by Amy Aislin
His parents paused on an image. He could tell because they looked at it, each other, back to the camera. His dad turned it around to show Marco a photo of himself and Las from earlier in the month, when Marco had been playing around with the timer settings. They sat on a log at Las’s tent, the fire burning behind them, the sun not yet set. They were both laughing, crinkled eyes, open smiles and all, Las’s gaze somewhere to the camera’s left, Marco’s on Las.
His dad waved the camera. “Someone we should know about?”
Marco grinned. He couldn’t help it. “That’s Lassiter. His family owns the ranch I work on.”
“Is this the boy your sisters were teasing you about when we saw you last month?” asked his mom.
With an unashamed shrug, Marco said, “Yeah.”
Holding out the camera, his dad locked eyes with him. “Is he the reason you’re staying?”
“I’ll admit he’s part of it, but not all of it.” Marco would’ve stayed just for Las. It was fortuitous, though, that there was more keeping him here. He had a feeling Las was relieved that he had other reasons to stay. That it wasn’t all on him to keep Marco happy, so to speak. Marco would have to remember to tell him that no one was responsible for his happiness but himself.
“Want to meet him?”
“Do we want to meet him?” his mom repeated with an air of how could you ask such a stupid question that moms everywhere had perfected.
He spent the entire twenty-minute drive to the ranch telling his parents about how he’d gotten into photography and about Austin. Filling space with too many words so his parents couldn’t badger him about hockey.
“Did you say you’ll be working for this man?” his dad asked from the passenger seat.
“Yup!” Marco said as he drove up Las’s long driveway. “I’m gonna be his assistant.” A job Marco wasn’t clear on the expectations of yet, but he had a meeting with Austin scheduled for the day his parents flew out to discuss it. From what Austin had said, there was a lot of fielding phone calls from magazines and blogs and salespeople, fulfilling print orders that came in off his website and managing stock, tracking expenses, assisting with out-of-town trips, helping to coordinate photography workshops, putting together his monthly newsletters and scheduling his social media posts on various platforms, and “other duties as assigned.” Marco had laughed his ass off when Austin said that last part. One of the perks was free registration to all of Austin’s photography workshops, from the beginner level all the way to the overnight night photography camping trips. Marco would get to learn from the best while he worked, which was doubly awesome.
The one drawback was that Austin only needed him for about fifteen to twenty hours a week. And that meant that if Marco wanted to be able to afford rent and food and gas, and save up to maybe take more formal photography classes at the nearby community college in Jackson, he needed a second job. Luckily, that hadn’t taken long, and he started as a customer service rep at the recreation center in three weeks, a week after his contract with Windsor Ranch was up. One of the benefits of that job? A discount on passes and memberships and class registrations—including the recreational hockey league.
He’d miss living and working on the ranch, though. The smell of cows that was always strongest in the morning, the peace, the forest that made a perfect backdrop for practicing his photography, the wide-open fields. He wished he could stay, but even though Windsor Ranch House remained open throughout the winter, the trails closed at the first snowfall and most of the outdoor activities—aside from wildlife viewing—were no longer offered. They did, however, offer additional shuttles to the ski slopes. Marco could’ve been a shuttle driver like Reid, but ferrying people back and forth wasn’t his idea of a good time.
That was fine. He’d secured a spot as a trail guide next summer, so he’d be back. And maybe, one day, he’d live here full-time with Las.
“But what about hockey?” His mom’s voice interrupted his thoughts. In the rearview mirror, her lips were pinched.
Marco’s fingers threatened to clench on the steering wheel. “There’s a rec league here that I’ve registered to play in.” He didn’t mention that he didn’t want to play professionally; if he hadn’t been signed by now, his parents knew he wouldn’t be, so the point was irrelevant. He also didn’t mention what could’ve been had he gotten on that flight to DC; that was his secret to carry with him. Maybe he’d tell them eventually, but right now, his parents weren’t here to rehash the past, but for Marco to show them how he was moving forward.
He parked behind Las’s house, in the grassy patch adjacent to the horse barn. His mom was careful as she exited the car, walking strategically on slim, purple ballet flats until she stepped onto asphalt nearer the house. He should’ve warned her to bring running shoes or boots but hadn’t thought about it.
“What are the chances of getting her on a horse?” he murmured to his dad out of his mom’s earshot. His dad laughed long and loud.
Las was standing in the bed of an old truck Marco had never seen before. It was a faded maroon with rust crusted along the doorframes. The bed was already packed with boxes, which Las seemed to be rearranging. He hopped down as Marco approached with his parents, tossing Marco a nervous smile and wiping his palms on his thighs. Marco pulled him close with an arm around his waist, giving him a reassuring hip squeeze.
“Mom, Dad, this is Lassiter Windsor-March. Las, my parents, Maria and Robert.”
Las stuck a hand out. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“It’s beautiful out here,” his dad said once they’d shook, eyeing the triplet of horses in the corral. “I can see why my son loves it so much. All this space. He was never one for crowds.”
“That’s for sure.” His mom patted his forearm while Marco blinked at them both, stunned.
His parents obviously saw more than Marco ever thought. Was that why they hadn’t made more of a fuss about hockey? He’d expected resistance to his new life direction, not this easy acceptance.
“Even among family, he couldn’t wait to find peace and quiet,” his mom said.
“Hey, there.” Las’s dad bounded down the back-porch steps. “You must be Marco’s parents. I’m Derek. Brunch is ready. I hope you came hungry.”
Before he could shepherd them into the house, Marco’s dad turned to Las. “I’d love to get a tour later if you have time.”
Las walked him to the bottom of the staircase. “Can you ride a horse?”
