IF WISHES WERE HORSES

JM Cartwright

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If Wishes Were Horses
Copyright © February 2014 by JM Cartwright
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eISBN 9781623007706
Editor: Jana Armstrong
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Published in the United States of America

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Dedication

For Tracy TF, who was feeling blue and needed a pick-me-up. It’s taken me a heck of

a long time to deliver, but here is your story.

I salute Tracy and all the military wives (and husbands and dads and moms) out there

who serve faithfully at home.

You’re heroes.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

James Kelly’s Scottish Proverbs, collected and arranged in 1721

Chapter One

A few miles outside Cave Junction, Oregon, in the Illinois River Valley, three years

after

The Trouble With Angel

Brandon Halvorsen, baseball’s former “Great Dane,” stood in the doorway of the converted

shed at River’s Edge Farm.

The sky had been overcast for the last few days, but so far, the fluffy white stuff the damned

weatherman had sworn was on its way had failed to show. Southern Oregon in early February
was usually wet, not white, even at the fourteen-hundred-foot elevation of Cave Junction. Snow
was rare, and Brandon had yet to see it since they’d come to the Illinois River Valley three years
ago. He hadn’t had a snowy winter since he’d lived in Chicago, and it had been a hell of a long
time since then.

Before baseball.

Before his parents had decided that he didn’t fit the mold for the model son.

Before the kids had come into his life.

Before Angel.

Jesus. He couldn’t really remember what life had been like before Angel.

Funny. The sexy brat had been part of his life for only…well, six years, if Brandon counted

the first three when he’d known and seen Angel at his agent’s office. When he and Angel had
each thought the other man wasn’t interested.

Wasted time, as it turned out.

But the last three years… Whoa.

Snorting at his momentary walk down memory lane, Brandon yanked his office door shut

and took a look at his watch. “Damn it.” He’d been hoping to get done with his latest work
project earlier than this. It was almost six o’clock, and they generally had dinner about now. But
the call he’d taken had derailed his afternoon schedule.

“Angel’s gonna kick my ass if I don’t have the table set and the kids washed up.” Licking his

lips at the thought of how he and Angel might tussle in the bedroom later on, Brandon grinned,
then grimaced when he recalled his conversation with CeCe. His agent had kind of dropped a
bomb on him. No doubt a fantastic opportunity, but a bomb nonetheless. “Guh.”

He was going to have to talk to Angel sooner or later. Probably before he called the guy

from SPX Television.

But later. Later was always good.

He hurried up to the house.

* * * *

“Angel?” Brandon peeked around the glass door into the kitchen. “Where the hell is he?”

The dishes weren’t laid out on the dining room table, and it was now six fifteen. Where were the
kids? And why wasn’t dinner underway? Angel cooked, and Brandon cleaned. That was the
agreement.

“What’s up? I thought you’d be dressed by now.”

Brandon started at the sound of Angel’s voice. Whirling, he glared. With the five-inch height

advantage he had over Angel, he was able to do the glaring thing well. “What’s the idea of
sneaking up behind me?”

“What? You were looking for me!” Black brows crunching, Angel stared at him. “What’s

going on?” Angel pushed past him into the kitchen. “Come to think of it, you’ve been acting weird
for a while.” He stalked to the fridge and yanked it open.

“Um. Grab me a Blue Moon, will you?”

Snorting, Angel stood upright and held a bottle in each hand. “Sure, guapo. Here.” He

tossed the bottle to Brandon with a smirk.

Brandon caught the cold glass with one hand and twisted off the top. “Thanks, sugar.” He

gulped a few swallows. “So.” He leaned a hip against the counter, hearing the tiny crackle of
paper in his back pocket. He’d written Jay Mackie’s number and e-mail address on that note.

“So.” Angel took a sip of his beer, then slid his long fingers through his straight black hair.

Strands tended to slip down and hang over Angel’s brow. Most times, Brandon found that

sexy and distracting. Especially when Angel combined it with a hot look from those pretty brown
eyes. But right now, said eyes were watching him with suspicion.

“You look nice tonight.” It was the truth. Angel was dressed in snug pants, the espresso

leather beautifully complementing his light-brown skin. He’d topped it with a soft, long-sleeved
sweater, and the dark-cranberry fabric was stretched quite nicely over his chest muscles.

“Uh-huh.” Angel eased his butt against the opposite counter and rested one foot over the

other. He crossed his arms over his chest, the beer bottle dangling from the fingers of his right
hand. “You gonna get dressed?”

Frowning, Brandon looked down at the warm-ups he wore. He’d thrown them on after his

lunchtime workout. “Huh? I was thinking I’d just stick with this.” He glanced at the clock. “I
thought we’d be eating soon anyway. Where are the kids? And the dogs?” The house was
strangely quiet without the noise of two preteens and their faithful German shepherds.

Angel stiffened, then slowly straightened. “They’re with mi madre.” He set his bottle on the

granite counter with a distinct click and walked out of the room.

“Where are you—” Mouth open, Brandon watched the glass door swing back and forth.

“Hey!” He stared at Angel’s tight ass as his lover headed into the dining room. “What the?”
Brandon lurched forward, then tried to leap back when Angel spun around and started back into
the kitchen. He wasn’t quite quick enough as the door sped toward him with Angel’s stiff-armed
shove.

The wood thudded as it hit his knee. “Ow! Shit!” Brandon hopped awkwardly toward the

counter and leaned on it for balance. He rubbed his aching patella. “What the hell is wrong with
you?” He yelled the words as Angel followed the heavy oak back into the kitchen.

“You forgot, didn’t you.” It was clearly not a question. “God.” Those sexy lips tightened.

“Last week you forgot you were supposed to pick up Marisa from her piano lesson. Then
yesterday you forgot to pick up the dogs from the groomer.” Angel shook his head. “You even
forgot to send the last part of that stupid landscape plan to Lorna for review.”

“What stupid plan?” Distracted, Brandon eased upright. “The Selma Library plan? What’s

stupid about it?” It was the final project in his apprenticeship. Once it was done, he was going to
sit for the landscape architect state licensing exam. “That’s my big project.”

“Oh, for—” Angel huffed out a breath. “Pinche idiota.” He put his right hand up with the

index finger and thumb forming a tiny O and the other three fingers sticking out.

Whoa. In the three years since Brandon and Angel had been together, Brandon had gotten

fairly good at understanding his hot-tempered lover, along with the Mexican slang and gestures
that the barrio-born Angel threw around with impunity. “Easy there, sugar.” He reached out a
hand. “Why you calling me an idiot?” Angel had actually called him a fucking idiot, but why split
hairs? “And what’s with the asshole thing?” The hand gesture had been a little uncalled for, in
Brandon’s opinion.

“Uh, maybe because you’ve had your head up your ass for the last month.” Angel set the flat

of that same hand against Brandon’s chest and pushed.

Stumbling back against the counter once more, Brandon frowned, feeling cranky now.

“What? What the f—heck?”

Catching himself had become habit, even though the kids weren’t present. He’d learned a lot

of life lessons since the advent of Marisa and Trey Collins into his life three years ago. The kids
had changed more than just his language. “I do not have my head up my…butt,” he spluttered.

“Really? ’Cause it looks like it to me.” Stepping back, Angel crossed his arms over his chest.

“And I’m not the only one.”

Feeling severely put-upon, Brandon grabbed his beer again. Goddamn it. I do not need

this pressure right now . “I’ve been busy working all day.” He tossed back a swallow before
wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “You want to tell me just what the heck your problem is, sugar?”

Tipping his head back, Angel actually managed to look down his nose at Brandon. “You

mean besides the fact that I’m pretty sure there’s something going on with you? Or just the fact
that you forgot tonight?”

Swallowing hard at the first question, Brandon almost missed the second. “Tonight?” The

significance of Angel’s clothing finally hit him. “Oh, shi—shoot. That’s why the kids are with your
mother.” He rubbed his palm across his eyes. “Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Again, that is.” Angel just shook his head before once again leaving the kitchen.

This time the door hardly swung at all in its frame.

Fuck.

Brandon let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

Thursday was date night. Had been for the last six months or so. The night Angel’s mother,

Maria, watched the kids so that Brandon and Angel could have some adult time for them to focus
on each other and talk about whatever was important.

And a couple of days ago, Angel had hinted he had something special to discuss.

Mentally spouting every Mexican curse he’d learned from Angel, Brandon slowly banged his

head against the wall cabinet. “Decision time, dude. Decision time.”

Chapter Two

“Idiota.” Muttering that epithet and more, Angel yanked his cashmere sweater off, coming

dangerously close to overstretching the fine wool. He was tempted to ball up the garment and
pitch it across the master bedroom, but he held himself back. That sweater had cost him two
hundred dollars.

“See? I can be an adult.” He looked at his reflection in the wide mirror hanging on the wall

over the long dresser. “I might want to kill a certain dickheaded ballplayer right now, but I’m
gonna be calm.” What difference did it make if he had something special to talk about tonight?
Something he’d been planning for a while. Or that he’d planned to take Brandon to the new sushi
place his lover had raved about, the one with the quiet corners and romantic atmosphere?

Maybe he didn’t want to propose after all. Valentine’s Day was just something invented by

Hallmark anyway, right? He smoothed a hand along the soft fabric, then shook it out and began to
fold it.

“Don’t put it away, sugar. Put it back on.”

Angel met Brandon’s gaze in the mirror. “Why should I?”

“God. You know that pout gets me every time.” Brandon moved a step inside the doorway.

“Yeah?” Angel coughed out a humorless laugh. “Well, pendejo, I’m not pouting. I’m

pissed.” He set the sweater on the dresser. “There’s a big difference.” Keeping his gaze locked
with Brandon’s, Angel brought his arms up and flexed his muscles, posing like a bodybuilder.
“See this?” He pointed to the sculpted definition in his biceps. “You start taking this”—he circled
his hand in front of his torso—“any of this, for granted, and we’re gonna have a big problem.”
Angel worked hard for that body, and he knew he looked healthy and good. “And you can forget
about dinner tonight.” He yanked open a drawer. “I’m going over to Mamá’s and eat with her and
the kids.” He tossed a T-shirt onto the bed.

Cursing softly when he had to struggle to get his leather pants off, almost tripping over the

boots he’d toed off, Angel got even angrier. “I had something nice planned for tonight.” He huffed
a little as he shoved the buttery material down his calves. When he caught Brandon staring, he felt
a certain satisfaction that apparently the dope couldn’t keep those blue eyes off Angel’s ass and
package. Despite himself, he started to harden. Giving his traitorous dick a thump, he finally
succeeded in getting the pants off. He kicked them to the side, no longer interested in good
housekeeping. “But you can forget it now. Just like you’ve forgotten a whole hell of a lot lately.”
Angel quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, then threw on the T-shirt and stamped his feet into deck
shoes.

“Wait! Wait a sec. I just wish you’d give me—”

Brandon tried to stop him from brushing past, but Angel wasn’t interested. He kept moving

through the doorway, striding through the dining room of the old house to the coat closet. When
the original cast-iron knob pulled off in his hand, Angel had had enough.

“When the fuck are you going to fix this house?” He knew he was yelling, but he couldn’t

seem to stop himself. “I’ve put up with this dump for three goddamned years now.”

“Hey, slow down, will you? You know you don’t mean that.”

Brandon got close enough that Angel had to look up to meet the turquoise gaze, which didn’t

help his temper at all. He hated having to stare up at the best of times, let alone now when his
surprise had been ruined. “Back off.”

He knew Brandon loved the antique home, had in fact looked for just this type of home

when the ballplayer had decided to quit the majors and bring both newly acquired wards from
California.

“And I do mean it.” Mostly. Kind of. “I’m sick of having to put up with old stuff every time I

turn around.” He blew out a gusty breath and shoved the hair off his forehead. “Look. I am just
tired of not knowing what the hell is going on with you right now.” When Brandon tried to speak,
Angel held up a hand and shook his head. “Whatever the hell is it, you’d better get it figured out,
and I mean soon.” Deciding to forego a coat so he could get out of the house, Angel shoved the
knob at Brandon and stepped to the front door. “Don’t even try to deny something’s going on,
’cause I know it is.” With a quick jerk of his hand, he had the door open.

“Wait. I’ll go with you.” Brandon came close once again, a pained expression on his face.

