry me come spring. Please say you will.”

Bede’s eyes widened as though Galen had surprised him utterly. As though he was shaken to his core. His mouth opened as though he hardly knew what to say.

“I mean it,” said Galen. He took Bede’s wrists, and twisted them behind his waist so they were belly to belly in the warmth of the stovetop. “We can get married in the valley. In the white pavilion. We can get married before the valley opens to customers. Will you say yes?”

“Only if—” Bede paused, as if considering this with the utmost seriousness. “I will marry you, Galen Parnell,” he said. “But only if Toby is my flower girl and Owen is my ring bearer.”

With that remark, Bede tossed back his head, laughing deep from his belly as he pulled his wrists free, and cupped Galen’s face and kissed him hard and then hard again.

“Anywhere you want,” said Bede, his mouth moving against Galen’s. “Anywhere you want it.”

“I think Clay—he’s a ranch hand up at the guest ranch—has a daughter,” said Galen. “Maybe we can rent her for the afternoon?”

“Or maybe we can get a pair of donkeys to carry us up the aisle?” asked Bede in response, laughing low in his throat. “Those would make for great photos to send back home.”

Back home for Bede was a neighborhood in Denver where you locked your doors at night and weren’t surprised to see drugs being bought and sold on the corner. Galen knew Bede didn’t want to go back to that or even send anyone there an invitation, let alone a photo of what was sure to be a glorious day.

“I’ll see what I can do about the donkeys,” said Galen, smiling against Bede’s mouth. “But only if you say yes.”

“Yes,” said Bede. “Always, yes. Forever, yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

This tumble of words was followed by more kisses, and soon the mushrooms went cold and the red wine warmed to room temperature. Except neither of them cared because the kitchen and all its domesticity would be waiting for them when they came back downstairs from the bedroom. Which was where they were headed.