“I can ride an ATV.”
Las’s laughter lit the summer sunshine on fire. “I can make that work.”
Once the parents had gone inside, Las grabbed a baggie of something off the top step, then threaded his fingers through Marco’s. They walked in comfortable silence to the corral, where two dark brown horses—he was sure there was a name for that but two and a half months taking tourists through the trails meant he still knew nothing about horses—were grazing together off to the left. On the complete opposite side was Harriet.
Las whistled low and she trotted over, head held high. She greeted Marco first, which was all kinds of awesome.
Las scowled at his horse. “Traitor.” He handed the baggie to Marco. “Here.”
Opening it up, Marco removed a couple of slices of apple and fed them to her. For a temperamental horse, she sure was gentle with human hands. “You’re all packed up?”
“Yeah, just a couple last minute things. My laptop, my phone, shoes.”
“Your telescope.”
“I’m leaving it at my tent for you.”
“What? No.” Shoving the empty bag into his pocket, he turned to Las. “Take it with you.”
Las leaned back against the fence. Harriet nosed at his hair. “I won’t have much time for it during the week.”
He’d scheduled his classes Tuesdays through Thursdays, leaving him with extra-long weekends. They’d decided to alternate which weekends Las came home and which ones Marco drove out to see him. Of course, they’d have to play it by e
ar. There’d be no traveling if Las was too busy with schoolwork or if Austin needed Marco to work or if a storm threatened. But at least it’d make the next nine months go by that much quicker.
“Besides.” Las pulled Marco closer and kissed his jaw. “I know you’ll keep it safe.”
Marco hugged him, burying his nose in Las’s hair and inhaling the scent of him. Missing him already like a phantom limb.
Harriet tried to butt her face between them.
“Ugh.” Las gently pushed her away. “Go make other friends.”
She snorted and trotted away to the farthest end of the corral.
“Come on. Let’s go eat.”
“Can’t we just leave them in there to get to know each other and go do our own thing?” Marco was only half kidding, but Las’s eyes lit up.
“I did want to take Harriet out before I left.”
In short order, Harriet was saddled, as was a second horse for Marco. After Las snuck into the house to fetch them each a cowboy hat to block the sun, they were off, over the hill and down the other side, out of sight of the house.
The sky was perfectly azure, the pastures green and lush. But the man next to him? Sitting tall and confident on his horse, reins in one hand, the other resting on his thigh? Shoulders thrown back as he shot Marco a happy smile?
There was nothing more perfect than that.
NINE MONTHS LATER
LAS STOOD NEXT TO HIS tent, tapping the toes of one booted foot against the semi-frozen ground. End of May and winter still clung to the mountains. It was too cold to be out but Marco had said he’d be here to try his hand at photographing the full moon.
The man himself stood behind a tripod upon which was affixed his camera. Currently, it pointed upward, but the sun hadn’t quite set yet and the moon was just a pale blob in the darkening sky. Dressed much like Las in winter boots and a thick down jacket, Marco also wore a knit hat, strands of his hair poking out the bottom, and fingerless gloves that allowed him to better fiddle with his camera.
The nine-month separation while Las had been in Laramie had flown by—made even easier with frequent visits from Marco. Now he was back, officially moved out of his apartment. He’d arrived home twenty minutes ago, truck bed packed with all of his stuff, and said a brief hello to parents who’d rolled their eyes at him when he’d left again five minutes later. Tomorrow they could talk about all of the work that needed to be done for his thesis project with USNC—which his parents had signed off on in December. But for now…
There was only one place he wanted to be.
He inhaled a quiet breath. It smelled like snow and wet vegetation. Like Windsor Ranch in the winter.
The icy ground crunched under his feet as he rounded the tent, bypassing the crackling fire in the fire pit. Marco whipped around, a smile already gracing his face.
Words weren’t needed between them. The awed and pleased expression on Marco’s face was enough to tell Las that he’d been missed.
Cold lips met. Clung. Las wanted all of these layers between them gone, wanted damp skin against damp skin. But there was time for that. So much time.
Hands cupping Las’s face, Marco kissed him back like the two weeks since they’d seen each other had been two years. Fierce yet gentle, warming Las from the inside out. He could picture them here, ten, twenty, thirty years from now, still spending summers in the tent, cooking dinner over the fire. With their stars and their mountains on their land. And when Marco pulled back and rested their foreheads together, when he murmured two words that made Las’s heart swell, he imagined them tethered together for all time, shoots digging into the earth and rooting them into place.
“Welcome home.”
Want to read about that night Marco walked Las home from the pizza joint and first asked him out, but got a job offer instead? Sign up for my newsletter to get the bonus scene!
DEAR READER,
Thank you so much for coming along on my first foray into cowboy books. I hope you loved Las and Marco as much as I do. If you’re so inclined, I’d appreciate a review, or some stars, on Amazon, Goodreads, or your favorite review site. Reviews do so help get the word out about a novel.
Thank you for your boundless enthusiasm and support for my books!
Amy’s lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she’s read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess. Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she’s been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn’t at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada’s largest environmental non-profit.
An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram and Twitter, or sign up for her infrequent newsletter.
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Did you enjoy Home for a Cowboy? Get more low-angst novels from Amy Aislin!
Titles by Amy Aislin
STICK SIDE SERIES
On the Ice
The Nature of the Game
Shots on Goal
WINDSOR, WYOMING SERIES
Home for a Cowboy
LIGHTHOUSE BAY SERIES
Christmas Lane
LAKESHORE SERIES
The Heights
Other books:
Elias
Ballerina Dad
As Big as the Sky
The Play of His Life