“Don’t. Don’t bother. I’m gonna go see my Mamá and the kids, and you’re gonna do”—he

waved a hand in the air—“whatever it is you’re gonna do.” Knowing he wasn’t making a lot of
sense just made Angel more anxious to leave the house. “Later.”

He slammed the door, feeling a twisted satisfaction that at least the old house had solid oak

he could make noise with from time to time. Hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders
against the forty-two-degree temperature and kept his head down as he headed to the old barn.

The vintage home was set on almost twenty acres in the Illinois River Valley, and at some

point since the house had been built from a kit in the early twentieth century, a barn, a large
equipment shed, and a garage had been added. One of the first projects Brandon and Angel had
undertaken was to convert the shed into useable space; now Brandon had his office there, along
with what Angel had to admit was a first-rate fitness center. They’d also converted the barn,
making the upper level into a huge apartment for Maria.

The barn was far enough away from the house that they all had their privacy, but tonight,

with the temperature cold and getting colder, it seemed too far. Glancing back once to see if
Brandon had decided to follow, Angel couldn’t make up his mind if he was happy or still ticked
when he didn’t see any sign of his lover.

“He is an idiota. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s up to something.” Frowning, he

started to jog. His breath streamed from his nose in the chilly air. “And I still hate winter.”

Born and raised in Southern California, Angel had found the Oregon weather a not-so-

pleasant surprise. He tried not to whine too much about it, but he just hadn’t gotten used to the
mountain climate that was so very different from the weather in the Los Angeles basin. They had

twice as much rain here as in LA, and it tended to make the winters a little bit dreary. Though in a
rare burst of self-honesty, Angel had to admit that living here with Brandon had more than
compensated for the change in weather.

Brandon.

Stubborn, infuriating, smarter-than-Angel Brandon.

Secretive Brandon.

Bullheaded Brandon.

Hardworking architect Brandon.

And hadn’t that been a surprise? The major league baseball player turned landscape and

building designer.

And then there was honest, patient, generous, sexy Brandon.

“Damn it. I should be able to list way more faults before I get to the good stuff.” Hissing

when he felt the first drops of rain, Angel dashed the rest of the way to the barn. He took the
exterior stairs two at a time, then skidded to a halt on the landing at the top. “Whoa.” He grabbed
the railing to steady himself. That was all he needed: pitching headfirst over the rail into Brandon’s
precious wiggle bush or weigel bush or whatever the heck it was called.

A picture of himself going ass-over-teakettle into the shrubbery brought back his sense of

humor. Snorting, he banged on his mother’s door.

Deep-throated barks answered his knock, and the two large German shepherds rushed

outside when his mother opened the door. They circled around him, rubbing and whining for
attention.

“Mi’jo! You’re supposed to be going to dinner right about now.” Maria Vargas had a

questioning look on her face. “It’s starting to rain. You’d better come inside.” She shushed the
dogs, waving them back indoors.

Grateful to feel the heat, Angel moved into the large great room that comprised the south half

of his mom’s apartment. He gave scratches to both of his baby girls as he did so. “Thanks, Mamá.
Brandon got tied up with whatever the heck he’s working on. I just—” He stuttered to a stop
when he caught sight of Danny Accardo comfortably ensconced on Maria’s cushy sofa, sock feet
propped on the coffee table. “Oh. Hey, Danny.” He stared hard at the curly brown hair peeking
over the leather back.

And he could hear what sounded like Call of Duty playing from the bedroom.

Great. The kids were playing first-person-shooter games again. Brandon had a lot to answer

for tonight.

“Angel, mi’jo, you could sound a little more sincere, you know.” Maria tsk-tsked at him as

she shut the heavy paneled door.

Angel grunted. “Sorry, Mamá.” He forced his lips into a smile. “Hi, Danny. How’s it

hanging?” Dodging the swat Maria aimed at his head, he toed off his shoes on the boot tray along
the wall. Why couldn’t he have avoided seeing Maria and Danny together? He really disliked

being reminded that his mother was seeing Danny.

“Funny, kid.” Danny got to his feet and moved close.

For all that Danny stood about five-eight and weighted maybe a hundred and forty-five

pounds, Maria’s boyfriend—God, Angel hated having to even think that word—had a voice like
a tuba. It was a deep bass sound, and every time Angel heard it, he wanted to laugh. To be safe,
he covered his mouth with his hand, wiping at the smirk that was starting. He just knew his mother
would not appreciate the humor.

“You know your mom wants us to get along. Besides”—Danny’s brown eyes held a distinct

twinkle as he held out a hand in greeting—“aren’t you supposed to be providing a good example
for the kids?”

Danny was well aware of Angel’s discomfort at the idea of anyone dating Maria. Angel

knew that without a doubt, since Danny liked to poke at him and sneak in little comments.

Grudgingly shaking hands, Angel squinted at the little winemaker. Just then he was pretty

happy for the extra inches he had on the guy. “You know, I remember when you were too scared
to even talk to my mother. You’ve certainly gotten cocky since you’ve been hanging around
here.” Shit. That was the wrong damned word to use, because it immediately gave Angel a mental
picture of Maria and Danny… Ew. He hurried to change the subject. “Um. I thought you’d be in
Eugene for that class. Aren’t you teaching something about winemaking to someone?”

“Finished the session on Tuesday. And aren’t you supposed to be meeting with the new

distributors? Thought you cooked up some big new deal to get us into the East Coast markets?”
Danny threw the challenge right back at him, sporting a knowing look.

“Boys, boys.” Maria tsk-tsked again as she walked around the peninsula counter of the

kitchen. Something smelled really good, and when Maria pulled a casserole dish out of the oven,
Angel spotted enchiladas verdes.

Sweet. Comfort food. Being forgotten by his lover wasn’t high on Angel’s list of things to

repeat. He was ready for a little consolation. At least his mother hadn’t forgotten his favorite meal.
He cheered up slightly. “Mind if I stay for dinner?” He looked sideways at the vintner for the
Ridgecrest winery. “I am, I am,” he assured Danny. Figuring Danny was actually interested in
talking about work, Angel decided to forego any more hits. For the moment. “We’re signing on
with a new social media consultant, and I think it’s gonna open up some doors for us.”

“Why don’t you both help me get dinner finished? You two can work together.” Maria had a

smile in her voice, though when Angel glanced at her, he saw the pointed look she aimed his way.

Sighing, he nodded. “Sí, Mamá.” Why was it that a mother could make a grown man feel

like a disobedient child on occasion? “Come on, Danny. You can get the silverware. I’ll get the
plates.” He walked around the counter and opened the cabinet.

His mother’s apartment was the entire attic of the barn. The U-shaped kitchen was on the

other side of the entry door, giving the unit a wide-open feel. Two large en suite bedrooms were
beyond the kitchen, and in the smaller room, Angel had set up bunk beds and dressers for the

kids, along with a small sofa and a flat-screen TV. On the great-room side of the kitchen,
Brandon had installed a fireplace on the south wall, and Maria had set up her large couch and a
couple of club chairs around it.

In the space between kitchen and living room, Maria had created a dining room of sorts.

Angel ran a hand along the heavy dark wood of the carved table, one finger following a knot in the
grain. His abuelo had made the heirloom back in Mexico thirty-five years before as a wedding gift
to a beloved daughter. Every time Angel saw it here, he remembered his childhood in East LA
and how far he’d come from the barrio.

Maria stepped up behind Angel and set a hand on his shoulder. “I miss Abuelo.”

With a crooked smile, he set one of Maria’s china plates onto a metal charger. She always

insisted on using her good stuff rather than letting it gather dust in a cabinet. “I miss seeing him in
his workshop in the garage behind his little house. He used to let me help him stain the wood.”
Angel had spent many a summer afternoon there as a child, learning about woodworking.

“I like to think he’d be proud of you, you know. Making a family, building a life for yourself.”

Setting the last plate down, Angel stared at his mother. “Proud of me.” He scoffed in

disbelief. “You know what he said to me. You know how he felt about me.”

Sighing, Maria glanced a little uncomfortably at Danny before turning to face Angel. “Mi’jo,

he died not long after you…you came out. You know he didn’t have time to really understand—”

Not caring that they were airing dirty laundry in front of Maria’s boyfriend, Angel made a

disgusted sound. “He had plenty of time to call me maricón and to tell me to stay the hell out of
his house. In fact, I distinctly remember him telling you that you were no longer welcome in his
home unless you planned to disown me.” The pain of those days when he was seventeen came
back as if it had all happened yesterday.

“But if he’d had the chance to get to know you as the man you are today, he’d have to

admire you. I just know he would.” Maria brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. “At least I
hope he would.” She whispered the last bit.

He sighed, suddenly tired. “Mamá.” He met her gaze.

Maria was frowning, her expression anxious. He suddenly noticed tiny wrinkles at the

corners of the dark-brown eyes that matched his own, although his mother’s face was still
beautiful with its winging brows and creamy brown skin. She had her hair pulled into its customary
silver barrette, the long near-black strands still showing no sign of gray. He slid one hand along the
silky tail, the feel of it soothing him. He’d liked to do that as a child when he’d been frightened,
and the gesture was almost instinctive now.

“It doesn’t matter anymore what Abuelo thought back then or what he’d think of me now.”

Pausing a moment, Angel realized it was true. “It really doesn’t.” He felt a sense of wonder at the
recognition. “I like who I am, and aside from a certain bullheaded ballplayer”—his lips twisted for
a second—“I’m doing okay.” Angel looked over at Danny, who’d been watching silently from the
other end of the long table. “Better than okay, as a matter of fact.” He nodded once, then sent a

reluctant grin to the boyfriend. “We’re doing just fine.”

Chapter Three

Angel talked shop with Danny as they finished getting ready for dinner, and he actually didn’t

find it too annoying. In fact, the conversation was fairly good.

Probably even enjoyable if Angel was being honest. Reluctant as he was to admit that his

mother’s boyfriend was a nice guy, nonetheless, it was true.

When they were both at work at the winery, he and Danny were on familiar and somewhat

equal footing. Angel was in the marketing department. It was a small group, just Angel and his
admin, along with an intern from the U of O. Danny was the winemaker, the vintner who mastered
the grapes and crafted them into the varietals that had put Oregon—particularly the Rogue River
region—on the map.

When Angel had first come to Oregon, he hadn’t anticipated finding a delightful mini version

of the wine industry in the midst of what he’d originally thought of rather scathingly as
“Nowheresville.” Then he’d met the owners of the winery, Cliff and Lizzie Danielson. The couple
ran a small vineyard of about four thousand acres that was producing some really good stock.

The Ridgecrest pinot blanc and pinot noir had surprised Angel. Like many Angelenos, he’d

considered himself a bit of a connoisseur of wine. When he’d signed on at Ridgecrest, he’d
learned how much he didn’t know. Although working for one of the top talent agencies on the
West Coast had given him an excellent frame of reference. He’d babysat celebrities, networked
with movie studio management, stood in for his agent boss on many a contract negotiation, and
spent lots of time learning the wants and needs of some of the uber-wealthy, including what they
liked to drink.

Still, living in Oregon had brought lots of firsts to Angel’s life, not just those in the wine

business. Chief among them was becoming an instant father and pseudo-husband.

His mother’s voice pulled him from his daydreaming.

“You know, mi’jo, I was thinking of going up to Eugene for shopping on Saturday. I can’t

believe it’s already the fifth. I wanted to pick up some stuff I saw on sale.” Maria pulled a trivet
from a drawer in the weighty china hutch that matched Abuelo’s table.

Angel knew just how hefty that sucker was, since he’d twice moved it around the apartment

for his mother.

“And I was thinking…” Maria eyed him as she slid a spatula into the enchiladas.

Uh-oh. Angel busied himself grabbing napkins for the table. He kept his head down as he

folded them and placed them under the flatware Danny had haphazardly set around.

“You could come with me and help me pick out something for Trey. He’s got a school

dance coming up in a few weeks. He’ll need a blazer or suit.” Depositing the casserole dish onto
the dining table, Maria looked at Angel expectantly.

Groaning, he shook his head. “No, Mamá, please, no. I hate going up to those malls. They

have lame-ass stores.” He manfully ignored Danny’s snort. “And they’re crowded.” When his

mother arched a brow, he meekly apologized. “Sorry, Mamá. They have lame stores.” He moved
around the chairs, straightening napkins and flatware, just to keep busy. “Besides. You know how
the Mercedes got scratched at that stupid mall last summer. I’m not taking a chance on that
happening again.”

Maria chuckled. “I sort of figured you’d say that, so I planned to drive. And,” she stretched

out the word, “just so you know, Señor Smarty, I was not planning to go to the mall. I was
thinking of trying the 5th Street Market. But, if you don’t want to go to that hotspot with all the
great boutique stores and a spa, well then, maybe Danny will go with me.”

Angel’s ears perked up at the word “spa.” And the word “boutique.” He ignored Danny’s

pained groan. “But Mamá, you know I’ve wanted to go to that place ever since we heard about
it. I didn’t know you wanted to go there. Of course I’ll go with you.” Rolling his eyes when Danny
sighed in relief, he had a thought. “Brandon can watch the kids, and we can even stay overnight.
That way, we can relax, get massages… I want to get a real haircut; you know—the works.”
Cheerful at the thought that Brandon would get stuck with two days of babysitting duty, Angel
smiled happily. That would fix the ballplayer’s wagon. Whatever the hell was going on, Brandon
would just have to take a break and actually pay attention to both children…wards. Whatever.

“Speaking of Brandon, where is he? And I thought you two were going out tonight.” Maria

gestured to Danny. “Amado, will you please let the kids know we’re ready? Tell them to wash
up.”

As soon as Danny had gone to the kids’ room, Maria sidled up next to Angel. “What’s going

on? You didn’t look so happy when you got here.”

Angel plopped down onto a dining chair. He ran his fingers over his face, then thumped the

table with his elbows as he caught his chin in his hands. “God only knows, Mamá. We were
supposed to go to that new place over in Grants Pass, the one Brandon has been talking about. I-
I wanted to talk to him about something. Something special.” His mother had no idea what he’d
planned, and now he sure as hell wasn’t going to spill the beans. Not when Brandon couldn’t be
bothered to pay enough attention.

Getting irritated again, he sat up, fists clenching. “And the idiota forgot all about our date!”

Whatever his mother would have answered was lost when Danny and the kids came

trooping out of the bedroom.

Despite his ire, Angel had to grin as both Trey and Marisa griped about having to wash their

hands. Nine-year-old Marisa and twelve-year-old Trey were basically good kids, though they’d
certainly had their share of trauma for children so young. Losing their parents and being foisted
onto a total stranger hadn’t been the easiest of transitions. Not in the least.

He could tell the kids liked Danny, though, not giving the older man too much trouble as they

stopped at the kitchen sink.

When Trey and Marisa became Brandon’s wards, the world had turned upside down for the

former pitcher. But it in turn opened the door for Angel to a life he’d never imagined. When the
sexy baseball player had shanghaied Angel into assisting with Marisa and Trey, Angel had felt all

manner of emotional ups and downs and hadn’t known which end was up for quite a while. But
he’d also found a job that challenged and intrigued him, a quasi-rural lifestyle that he had come to
enjoy—though he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it—and a family to love.

A family. Something he’d never envisioned in his wildest dreams. Living in LA with a great

job, occasionally great dates, and lots of exciting men to ogle, it hadn’t once been on his radar.

“It must not be too bad. You’re smiling now.” His mother whispered the words as

everybody sat down. “Just give him a chance to explain whatever it is, mi’jo. Promise me.” Angel
imagined that Maria wanted to wag her finger at him as she spoke.

He rolled his eyes, determined not to obsess about Brandon and whatever was going on with

his aggravating lover. “So, niños, who won?”

* * * *

After dinner, he and the kids walked back to the house. The dogs took a detour after

hearing something in the shrubbery on the other side of the barn, and Angel couldn’t help but smile
briefly at their exuberant howls. Angel listened to the kids chatter about school and friends,
chiming in occasionally with questions and comments.

“Where’s your coat, Angel?” Marisa’s soft little soprano was easy to hear in the quiet of the

Oregon night. “Aren’t you cold?”

Ruffling the long reddish-brown curls, Angel slid his arm around the little girl. She’d had a

growth spurt in the last six months and was now up to his chest. “Ay, niña , I ran out of the house
and forgot it.” He shivered automatically in response. At least the wind had died down and it was
no longer raining. “But you’ll help keep me warm.”

“You’re forgetting a lot of stuff lately,” Trey commented. The almost-teenage boy was

shuffling along in the dark, scuffing his Nikes through the gravel of the path.

“Don’t scratch that leather,” Angel warned. “Those shoes cost—”

“I know, I know,” Trey interrupted. “Those shoes cost a hundred and fifty dollars.” The

words were issued in a snarky whine.

“Dude. I so do not sound like that.”

The seventh grader gave Angel a look, his mouth turned down on one side. “Yes, you do!

You’re always bitching at me about something.” The security light from the house allowed Angel
to see the glare in Trey’s green eyes. The boy gave a deliberate kick to a larger piece of gravel,
sending it spinning toward the house.

“Trey’s just worried because Brandon’s been acting funny and you’ve been a little more

cranky than usual.” Marisa looked up at him as they reached the back of the house. She’d been
precocious when he’d met her and had grown even more so.

Trey jumped up the three low steps of the stoop and yanked open the wooden storm door.

It hit the porch rail with a smack, the sound loud in the evening quiet. “You don’t have to tell him
everything, ’Risa. And I’m not worried anyway.” The boy’s defiance was spoiled when he
couldn’t get the door open, no matter how he tugged on the cast-iron knob. “Shit!”

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man.” Good God, I sound like my mother. Angel stood

stock-still as that thought occurred to him. “When did you start talking like that?”

Trey refused to answer, banging on the door instead.

“You’re not going to make us leave, are you?”

Mouth open, Angel turned to Marisa, looking down into soft brown eyes. “What? No, niña,

no. Why would you think that?” Forgetting the cold, he knelt in front of the little girl.

“Because something’s going on! We might be kids, but we’re not stupid, you know.” Trey

blasted the words at him, giving the door a kick this time.

Where in the hell was this coming from? Angel looked a little closer at Trey, running his gaze

over the curly brown hair, the light-brown skin that was close in shade to Angel’s own. The kid
didn’t look feverish, but… Angel stepped up beside Trey on the stoop, reaching a hand to the
boy’s forehead just as the door opened.

“Hey, sugar,” Brandon said huskily. “I was upstairs. Sorry.” He had to step back in a hurry

as Trey barged past. “Whoa, son, easy there.” He frowned after the boy.

“I’m not your son!” The words were yelled as Trey darted through the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Brandon sounded as bewildered as Angel felt.

“I don’t have a clue.” Angel shivered again as the breeze picked up. “Marisa, let’s get inside,

okay?” He urged the girl up the steps, but she stopped with one foot over the threshold, tilting her
chin to meet Brandon’s gaze.

“There’s a father-and-son camping trip coming up next month. He didn’t want to tell you

about it, because…you know…” Marisa’s eyes got sad for a moment.

Shoulders hunched, Angel felt a pang thinking about the death of Sarah and Grady Collins

just three years before.

Brandon reached out to her. “Sweetheart—”

Marisa jerked her head out of reach. “And now he thinks you’re going to leave, Brandon,

because you got that new job back in California.”

Chapter Four

Marisa’s words hung in the air. Oblivious to the effect they had, she dashed after her

brother.

Brandon felt poleaxed, staring in horror at the expression on Angel’s face. Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” Angel’s voice was low.

I am so very fucked right now. “Uh, Angel.” Brandon lifted a hand toward his lover, but it

was batted down as Angel shoved him backward into the kitchen.

“I cannot fucking believe this.” Angel’s voice was almost dangerously quiet now. His brown

eyes were hard and flat as he stared at Brandon.

Where was hotheaded Angel when Brandon needed him? He’d rather Angel spew some

Spanish and stomp around. Brandon knew how to handle that guy. But this one?

Quiet Angel was scary Angel.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, sugar. I swear.” Brandon shut the door and leaned against it

for a second, then breathed deeply. Desperate to get his story out first, he began talking very
quickly. “CeCe called me last month—”

“What?”

That was loud. There was the Angel Brandon was used to.

“You mean to tell me that my old boss called you and offered you a job—a month ago—

and you haven’t said a goddamned word about it?” Angel stalked close, stopping a foot away.
“Are you fucking kidding me, cabrón?”

“No! No, it wasn’t like that!” Not really. Not like Angel meant it. “And shh. The kids might

hear you.” Brandon lurched forward toward the counter where Angel stood. “She is my agent,
remember?”

When Angel simply gritted his teeth, Brandon continued to babble an explanation. “She was

just passing along a message from SPX, the big sports channel. You know, the one that’s making
a play to compete with the big guys. They,” his speech slowed as he watched Angel’s fists clench,
“um, they wanted to talk to me about, um—” He paused to clear his throat, then blurted out the
rest. “Um, anchoring my own show.”

“Oh, you should back up, pendejo.” Angel advanced steadily. “You really should.”

Brandon hadn’t even realized he’d moved back toward the table until he bumped into it.

“I’m not backing up,” he assured Angel. At the squinty look he received, he gestured with both
hands. “What? You think I’m afraid of you?”

When Angel stopped moving and stood there, staring, Brandon was a little nonplussed.

“Sugar? Are you gonna talk to me? You need to let me explain.” His throat was a little tight when
he swallowed.

Angel exhaled slowly. “You know what I think you’re afraid of?”

Confused by the abrupt segue, Brandon didn’t want to hazard a guess.

Almost too calm now, Angel lifted a hand and pointed his finger at Brandon. “I think you’re

afraid that this hokey family life you’ve got now isn’t exactly what you thought it would be. Maybe
this whole”—he circled one hand in emphasis—“school thing, being an architect , doing something
different than throwing a ball…maybe it just ain’t what you thought it would be. And maybe you
think it’s time you looked around for something a little different.” Nodding at his conclusion, Angel
pressed his lips together tightly. “Yep. That’s exactly what I think. And you’ve been sneaking
around, not paying attention to the kids, the dogs, your fucking project, and, oh wait, I almost
forgot.” He jerked a thumb at his own chest. “Me!”

Aghast at Angel’s interpretation of their recent history, Brandon blinked several times.

“What? Where in the hell did you come up with that? I know you can come up with some crazy
stuff sometimes, but that’s just nuts.” He stalked forward a couple of steps, deliberately making
noise. “I put up with a lot from you, you know. A whole hell of a lot! Christ, do I ever! I wish
you’d just listen for a change instead of running your mouth and saying a bunch of stupid crap
you’re pulling out of your ass!” Brandon’s voice had risen through his diatribe, and he was yelling
by the time he finished.

Angel looked a little taken aback at Brandon’s verbal aggression. His mouth opened, but no

sound emerged.

Suddenly ashamed of himself for resorting to a screaming match instead of talking, Brandon

heaved out a sigh. “Angel, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out quite the way I meant it to. I wanted to
talk to you about—”

“No. Don’t bother, Brandon.” Angel turned away. “Sounds like you said exactly what you

meant. I guess I know where I stand after all.”

Watching his proud and fiery lover slowly walk out of the kitchen with shoulders slumped,

Brandon felt about two inches tall.

He wanted to punch something really, really badly. He turned to ram his fist into the plaster

wall, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Dolly leaped against the door, her large feet
thudding against the glass and her long pink tongue hanging out.

“Christ!” Heart pounding, Brandon grabbed the cast-iron knob. “Goddamn it, dog, you

scared the shit out of me.” He glared at her as she and her sister, Gabby, pranced inside. “I told
before you not to jump on the door, you twit.” Glaring at the two shepherds, he watched silently
as they walked shoulder to shoulder through the kitchen, not separating until they reached two
chrome bowls set about six feet apart.

He exhaled heavily. At least someone was feeling good tonight.

The quiet of the kitchen was broken only by the hum of the fridge and the dogs crunching

their ridiculously expensive dog food. Brandon shook his head, recalling how he’d bitched about
the cost to Angel. And typical Angel, his lover hadn’t backed down a bit, insisting that their
beloved babies had to have whatever the vet recommended.

Angel never backed down to him. Even when they’d disagreed before, they’d always come

around to working it out somehow. And looking back, Brandon could recall when each of them
had gotten their way on the big stuff. They’d slugged it out a bit on some issues, sure, but they’d
learned a little about compromise and giving up on some things that turned out to be not as
onerous as each had first thought.

Now, though? Brandon had some major ass-kissing to do. And pronto.

* * * *

Angel stared at the ceiling of their bedroom, his hands behind his head. The kids were still

moving around upstairs, and with the bedroom door open, from time to time he caught some low-
voiced conversation, though he couldn’t make out just what was being said. He had to wonder
about the content of their chat, seeing as how there was no way they hadn’t heard the adults
yelling.

Joy. What a great example he and Brandon were setting tonight. And with it being the end of

January, seemed that the Christmas spirit had not hung around the house very long at all.

“Fuck.”

He still wore his clothes. He’d taken the time to kick off his shoes, but there was no way he

was planning to sleep. Could sleep. His emotions were bouncing around inside, and Angel
couldn’t decide which was foremost: anger or hurt.

The level of pain he was feeling surprised him. He’d been skating along, enjoying this new

life, even with its ups and downs, and now reality was smacking into him in a way he’d not
foreseen.

“Have we just been playing house up here?” He rubbed a knuckle against his eyelid as he

whispered to himself.

Was Brandon getting bored?

Maybe Angel should have let the man talk so he could find out?

Damn my temper anyway. Mamá likes to tell me I need to rein it in . Angel had always

been quick to react; then he tended to blow off steam fairly fast and could get back to normal
after a bit. Brandon, though, that man could obsess and ruminate over something for ages, holding
it inside, not losing control. Brandon almost never let emotions rule over common sense.

Tonight he had. In a huge way.

But this was the first time anything this serious had come up. Angel was kind of scared that

Brandon was thinking about making a big change. Really big. As in, no-kids-and-no-Angel big.

He wouldn’t, would he?

Angel chewed the inside of his lip. Maybe, just maybe, his mamá was right. Maybe he

should listen for a change. Because right now? It was looking a little scary, and Angel needed to
find out just what was going on.

Sighing, he pushed upright and swung his legs over the side. He’d better man up and head

back to the kitchen. He had a family to think about.

“Hey.” Brandon’s husky whisper came from just outside the bedroom.

Turning just his head, Angel looked toward the door. Brandon stood in the dining room.

The old house was laid out a bit strangely, with the main bedroom on one half of the first

floor midway back and the front entry opening onto the living room.

The dining room behind Brandon was dark, and he was a little shadowy as Angel watched

him.

“Will you…will you, um, listen for a minute?” Brandon crept forward a step.

Nodding without speaking, Angel shifted until he was sitting against the coffee-colored suede

headboard. Brandon might not have renovated the vintage home, but Angel had very definitely
brought twenty-first-century style to it with his furniture and belongings. The contemporary,
masculine pieces in the bedroom somehow accented the historic woodwork and old-fashioned
lighting. For once, though, decor and design were the furthest things from Angel’s mind.

Now, he stuffed a couple of large pillows behind himself, then eased back and crossed his

arms.

Brandon closed the door and came forward. “I…I’ve gotta confess, I don’t—don’t know

how to handle you like this.” He eased down on the corner of the king bed. “I…You’re not
usually this quiet.”

Belly tight with all the worries bouncing around inside, Angel grimaced. “I’m not usually

this…this uncertain.” Scared.

Fuck if he was admitting that.

Brandon dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. “Christ, Angel, I

didn’t mean for you to feel like that. I’m such a dick.”

“Amado, you’re not going to get an argument from me on that one.”

Grunting, Brandon turned his head so he could see Angel. “I just wish… Well, I was going

to… Fuck.” He clasped his fingers together and sighed. “CeCe says that this new channel is going
to be big. They’re going all out to make a splash when they hit the air in March. And the
preseason will be starting then, so it makes sense to premier this show then.”

Angel noticed Brandon was a bit white-knuckled.

“So she wanted me to talk to the show’s executive producer, Jay Mackie.” Brandon darted

a glance at Angel. “I, um, haven’t called him yet.” He smacked a fist against his thigh. “And you
sure as heck haven’t said much since I came in here.”

Angel cleared his throat, his hands dropping to his lap. “Not much to say, is there?”

“Well, yeah. You could congratulate me. A guy doesn’t get a lot of calls like this, you

know.” Brandon shoved to his feet. “Especially a guy who’s been out of the picture for a couple
of years. I walked away. I’m yesterday’s news. I was pretty shocked they called me.”

“Yeah? Well, gay is in. Maybe they want you for that.” Even Angel could hear the snideness

in the comment, and he immediately felt guilty.

Brandon swung around to face him, eyes wide. “What? Are you serious? I… That never

even occurred to me.”

Christ. Now I’m really a heel. “Forget it. No way that’s why they want you.”

“No. You might be right.” Brandon plopped back down on the bed, head once again in his

hands. “Why else would they want me? I was not exactly at my peak right before I left. Guh. This
whole thing is a mess.”

Suddenly wanting to be close to his lover, Angel patted the mattress. “Come closer, amado.

Maybe we should forget about it for now.” Angel wasn’t too sure he wanted to know what was
going on inside Brandon’s head.

Because if Brandon was really thinking about leaving Oregon, it might mean he was thinking

about leaving everything behind.

He couldn’t be considering foregoing his new career as an architect, could he?

What about the kids? Mamá?

What about Angel?

Was Brandon including them in his planning?

Angel wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answers to those questions. Until now he’d been

confident he knew Brandon, knew what made the man tick. This revelation had rocked his belief
in his ability to read his lover.

He exhaled a shaky sigh as Brandon toed off leather trainers and settled next to him.

Angel ran his fingers over the brush-cut blond hair. He’d long adored the macho cut and

what it did for the incredible turquoise eyes that usually sparkled at him. Even while they’d been
adversaries at the talent agency where Angel had worked and Brandon had been one of the top
clients, Angel had always had a yearning for the ballplayer.

Brandon looked up from his pillow. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He’d stretched out his long

body, and his warm-up pants had ridden down a tad as he’d wriggled.

Angel could see the dip from Brandon’s hip into the groin area. He licked his lips. It didn’t

seem to matter that he’d been left in the dark on this whole job thing. Right then all he could focus
on was the golden skin peeking out at him.

When Brandon shifted once more, rolling to face Angel, his waistband pulled just enough to

show the dimple at his navel.

Checking quickly to see if Brandon was playing him, Angel was relieved to find his lover

focused on the tawny-colored duvet. Brandon’s fingers were twisting the woven fabric, and the
bright eyes were hidden. That gave Angel more opportunity to observe his lover unnoticed.
Brandon was a contradiction tonight. Angel had thought he’d known all there was to know about
the man, but Brandon had definitely surprised him with the hidden job offer. And Angel was smart
enough to know that the opportunity had to be exciting and tempting. The former major leaguer
had walked away with the job unfinished. Something like this could conceivably lure the erstwhile

ballplayer back into the game.

Fuck. Things had been going pretty damned well for a while. Angel’s job had turned into

something he really liked, and it was a place where he was starting to believe he made a
difference. His—and Brandon’s—relationship with the kids had evolved into a warm, loving
family, though they’d certainly had some scary, yucky times with the nightmares, acting out, and
other traumas associated with the kids losing both parents. Angel and Brandon had not exactly
been prepared to be instant parents, any more than they’d been prepared to be a couple. Still,
they were making it work.

Except for that whole father-and-son trip thingy that was apparently front and center for

Trey at the moment.

But now, it was easier to focus on the long lines of Brandon’s body, the steely strength

hidden under the navy warm-ups. All this heavy thinking was scary, and not something he was
used to doing. Or liked doing. At all.

Maybe it was better to just forget about it all and concentrate on the here and now.

Yep. I’m going with that.

Angel slid down so that he was lying facing Brandon. He slid the backs of his fingers along

Brandon’s cheek, drawing in a quick breath when those turquoise peepers met his. “Hey.” His
voice was husky. “How about if we just”—he inched closer—“do this?” He slid his hand under
Brandon’s T-shirt, following the shape and curve of the muscles there. When his fingers brushed
one nipple, Brandon inhaled sharply. “Does that sound good?”

Nodding, Brandon eased onto his back. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, that

sounds good right about now.”

Chapter Five

Brandon had never been more grateful for being a guy than right at that moment. He didn’t

want to talk about anything. He didn’t want to have to figure out what to say to Angel that would
make sense and not set his hot-tempered lover off again, and he sure as hell didn’t want to
continue to try to explain what the SPX offer meant.

He really just wanted to fuck.

And it looked like Angel did too. And if Angel was feeling toppy tonight, that was going to

work just fine. Brandon could lie back and relax, get the doing done to him. He half grunted and
half moaned when Angel tugged one of his nipples, followed by a sharp twist. The burn was so
good. No surprise, his cock started to harden.

Angel sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. “Come on, amado. I want to see all of you.”

Brandon felt a rush of heat at those words, and he jackknifed up, barely missing an elbow to

the eye. “I can do that.” He slid off the mattress. Anxious to get naked, he yanked at his warm-
ups and boxers, then quickly kicked them away. His T-shirt followed, and he looked down,
realizing he was standing there in just his socks. He hopped from one foot to the other as he shed
them, all the while watching as Angel stood and peeled off the jeans that had cost the man at least
half of his twice-yearly car insurance premium.

“I still can’t believe you paid three hundred for those.” Brandon put one knee on the bed and

stroked his hard-on slowly, loving it as Angel’s eyes followed the movements of his hand. “But I
guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Even though you’ve gone country”—he paused to circle the
head of his dick and pressed his thumb against his slit for a second—“ahh—you’ve done it your
way.”

Snorting softly, Angel tossed the covers down to the foot of the bed. “Yes, I have, haven’t

I?” He motioned with his fingers. “And let’s keep it that way. How about you come over here and
lie down again?”

All too willing to go with the flow and table the discussion, Brandon hopped back into bed

and quickly lay down. He bent a knee to show off and at the same time coyly covered his
package with one hand.

“Oh no you don’t.” Angel dropped over Brandon, then grabbed both wrists and planted

them beside Brandon’s head. He used one knee to nudge a wider opening between Brandon’s
legs.

Feeling a thrill deep in his belly at the show of dominance, Brandon breathed deeply. Angel

didn’t take control all that often, but when he did, it was usually hot. “You trying to make a
statement here, sugar?”

Lips pursed, Angel studied Brandon’s face. “You think I need to?” With that, he ground his

hips into Brandon’s.

Gasping at the slide of skin on his dick, Brandon nodded, then shook his head. “Yes. No.

Um.” He closed his eyes as Angel continued to circle against him.

Angel leaned close. “Now you’re going to hide?”

Brandon popped his eyelids back open. Determined to get back on equal footing, he spread

his legs and brought his knees up to squeeze Angel’s strong hips, then wrapped them around the
long thighs. He held his lover tight, grinding upward and using his heels to spread Angel open.
Jerking one hand free, Brandon slid two fingers down Angel’s crease, and he arched his brow as
he slowly rubbed over the tight little opening there. “Nope.”

Angel hissed a soft curse. He let go of Brandon’s other hand, then pushed upright on his

palms. He forced Brandon’s thighs upward and out with his knees.

That tilted Brandon’s ass up. He gulped. A thrill shot through him. They didn’t do it this way

a lot, and Brandon still felt just the teensiest bit vulnerable with his ass in the air.

“What’s the matter, amado?”

He swore Angel was hiding a smirk, though the man’s expression didn’t give anything away.

He tried to roll Angel, but the little shit was too quick for him. Angel grabbed his wrists once again
and slammed him back to the mattress. He was held fast.

“Fuck.”

“I was planning that very thing.” Angel let loose one of Brandon’s arms long enough to reach

for lube. They kept a supply stashed in each of the nightstands, so it wasn’t a far stretch for him to
grab a bottle. He popped the top one-handed, then, with a definitely smirky eyebrow raise, leaned
back far enough to drizzle the slick on Brandon’s balls.

“Hey!”

“Oops. Sorry.” Angel didn’t look sorry at all as he lowered the bottle to pour a tad more,

this time over Brandon’s crease. He tossed the bottle back at the open drawer and sneaked one
hand down in time to catch the lube as it crossed Brandon’s hole.

Brandon opened his mouth to complain again, then grunted when Angel pressed a finger

inside his hole. “More.” He felt that digit go deep. “Gimme one more.”

“Whatever you say, B.” Angel obligingly added another finger. After three years, he knew

the hot spots and how to hit them. He scissored and circled his digits.

Brandon’s hips moved to get more sensation, and he sighed when Angel pressed his gland.

“God, sugar, love that.” He ran his own hand down his chest and plucked at his nipples.

“Dios, you look so hot when you do that.” Angel released Brandon’s wrist and sat back on

his heels, knees spread wide. He placed three fingers at Brandon’s hole and applied a tiny
pressure with the tips. “Pull them.” When Brandon obliged, using both hands, Angel scooted
closer. “C’mon. Pull harder.”

Almost ashamed to hear the whimper that left his lips, Brandon did as he was told.

Angel rewarded him by shoving all three fingers inside, and Brandon moaned hoarsely. He

felt precum leak from his slit, and he squeezed his nipples again on reflex.

“Now stroke yourself. Pull your dick.” Angel matched the command by circling his own

cock, then stroking roughly.

When Brandon complied, Angel felt his breathing speed up; there was a hitch in his

movements. He slowed his fingers inside Brandon’s ass.

“Don’t-don’t stop. Need it.”

“Sí, amado.” With an evil glint in his eyes, Angel reapplied himself to making Brandon need.

He shoved his fingers deep and pressed on Brandon’s gland. “I know you do.”

Loath though he was to stop playing with his nips, Brandon needed pressure on his dick. He

licked up the length of his left hand and started jerking himself off. He even spread his knees
wider, shamelessly begging. “Maybe you do at that.” He began panting, gripping a little tighter.
With his free hand, he grabbed at his tits again. “And you know what else I like. Don’t you,
cariño?” Brandon knew saying the Spanish word for “darling” was guaranteed to get Angel
moving. For some reason, that word was magic.

Sure enough, Angel dropped forward over Brandon, covering him. Using the lean strength in

his legs, he kept Brandon wide open.

Brandon felt Angel’s lips on his ear at the same moment he felt pressure on his opening.

“Cariño.” He whispered it again. Brandon moaned softly as the head of Angel’s dick pushed
inward. “Please. Please.” He shouted in relief as Angel thrust all the way in, then had to duck to
dodge the pillow Angel aimed at his head. “I know! I know!” The old house was hardly
soundproof, and both of them were conscious of noises carrying between the first-floor bedroom
and the kids’ rooms upstairs. “Turn on the iPod!”

Brandon tried to suppress his moaning as Angel began moving faster and deeper. “God!

You’re…all the way in-inside, sugar. Feels so, unh, so good.” He slid his hands flat against
Angel’s back and rubbed. He loved the dichotomy of soft skin and strong, tough musculature.
Brandon used his legs to pull his lover as close as he could, then pushed his ass into the
impalement.

Angel licked his way along Brandon’s neck, moving upward, ending with his teeth around

Brandon’s earlobe. He bit down gently.

“Uh.” Gasping, Brandon rolled his hips up with a slam. “You…you know…how that gets

me,” he panted. He retaliated by sliding his fingers to Angel’s hole once more, this time pressing a
fingertip in. “Gonna let me do you…while you, oh, while you do me?”

Angel thrust forward again, once, twice. “May-maybe.” He jerked his head toward the

drawer. “But you’re gonna need some of that.”

Rolling his head toward the nightstand, Brandon stretched his arm out.

The sound of feet thundering on the stairs next to the bedroom froze them both. As one, their

heads turned toward the wall, looking at the plaster as if they could see through it.

Not the kids. Not now. Brandon bit his lip. The Collins children had interrupted them on

more than one memorable occasion, and they’d learned very early on to lock the bedroom door.

Marisa’s high-pitched voice reached them from upstairs. “Dolly! Come on, hurry up!” Metal

tags jingled. One of the shepherds let out a deep woof from the base of the steps, followed by
more thuds on the stair.

Brandon slotted a glance at Angel. He knew this routine inside and out. If they didn’t nip it in

the bud, the kids would be up for another hour.

“Go to bed!” They yelled it together, then shared a grin.

“Aww!” Marisa’s whine was loud and clear, punctuated by another woof.

Angel dropped down onto Brandon’s chest, rubbing a cheek along his shoulder. “Those

kids. I swear.” He began moving his hips again.

Now the angle was so good. “I know…right?” Brandon got the words out between gasps.

Angel was driving, shafting him over and over. His balls snugged up; his belly tightened. He
needed pressure on his dick to come. “Need. Gotta.” He managed to sneak a hand between their
hips and began jerking himself off.

“Sí. Yes. Now.” Angel panted hot breath in his ear. “ Mi amor.”

The last two words were whispered, but still Brandon heard them. His understanding of

Spanish had increased from nothing to fair since he’d lived with Angel, but even he didn’t have to
be a linguist to translate that phrase. My love. He blinked for a long second, heat blossoming in his
chest as he met Angel’s fixed stare. “Sí. Yes.” He froze, groaning low, then came, semen spurting
over his hand. Wetness spread between them as his ass clamped around Angel’s dick.

Angel propped himself on his hands again, then sped up. Now he was really hammering

Brandon. “God! So tight! You’re like a fist around me.” He grunted as he started to orgasm,
punching deep.

Brandon loved watching Angel come. While the frequent sulky pout usually got him going,

Angel absorbed in pleasure was a site to behold. The dusky skin flushed, the dark-brown eyes
mesmerized; when Angel’s white teeth caught that plump bottom lip, Brandon was a goner. It
made him happy somewhere inside to see Angel in such a natural state, no artifice, no moods,
nothing but the man and the moment.

Brandon sighed in pleasure as Angel slid out, then grimaced at the wetness in his ass. He’d

have to get out of bed to clean up, but right then, he wanted to bask. He felt this way only with
Angel, and the last three years had taught him to savor the afterglow.

Angel punched his pillow and flopped down, busying himself pulling up the blanket and down

comforter.

Brandon turned his head, smiling slightly at the look of complete satisfaction on his lover’s

face. God, the man is just beautiful. “Feeling better, sugar?” Brandon certainly was.

“Uh-huh.” Angel snuggled under the covers until only the top half of his face was visible.

“It’s not that cold in here.” Their thermostat was programmed to lower the temperature after

ten, but Brandon didn’t think it was that late yet. “Wanna come closer, snuggle? I’ll warm you
up.” He rolled to face Angel. “Ugh.” He was a little…squishy. He reversed his position to check if
they’d left anything on the nightstand. “Sweet.” The nice, neat pile of hand towels was within

reach.

Brandon tidied himself, then pitched the terrycloth to the basket they kept in the corner. He

settled back under the down with a deep exhalation. He’d been so caught up in the excitement
and craziness of the SPX offer for the last month, and he was just realizing that he hadn’t relaxed,
really just let it all go, probably since he’d first gotten the call from CeCe.

“Feels good right now. You know?” Brandon folded his arms beneath his head, looking up

at the old-fashioned white glass ceiling fixture. “I’ve been worrying about the whole TV show
thing, wondering how to bring it up, what you’d say… Hell, what I’d say, for that matter.” His lips
twisted. “Sure would be a big change. Not that I’m saying I’d want to do it. I don’t know that I
would. I’m not sure that I would, matter of fact. But just to be asked? Well, that feels pretty
damned good.” He turned his head on the pillow. “Don’t you think…”

Angel was snoring softly.

Great. Just great. I finally tell him what I’m thinking, and the doofus is asleep.

Fuck.

Chapter Six

Fridays at the winery were hectic, even in the off-season. There was still plenty of work to

be done in the fields, watching the temperatures, safeguarding the vines, and gearing up for spring.
Everywhere else, the Ridgecrest team was working full tilt, gearing up for Valentine’s Day and the
special Tour of the Caves they were hosting. It was one of Angel’s brain waves designed to boost
online interest and sales and bring visitors to the vineyard. He’d been advertising all over the West
Coast, hoping to bring weekenders to the Rogue River wine region. To his delight, he’d been able
to get the other wineries in the area to join in the idea—even Riley Rogue, where his mother
worked.

That was still a bit of a sore spot. More than two years since Maria had taken a job there in

the accounting department, and he still liked to rumble about the fact that she was working for the
competition.

Mothers.

“Hey, Angel.” Cliff Danielson, the co-owner of Ridgecrest, walked into Angel’s office. “I’ve

been looking at these numbers.” He waved a sheaf of papers. “Damned if you weren’t right to
push this whole tour thing.”

“You mean the tour thing that you hated when I first suggested it?” Angel gave a slight smirk.

He kicked back and crossed an ankle over one knee. Cliff and Angel had butted heads when
they’d first met, and Angel still liked to needle his boss occasionally.

“Yup.” Cliff nodded, dropping into one of Angel’s visitor chairs. They were so cushy and

comfortable, and Angel had noticed that Cliff loved to spend time in them.

The upholstered club chairs sat in front of the 1950s desk Angel had found in an old part of

a warehouse that Ridgecrest used in Grants Pass. He’d immediately been captivated by the mid-
century modern styling and the substantial look of the maple wood, and had been absolutely
thrilled when he’d looked it up on Google and found it to be a classic from Charles Eames.

Now Angel had to wonder if the fact that the desk appealed to him had more to do with

how much he’d changed since coming to Oregon than it had to do with the fact that the desk was
a designer original. When he’d lived in LA, he wouldn’t have been caught dead with anything
older than he was.

“What are you smiling at?”

Cliff’s question brought Angel back to the present with a jerk. “Huh?”

“You looked funny all of a sudden.”

“And you mean that in the nicest way, right?” Angel snorted. “Nah. I was just thinking about

how things have been different since I…I mean, since we came to Cave Junction.”

Different. That was an understatement.

Cliff nodded. “True enough. Who’d have thought the scrappy little fucker I met at the Dairy

Queen a few years back would now be heading up this big ol’ marketing thingy we got going on?”

Cliff could sound so much like a country bumpkin when he wanted to, but Angel had learned

very quickly that the facade hid a steel-trap mind and wit.

“I thought you were going to stop calling me that now that we’re going national. Sort of.” At

least they were trying to go national.

“Hah. You’ll always be that to me, son.” Cliff had a smirk of his own now, and the older

man carried it off well. Despite the overalls he insisted on wearing to work virtually every day—
Angel swore that the eccentric owner had seven sets hanging in his closet—and the “aw shucks”
mannerisms he liked to spout, Clifford Danielson was a very smart cookie. The rumpled dark hair,
the flannel shirts he unfailingly paired with the denim, the tan work boots, all combined to mislead
the unwary into thinking Cliff was not too savvy. But a closer look at the piercing green eyes let
the observant person know Cliff was a man to take seriously. “Besides. You haven’t changed that
much. You’re still the tough little former gangster from East LA. Ain’tcha?”

Rolling his eyes, Angel propped his feet on the desk, just to annoy Cliff. The boss might talk

like a slowpoke, but he did not tolerate slackers. And feet on the desk equaled slacker. “You
better stop spreading that rumor. You know damned well I was not in a gang.” It had been close
a few times, though. “Anyway, you came in to congratulate me on the campaign, I take it?” No
point in not blowing his own horn. It had taken Angel most of the first year in his job to get a true
understanding of what was required, and he was finally feeling like he could make a real difference
for Ridgecrest.

Chuckling, Cliff stopped glaring at Angel’s shoes and nodded. “I have to say, son, the

response so far has been better than I thought. Pretty impressive, actually.”

Angel smiled in satisfaction. “I’m pretty impressed too. When you and Lizzie gave me the

go-ahead, I have to admit I was nervous. But now? We’ve got almost sixty reservations for
Valentine’s dinner in the caves, and we’ve got more e-mails to return. I’m hoping we might top
out at a hundred, which is unbelievable.” Angel and his assistant were working with an event
planner from Portland to serve a four-course dinner in the atmospheric wine storage caves that
were on the west side of the main part of the vineyard. The high-ceilinged caves, cut into the side
of the hill, were being readied for tourists. The public was not normally allowed in there, but they
were easily accessible from the regular winetasting area. “This business of having people get to see
the inner workings of the winery might just start to make a difference in sales.” Angel lowered his
feet to the floor and leaned his elbows on the desk. “I know I like it when I can see the back
room of an operation. When I would have dinner in LA, I’d always want a table in the kitchen if I
could, especially if it was a famous chef cooking. You can pick up some amazing tips and
techniques by watching the experts, you know.”

“I do know.” Cliff got to his feet. “This is what I saw in you that first day. You got a fire in

your belly, kid, and you’re gonna keep going until you get what you want, how you want it.” He
headed for the door, but stopped just short of it, then looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t
care what the boys in the bottling room say, you got game.” Arching one brow, he shrugged and
walked out whistling.

“The boys in the bottling room?” Angel’s voice was faint as he tried to figure out what he

could have done to run afoul of the nutty crew over in Building B. Scowling, he jumped to his feet.
There was absolutely no way those idiots had any kind of problem with him. No way.

Angel dashed into the hallway, then skidded to a stop at the sight of Cliff ten feet away,

leaning against the corridor wall.

“You crazy bastard.” Angel’s voice was almost admiring. Almost. “You nearly had me on

that one.”

Cliff burst out laughing. “Nearly? Hell, boy, I had you lock, stock, and barrel.” He slapped

his thigh with the hand still holding the papers. “Hah. Lizzie owes me another twenty. She swore I
couldn’t get you again.”

Sniffing, Angel stalked back into his office and slammed the door. Crazy hillbilly bastard.

* * * *

Brandon tapped his fingers on his desktop, and the thick material easily absorbed the sound.

For the fourth time in as many minutes, he pulled back the sleeve of his black cotton sweater. The
damned watch read three twenty. “Jeez.” He shoved his chair away from the long countertop he’d
hung on the north wall of his office.

There were two desk setups along the counter, one for him and one for Angel, though Angel

used the area only on weekends and occasional evenings. Brandon had revamped the old shed
soon after moving everyone to Cave Junction, and it was now a piece of modern architectural art,
with a window wall overlooking the forest, a transparent solid-surface counter that served as desk
and workspace under the windows, the long curve of dividing wall separating the kitchen from the
office, and the open seating area in front. Brandon had found some great contemporary leather
pieces from a furniture liquidator in Portland, and he’d set them around the wood-burning
fireplace. He was proud of the stonework he’d done there, with just a little assistance from a local
mason.

This afternoon he’d been planning to talk to Trey, and he thought he could bring the kids in

here. He could plant Marisa in front of the television and talk to Trey at the desk. Brandon had
really wanted to wait another day or two, until the weekend, when everyone would theoretically
be a little more relaxed. Based on his now three years of being a family man, that was so not
gonna happen.

“Hah. Fat fricking chance,” he muttered. Between Angel, Maria, and the kids, something

was always happening at River’s Edge. “Why we can’t have a quiet damned weekend is beyond
me.” He tossed his pen in disgust, then pivoted toward the office entry when he heard the dogs
barking.

The two shepherds raced past the pair of tall windows that faced the house, tails up and

howls of joy floating on the air.

Great. The kids were home.

Trey’s middle school got out after Marisa’s elementary school, but they were on the same

bus route. It usually made life a lot easier, but somehow, today didn’t feel easier. This was the first
time Brandon would have to face both children since last evening. He’d managed to get to his
office early enough that he’d missed breakfast and the kids’ departure for school.

He wasn’t hiding. Not really.

Adding salt to the wound, the dogs had followed him as they did every morning. Both Dolly

and Gabby had had him feeling even guiltier, since they’d whined pitifully at the entry door as
they’d watched Trey and Marisa walk down the long gravel drive toward the road. The doggy
sisters loved to gallivant up and down the entry lane as they escorted the kids to and from the bus.

Brandon now faced his own reflection in the door glass. “Buck up, son. No sense hiding in

here.” He might have been a lot of things, but a weenie wasn’t one of them.

Right?

With a deep breath, Brandon slung on his leather jacket and headed outside.

The two kids were trudging up the drive about a hundred feet away, Marisa chattering to

both the dogs and Trey. Brandon could hear the murmur of the boy’s responses.

“Hey.” He watched as the kids swung their heads in his direction.

“Hi, Brandon.” Marisa was polite but didn’t change her course. She kept walking toward the

side door of the house. Trey didn’t bother to respond.

“You two up for some DQ?” Usually the idea of Dairy Queen would have the two children

jumping up and down in excitement. And Brandon wasn’t above bribery.

Marisa did pause and glance over her shoulder as if to speak. A warning hiss from Trey had

her continuing into the house, and the dogs followed, shoving their way inside.

Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “They do like their afternoon treats, don’t they?”

The boy turned to face Brandon, shoulders back and feet planted. “Look. We don’t like you

any more than you like us. And you can leave any time.”

Chapter Seven

Brandon felt a burning in his chest, and all humor fled. The pugnacious and angry look on his

ward’s face just about broke his heart. And he wanted to kick himself for fucking this whole thing
up. “I’m not leaving.”

“Right. Uh-huh. Yeah,” Trey scoffed in disbelief. “Whatever. You think we’re stupid.” He

threw his book bag on the steps.

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Why are you saying that?” Brandon’s voice was plaintive, but

he was overrun by Trey’s anger.

“Why’d you even bother taking us, huh? Why’d you bring us all the way up to this bumfuck

town? I had friends where I used to live, you know. Lots of ’em. We could go back there.”

“Hey! Don’t use that word. Where in the heck did you learn that?” Christ. Was there

anything else Brandon was going to screw up? Now he had one of the kids spouting language that
Angel liked to— “Did Angel teach you that?”

Trey gave a jerky shrug in response.

Shit. “Trey, can I just—” Brandon sighed as Trey spun on his heel and started running

toward the river. “God.” Brandon took off after him.

Brandon managed to catch the boy in the trees along the bank, snagging a sleeve of Trey’s

ski jacket. “Hey! Will you slow down a minute and listen to me?” Puffing just a little, and pissed
that he was, Brandon exhaled heavily. “Jeez Louise, what’s with all the drama around here lately?”

Clearly that was the wrong tack to take.

Trey’s head came up fast, and the green eyes were shooting sparks. “I ain’t no drama llama!

And it’s all your fault!” The boy swung a fist in Brandon’s direction.

Leaning back enough that Trey’s feeble attempt missed, Brandon raised both hands. “Whoa.

Whoa there, son.”

“I’m not your son!” Trey lunged forward, both arms swinging this time.

“Hey, slow down!” Brandon managed to fend off most of the blows, though one or two got

through before he was able to corral Trey. He ended up wrapping his arms around the boy and
holding on tight. “Stop now. Just stop. You need to tell me just what the heck is going on.” He
gave Trey a final squeeze. “Look at me.” Grunting when there was no response, he grabbed
Trey’s chin. “Will you please look at me? How are we supposed to talk this out if you won’t look
at me?”

Brandon was stunned when he saw two big tears leaking out of the shimmering green eyes.

His gut clenched, so tight it was almost a physical pain. “Hey. Hey, there.” He swiped a thumb
across Trey’s cheek, catching a bit of the salty liquid.

Trey ducked his head away, plopping down onto the dormant grass.

Damn it. Brandon knelt next to the boy. “God, Trey. Don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He almost

started crying himself when Trey knuckled away another tear.

“I’m not crying!” Trey’s voice was muffled as he tucked his chin into his jacket collar.

“Oh.” Brandon eased onto his butt. “Yeah. Of course not. Sorry about that.” He grabbed a

stray bunch of ponderosa pine needles and rolled them between his thumb and fingers. “Me
neither.” He was tempted to stick the needles in his teeth and chew, just for something to do.
“So.” Folding his legs, Brandon rested his bent arms on his knees. “Um.”

Hunched over, Trey stared at the ground, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Brandon fidgeted, trying to think of something to say. His gaze roamed around, seeing the

muted colors of southwestern Oregon in February. The browns and greens seem to blend
together, though the gray overcast sky might have had something to do with that.

Inspiration struck. “You know, my dad used to tell me when I was a kid that pine trees

could grow a thousand feet tall.”

Trey moved his head a little, almost as if he was going to look at Brandon.

Brandon was so tempted to run his fingers over the springy brown curls. “But what did he

know? We lived in Chicago. They don’t exactly have pine forests around every corner back
there.” Now Brandon did stick the pine needles between his teeth, imagining them as a piece of
straw. “I’m not sure he’s ever even been in a forest, to tell you the truth.” He snorted a humorless
chuckle. “We used to live about half a mile from Wrigley Field. My old man worked for the city,
down at the water filtration plant, on the lake, you know?” He looked up at one of the towering
ponderosas. “He could have used some trips to the forest once in a while. Might have loosened
him up a bit.”

“You…you told me when I first came to live with you that-that you lost your family.” Trey

still wasn’t looking at Brandon, but he sounded faintly interested. “Are they dead?”

Brandon sighed and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. He leaned back on

one hand, and twirled the pine between his teeth. “Well, kid, not really. See, the old man and his
wife, who would be my mother, didn’t happen to like it so much when I told them…well, when I
let them know I was, that I thought I was—”

“Was what?” Now Trey had his head up, and he’d propped his elbows on his knees.

Great. Now I’ve got his attention and it’s because —“When I told them I was probably

gay or at least…bi.”

“What’s bi?”

Crap. “Um.” I probably shouldn’t have said that . “I… You know how, when you’re at

school and you keep checking out the girls, like that little girl, what’s her name”—Brandon
snapped his fingers as he tried to recall—“um, Keiko?” When that generated a dusky flush on
Trey’s cheeks, Brandon couldn’t help but smile for a second. “Oh, yeah, that’s her name. Um,
anyway, you like girls. Marisa will probably like boys. And you know that Angel and I like boys,
well, guys. We like guys. We’re attracted to guys. But not other guys. Us. We. Um, we’re solid
with each other; we’re not interested in other guys. Uh, not at all. No way.”

Brandon stopped what he realized was idiotic babbling when he saw the look on Trey’s

face. “I’m so talking like a goof, aren’t I?”

Trey snorted as he picked up a small pebble near his knee. “You sound like Marisa when

she’s had too much Mountain Dew.” The boy tossed the stone into the river. “Kinda dumb.”

Brandon ignored the dig. “Yeah, I’d say you’re right. Let me see if I can make some sense

this time.” He breathed deeply through his nose. “Most people are attracted to people of the
opposite sex. Sometimes, it’s people of the same sex. Like Angel. And sometimes, it can be to
both sexes.”

Trey’s face was scrunched in thought as he listened.

“It took me— When I finally…well, when I told my parents, I was just heading off to

college. I’d gotten a baseball scholarship from the U of I, and I guess I thought it was time I told
them the truth.” What a clusterfuck that had turned out to be. “Anyway, turns out I’m one of the
people who is attracted to guys and to women.”

“Why?”

“Kid, if I knew the answer to that I’d be Dr. Phil. Or at least have my own TV show.”

“What’s U of I?”

And as simply as that, the subject was changed. If only his damn parents had been so calm

and accepting when he’d told them. But no. The entire world had ended for the Halvorsens of
Chicago.

“Oh, that’s the University of Illinois, where I went to college, I got scouted there and drafted

the end of my senior year. But I was able to transfer to Chicago to finish my architecture program,
then got sent to the farm system.”

“Oh.” Trey picked up another stone and rolled it in his fingers.

Brandon switched the pine to the other side of his mouth. “Now, you want to tell me what

you meant back there?” He jerked his head in the direction of the house and driveway.

Trey lifted both shoulders in a shrug. “I dunno.”

“Really? ’Cause it sounded like you knew what you were saying at the time.” Brandon

flicked the needles away with one thumb and forefinger. “Matter of fact, sounded like you were
telling me exactly what you wanted me to hear.”

Trey stared determinedly at the water, jiggling the small stone for all he was worth.

Tilting his eyes heavenward, Brandon mentally braced himself. “Great. So it’s up to me to

get us talking about-about our…feelings.” He uttered the last word with a bit of disdain. He
couldn’t help it, though. He hated talking about touchy-feely stuff.

Trey turned away just enough that all Brandon could see was the boy’s profile.

“Ah. I see you’re just as anxious. Sweet.” Brandon gritted his teeth. “Well, if I’ve got to

suck it up, so do you.” Brandon shifted around, then grunted when his knee landed on something.
“Damn it!” He flicked the offending pebble away before plopping back down on his ass.

“You said another swear.”

At least the kid was looking at him again. Brandon could see Trey’s green eyes peeking from

under the curls.

“I know, I’ve been around Angel too long.” Brandon swore he heard the faintest giggle at

that remark, and he felt a little bit more confident he might be able to connect with Trey. “Right?
He’s a bad influence on me. I used to be a pretty nice guy.” He looked at his fingers for a moment
before continuing. “Anyway. So what do you say we talk about…well, whatever’s bothering
you?” When Trey didn’t respond, Brandon reached out with two fingers and lifted the boy’s chin.
“Come on. What do you say? We can do this, can’t we?”

Trey’s eyelids rose, and his gaze met Brandon’s.

Grateful that those peepers were once more dry, Brandon took a fortifying breath. “Good.

Um. Good.” He shifted so that his legs were stretched out, and he leaned back on one hand.
When that wasn’t comfortable, he moved again, once more folding his legs and propping his
elbows on his knees. “Okay.” So he was nervous. He could still do this. “You must have heard
me talking to CeCe about the SPX job offer, right? That how this whole thing started?”

Trey bit his lip and nodded.

“You know, just as an aside… My mother used to tell my brother and me that kids who

listened in on adult conversations caused more problems than they solved. I always thought she
was just being bitchy, but now I actually get what she meant.” He stared at the red bark of the
ponderosa for a few seconds. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with her, but there you have it.” He
shrugged and was surprised when he spotted a tiny grin on Trey’s face. “I know, right? Whoever
thinks they’ll agree with their parents?”

Trey frowned.

Brandon felt bad for inadvertently reminding the boy about the parents he’d lost. “I’m sorry,

Trey, that probably brings up bad memories. But I hope it brings up good memories too. I hope
you’re able to remember some of the fun times before your mom and dad were…um, before they
died.” When Trey remained silent, Brandon tried again. “What did you do for fun with your
parents?”

Trey’s voice cracked a little when he answered. “Camping.”

“Oh. I guess we’ve circled back to where we started, huh? Marisa mentioned that you had a

camping thing coming up. And that it’s a-a father-son thing. Is that what’s got you all hot and
bothered?”

“You’re leaving. I heard you.” Trey’s voice was quiet.

“I’m not!” Brandon made himself count to five. “Wait. Just wait. I haven’t made any decision

on this. I promise you that.” He reached out and laid a hand on Trey’s knee. “I was planning to
talk to Angel and then to you kids.” He pulled his leather jacket aside to scratch at his collarbone.
“Honestly? I’m kind of flattered to be asked, if you want to know the truth.”

“Does that mean you want it?”

“I-I’m not sure, kid.”

Trey launched another stone at the water. “If you go, I’m going back to California.”

Brandon watched the transformation from sad to mad with a sigh. “Look, boy, whatever we

do, we’re gonna do it together. As a family. Period. Nobody’s going anywhere without
everybody. Everyone. All of us. Whatever. Is that clear?”

“You mean it?” The tension in Trey’s shoulders seeped out. “Seriously?”

“Serious as a heart attack.” Brandon stood up and stuck out his hand. “I’m giving you my

word.” He felt his whole body ease when Trey slowly stretched an arm upward.

Brandon grasped the child’s hand and pulled. “Thank you for believing me.” He hugged the

boy close. “That means a lot.” He turned toward the house. “Now how about we head back
inside and let Marisa know what’s going on?”

Chapter Eight

Angel thoroughly enjoyed the two days in Eugene. The hot stone massage and the shopping

had made up for a lot of the aggravation of the past week. And he’d found the 5th Street Market
to be delightful.

He and Maria had driven up early Saturday morning, after he’d announced his plans to

Brandon while making coffee. He’d felt a sly satisfaction that he’d managed to absolutely surprise
his secretive lover with the news.

He’d expected Marisa and Trey to be a little cranky at having to spend time with Brandon,

given how not happy the kids were with Brandon at the moment. He’d been reluctantly impressed
when he’d learned from Marisa that things had been somewhat smoothed over.

Hmm.

Now if the blockhead would just talk to me, things would be looking up.

His small marketing team had had a crisis late Friday afternoon, which had required Angel to

miss Friday evening dinner and a movie with the kids, a tradition they’d established not long after
relocating to Cave Junction. He hadn’t been too happy about that, but he had felt good about the
fact that they’d headed off a crisis with the catering company, which had suddenly discovered an
overabundance of bookings for Valentine’s Day.

“Jeez.” Shaking his head at the ineptitude of the booking manager, Angel glanced at his

mother in the passenger seat of the Mercedes ML 550. He’d volunteered to drive, wanting to get
some road time in his beloved baby. “I’m glad that dope at the caterer doesn’t work for me.”
He’d been sharing his war stories along the ride home.

Maria chuckled. “I think I’m glad I don’t work for you right now, mi’jo. This tour is running

you ragged and making you crazy. But it sounds like it’s really going to get all of us on the map.”
She angled to face Angel, crossing her legs. “I’m so proud of you, my son. So proud.”

Angel felt a warmth in his middle, and he squeezed the wheel tightly. “Mamá. I… Gracias.

That means a lot to hear you say that.” He checked his mirrors and eased the SUV around a
logging truck, accelerating smoothly. “I… You’ve always told me that you’re proud of me, but for
the first time, I feel like I’ve really done something special that’s, well, maybe going to make a
difference.” He darted a quick look at his mother. “Does that make sense?”

Maria nodded. “It does, indeed.”

“I mean, we’ve got the whole tour thing going well, I’m kicking it at Ridgecrest, the kids are

doing well in school. Well”—he frowned—“Marisa is definitely a brain, and she’s getting straight
As, and Trey is a solid B student, but that dimwitted social studies teacher that Trey has is getting
on my nerves.” He gritted his teeth. “Do you know she had the nerve to tell me to butt out when I
advised her to include geography in the curriculum? Most of the kids today can’t figure out where
half the states are on a map. Or even how many we have!”

“I-I hadn’t heard that.”

Angel slanted a sideways look at his mother. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Oh. No, mi’jo. Why would you th-think that?” Maria let loose with a hearty chuckle. “Oh,

Angel, I do enjoy you. You always make life so…interesting.” She laughed again.

Angel found himself smiling. “Yeah, I guess I do.” His smile turned into a grimace. “Though a

certain jug-head ballplayer doesn’t seem to agree with you.” The muscles in his back started to
tighten again, undoing all the massager therapist’s work. “I’m telling you, Mamá, if he doesn’t talk
to me about what he’s planning, and pretty damned quick, you’re going to want to stay away from
the house for a while.”

Almost missing the exit for Redwood Highway while he steamed over Brandon’s behavior,

Angel quickly signaled and jumped onto the ramp, causing Maria to grab the door handle. “Oops.
Sorry, Mamá.”

“Sí. You’d better watch where you’re going.”

He could hear the raised eyebrows in her admonition. “Sí, Mamá.” Refocusing, he breathed

deeply as he watched the road. “We’ll be home in about forty-five minutes.”

“Well, it’s about four thirty. It’s going to get dark soon, and you know what that means.”

He did indeed. Twilight brought Oregon’s nocturnal creatures out. “I know. I’ll watch for

deer.” He’d had the most unpleasant experience dodging them quite a few times since moving to
southwest Oregon. The hazardous critters started coming down to feed in the late afternoon. “I
really don’t want any hood ornaments on this trip.”

Patting his thigh, Maria snorted softly. “Neither do I.”

When they pulled to a stop next to the barn, the sun had set. Angel welcomed the exterior

lighting on the house and outbuildings. “I still can’t get over how dark it is up here,” he murmured.
“We rarely saw the stars back home, you know?”

Maria unbuckled her seat belt. “Yes. It is quite amazing. I had no idea how beautiful sunsets

could really be.”

They stood outside the car, staring upward for a few moments. Finally, Angel had to laugh.

“Mamá, we’re the absolute opposite of country bumpkins come to the big city, staring up at all the
tall buildings. Instead we’re busy staring at open sky.” He pushed the liftgate button and walked to
the rear of the car.

Maria took a couple of the smaller bags. “Sí, mi’jo. I’ve come to love it here in Oregon, as

you have. For so many reasons.” She nodded toward the exterior stair. “I’m going to head
upstairs and unpack. I’ll see you later for dinner?”

“Yeah. Let me take this stuff upstairs for you.” Angel dragged a couple of large shoeboxes

out of the cargo area. “Brandon normally has dinner ready by about six.” He shot a look over his
shoulder, frowning at the house. “If he got his act together, that is.”

“You know you two need to talk about whatever is going on, right?” His mother arched a

dark brow. She headed up the stairs.

Gusting out a sigh, Angel trudged after her. “I know, I know. But let me enjoy my post-spa

glow for a little longer, will you?”

* * * *

Dinner on Sundays was a family affair, with Maria joining them more often than not. Recently

she’d begun bringing Danny along, and Angel was thankful for small favors that tonight was not
one of those nights. He just didn’t want to be dealing with his mother’s boyfriend while he was
busy trying to figure out what his own damned boyfriend was up to.

Christ. It shouldn’t be this hard, should it? And why the hell don’t boyfriends come

with an instruction manual?

The last week, Angel and Brandon had managed to be around each other without actually

talking about anything of substance. Angel could now admit to himself that they’d both been
practicing avoidance instead of acting like adults and having a “discussion.”

Ay de mi.

“Hey, sugar. You all shopped out?” Brandon’s voice came from the bedroom doorway.

Angel looked up from the dresser where he was placing his latest find. He met Brandon’s

gaze in the mirror. “Pretty much.” Was now going to be the time they talked?

Stupidly, he wasn’t sure he knew what to say. How to start. Angel pushed the drawer shut

with his hip, then lifted a couple of shirts from the pile of new clothing on the bed. “Is dinner
ready?”

Sunday was when Brandon cooked, since he’d practiced and perfected omelets and roasts.

That covered the two main meals of the day, and the kids certainly didn’t mind PB&J for lunch.
Angel didn’t care since he got a break from the prep chores.

Angel heard a low sigh as Brandon shut the bedroom door. “You still gonna play it this

way?”

He scrunched his brow. “What?”

“You know what. You’re still pissed, so you’re gonna not talk to me?”

“Really? You’re going with that?” Angel dropped the shirts onto the dresser top and spun.

He rested his ass against the polished wood. Now he knew what to say. “I’m the one kept in the
dark because you wouldn’t talk to me, and now I’m the one who’s not saying anything?”

Brandon rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, for God’s sake. I already told you I was worried

about what you’d think, and I didn’t want to get into it until I figured out how I felt about the
offer.”

“Uh, maybe because you didn’t give me a chance to help you figure it out. You think of

that?” Honestly. Why couldn’t the bonehead make that connection? Angel wanted to smack his
lover. “I may not know jack about producing TV shows, but I sure as hell have an opinion on
what you should do.”

“No shit.” Brandon muttered the words under his breath, but Angel heard them nonetheless.

“What was that?” Angel straightened, ready to deliver that slap upside the head.

“I…uh.” Brandon bit his lip. “Well, you do kinda have an opinion on everything, sugar.” A

tiny, crooked grin appeared.

Despite the ire Angel was hard-pressed to contain, he felt his heart speed up at that familiar

expression. That sexy mouth movement was one of the first things he’d ever noticed about
Brandon, way back when the major leaguer had first joined Hill Agency as a client. It had tripped
his switch from the day they’d met.

“Besides. I did tell you,” Brandon insisted.

“Uh-uh! When?”

“The other night. When you first found out. Except—”

“Except what?”

“Well. You kind of fell asleep while I was talking.”

Angel started to sputter a scathing comeback, but just in time, he remembered his mother’s

admonition to listen.

Maybe, just maybe, they could actually have a conversation.

“Oh.” He eased his ass back down. “And-and, yeah. I guess I do always have an opinion.”

He slanted a look at Brandon. “But you have to admit that most of the time, it’s a good one.”

“True.” Some of the tension left Brandon’s rugged frame.

“Still. You know we should have talked about this a month ago, so…” Angel let his words

dangle, hoping Brandon would open up.

“I know.” Brandon stepped closer.

Angel could smell the faint hint of aftershave. He loved that Brandon used just enough to

tempt him to get closer and sniff.

“I wanted to. I swear. I just—I couldn’t figure out how to start talking about it without you

getting all”—Brandon flapped his hands—“you know.”

“I’m afraid to ask what this means.” Angel flapped his hands in return.

Brandon stepped into Angel’s space; he slid one foot between Angel’s. “Well, you know

how you get.” He set his hands on either side of Angel’s hips, then used his knees to nudge
Angel’s legs apart.

“No. How do I get?” Angel leaned back onto his arms, palms flat on the dresser. His thighs

opened. He could be persuaded to forget the discussion for a few minutes.

“Well.” Brandon nuzzled Angel’s left ear. “It’s all that hot Latin blood.” He nipped, then

licked Angel’s lobe before sucking it into his mouth.

Angel gasped, that bite going straight to his balls.

“You get fired up.” Another bite, then a suck. “Then you get me fired up.” Brandon switched

to the other ear. “And before you know it”—he first licked, then bit Angel’s throat just above the
collarbone—“we’re either fighting or fucking.”

Angel was almost leaning against the mirror by this time. “Uh-huh.” He wriggled free enough

to rip off the slate-blue designer sweater he wore. He tossed it toward the bed just as Brandon bit
his earlobe again. “God! You know that makes me crazy.”

“Uh-huh. C’mon up here, sugar.” Brandon slid both arms behind Angel and pulled his lover

upright. “That’s it. There’s my baby.” He grabbed Angel’s ass with both hands. “You fit just
right.” Brandon adjusted for the difference in their heights by spreading his feet apart and began
rubbing his hardness against Angel.

The feeling was electrifying. Angel hiccupped as his cock got just the right pressure at just

the right spot. “Ooh. Yeah. There.” He pressed his chest forward, loving the way the soft wool of
Brandon’s sweater rasped against his nipples. Heat was zinging between his chest and his crotch,
and he dropped his head back, exposing more of his throat. “Mmm. More.”

“Uh-huh.” Brandon obliged, lips and tongue sliding over more skin. He thumbed open

Angel’s black chinos. “Kick off your moccasins, will you?” The leather slippers plopped to the
floor. Brandon pulled the pants zipper down and slid his hands inside to cup Angel’s hips. He
pushed the fabric away. “Let me just get these…” He shoved the chinos down, and Angel
obligingly stepped out of them. “Oh, sugar. I do so love your boy shorts. Oh, yes I do.” Brandon
dropped to his knees, and his eyes zeroed in on the miniscule cranberry cotton that stretched over
Angel’s erection.

Angel petted Brandon’s hair, adoring the crisp blond crew cut. That macho look rang his bell

big-time. He cupped the back of Brandon’s skull. “I know you do, amado. And, damn it, you
know I wear them for you.” It was true. He’d taken them along on the trip to Eugene because he
loved them and because he knew they made Brandon crazy. “Even when I’m ready to clock you,
I still wear them for you.” He thrust forward gently, letting his dick caress Brandon’s cheek. The
cotton of his briefs was so fine, he swore he could feel Brandon’s five o’clock shadow. “Ah, sí,
hombre. That’s it. I can feel your…oh, your beard.” He hummed a little as he inched as close as
possible.

Brandon slowly turned his head back and forth.

Angel grunted at the sensation. His dick was leaking copious amounts of precum, and he

spread his feet a bit wider as he rocked his hips. “Brandon. Querido. Please.”

Brandon darted a mischievous glance upward. “You needing, Angel?”

Nodding, Angel managed to grab a bit of brush-cut blond hair. “You know it.” He tilted

Brandon’s head back far enough so he could quickly bend down and steal a kiss. “And you know
what I love.”

“Yes. I do.” Brandon pulled Angel’s briefs down. “Cariño.”

Groaning at the word, Angel aimed his dick at Brandon’s lips. “Amado. Please.” Brandon

obligingly opened wide, and Angel grunted again at the heated, wet pressure on his cock. He
began rocking again, slowly pushing farther. He whimpered when Brandon took him all the way,
and he grabbed Brandon’s shoulders for balance.

His lover was absolutely worshiping him, and Angel’s heart beat faster. His belly was tight,

his balls pulsing. He pushed a little farther, shoving his fist in his mouth to contain a moan when
Brandon swallowed. Then swallowed again. Without thinking, Angel moved his hips faster, sliding
in deeper. He held there for a couple heartbeats and groaned loudly as Brandon’s throat
contracted around him.

Brandon jerked his head back and grinned as he wiped his mouth. “Shh! The soundtrack for

Halo might be loud, but the kids still might hear that.” He popped to his feet. “Lemme make sure
the door is locked. You get your fine ass on that bed, sugar.”

Just about ready to whine that Brandon get back on his knees, Angel quickly switched gears

at that order. “Oh yeah. And you get rid of those clothes.” Angel ripped back the duvet and
dumped it at the end of the mattress. Then he grabbed the blanket and sheet and dived
underneath. Without Brandon to warm him, he was quickly feeling a chill.

He slid one arm out from the covers long enough to click on the iPod.

Shirtless and shoeless, Brandon paused and cocked his head. The loud dance beat of

“Swagger Jagger” was playing. “You trying to tell me something? ’Cause that’s your theme song,
not mine.” Brandon smirked as he unzipped his jeans.

“I’ll show you swagger, querido. Just you wait and see.”

Chapter Nine

Angel pushed the covers back enough to expose that lovely cock, and Brandon licked his

lips. The man was just damned beautiful. No matter that his feisty lover hated to be called that, it
was true.

“You are, you know.” Brandon hopped on one foot and then the other as he shed his jeans.

He tugged the sheet out of the way and put a knee on the bed.

“I am what?” Angel reached for him.

“Beautiful.” Brandon lay down and slid a leg between his lover’s, then rolled, flattening Angel

beneath him. He grabbed Angel’s wrists and held them against the pillows. “Ah-ah.” He tsk-tsked
when Angel started to protest. “I’ll call you that if I want to. And I want to.” He cut off any further
discussion with a kiss.

Brandon loved being able to shut Angel up, especially that way. He shoved his tongue deep,

taking command. When Angel moaned and began sucking on it, Brandon moved in a full-body
rub. The hair on his chest rasped faintly against Angel’s skin, highlighting the contrast between
them. Brandon was husky and hairy, and Angel was lean and smooth.

He took a quick breath. “God, I love this.” He inched down, nipping and licking along the

way. His first target was Angel’s left nipple.

Angel whined a protest that quickly turned into a whimper at Brandon’s nibble. “Muérdeme.

Los dos.”

Chuckling softly, Brandon obliged. He captured the nipple with his teeth, biting down, then

he moved to the right one, nipping and sucking. He used his fingers to pinch and twist as he shifted
back and forth.

“Brandon! Unh…” Angel spread his thighs wide, hips rolling up.

“Sugar. You’re humping me like a bad puppy.” Laughing, Brandon pushed back on his heels

and threw the covers to the end of the bed. “C’mere.” He manhandled Angel, tugging and pushing
until Angel flipped over. He shoved his knees between Angel’s thighs and spread them wide.
“Grab the slick, will you, love? And then grab the headboard. You’re gonna want to hold on.”

Grunting as he rearranged himself prone, Angel sent a skeptical look over his shoulder.

“Really. Feeling full of yourself tonight, aren’t you?” He tossed the lube at Brandon.

“Oh, no, sugar. You’re gonna be full of me. Real quick.”

Brandon was gratified to hear Angel’s snort turn into a gasp and then a cry as Brandon

shoved two wet fingers inside.

“See?” Brandon knew that Angel liked it rough, no matter how the man might pretend. Angel

had been a good teacher—and Brandon an all-too-willing student—when they’d begun three
years ago.

He dropped forward, holding himself up on his right forearm. “Gonna get you all slick,

stretch you out, get you ready for me. Then I’m gonna shove all this”—he bumped Angel’s thigh
with his dick—“up in here.” Brandon twisted his fingers, searching for Angel’s gland.

Angel shivered at the whispered words. “Ballsy talk, hombre.” He whimpered as Brandon

pushed both fingers deep. “You’re-you’re not too bad as a pearl diver. Let’s see…let’s see what
kind of a bum bandit you are tonight.”

Shouting with laughter at Angel’s unending swagger, Brandon pulled his hand back and

quickly slicked up. Angel liked to spout all kinds of gay slang and euphemisms, the stranger the
better. “Sugar, where do you come up with this stuff?” He used his wet hand to hold his cock,
pointing it at Angel’s opening, then drove forward until the head popped through. He hissed at the
tight feel around his shaft.

Angel groaned, forehead dropping to the pillow. He widened his knees and stretched his

arms toward the wooden rail at the bottom of the suede headboard. “I don’t know.” He moaned
again as Brandon eased deeper. “There’s.” He took a deep breath. “There’s, um, oh, a new guy
at the… Oh yeah.” He tilted his ass upward. “Yes . A new guy. At work.”

Brandon slid both hands under Angel’s arms and curved his fingers around the top edge of

the mattress. He allowed most of his weight to cover Angel. “Yeah?” He rolled his hips, driving
deeper. “And the new guy’s teaching you some stuff?” When Angel arched with another cry,
Brandon grinned in satisfaction. “Oh yeah, right there, huh, sugar?”

“Yes. Oh yes.” Angel pushed back to meet him. “He’s from…from the UK, I, uh, think.”

Brandon lowered his head enough to grab Angel’s earlobe with his teeth and tugged softly.

“If you can still think, I’m doing something wrong.” He started hammering, thighs plastered to
Angel’s, biceps taut as he held himself in place. His dick was in the hottest, wettest, tightest grip,
Angel squeezing him, working him. He thrust and thrust.

“You. You. I.” Angel’s words were grunted as he absorbed the force behind Brandon’s

fucking. “Uh. Oh. Forget it!” Apparently giving up, Angel buried his face in the pillow as he cried
out again.

“Right there?”

When Angel nodded rapidly, face still hidden in the down, Brandon kept banging at that

angle. He used his teeth on Angel’s shoulder, then licked along the muscles until he reached
Angel’s ear. “Gonna?” He was grunting himself. “Gonna come, sugar?”

Angel shook his head rapidly, then quickly lifted it, panting. “Yes! Yes! More!”

Laughing breathlessly again, Brandon pulled back and hammered Angel even faster.

“How’s…how’s that?” He reached for Angel’s dick and tugged hard.

“Oh, sí! Sí!”

Angel froze beneath him, and Brandon stifled a cry as the muscles around his dick clamped

down. He tried to keep thrusting—he needed to, desperately—but Angel had such a tight grip on
him he almost couldn’t move. “There you go. Come on. Come on.” As those muscles started to
ease, Brandon began moving again, driving toward his own orgasm.

Angel slumped to the mattress, his hips still tilted enough that Brandon could continue to

pound inward.

Brandon grunted loudly, then stiffened as his balls erupted, and he shoved deep one last

time, emptying himself into Angel’s ass. He collapsed onto Angel’s back with a moan, relaxing
completely. His breath gusted over Angel’s shoulder, and he nuzzled into the satiny skin beneath
his cheek.

Brandon’s heartbeat slowed. His thoughts drifted, and despite his feeling of lassitude,

Brandon began rehearsing how to reopen the conversation. Wasn’t it past time they talked for
real?

The music seemed loud all of a sudden, and Brandon fumbled to reach the speaker dock.

He usually enjoyed Fall Out Boy, but right then, he was ready for a little peace and quiet so he
could think.

The house phone rang, startling him.

Angel groaned, shifting. “God. Move over a little, will you?” He sounded raspy.

Brandon slid to the side and flopped on his back. “Sorry, sugar. Didn’t mean to squish you.”

The phone continued to ring. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger. “I guess the kids

are too busy with that damned video game to answer the phone.” He picked up the cordless out
of the charger. “‘Lo? Oh, hey, Maria.”

Angel yanked up the covers while Brandon mumbled into the phone.

Brandon nodded as he listened. “Uh-huh. Sure, that will be fine. Okay.” He hung up and

dropped handset on the nightstand.

“What did Mamá want?” Angel rolled onto his side.

Brandon turned his head on the pillow. “She just wanted to ask if she should bring some of

the tamales she made on Friday.” He ran a finger along the five o’clock shadow on Angel’s jaw.

Angel yawned. “Oh good. I love my mother’s tamales.”

“Good.” Brandon hid a smile as he slid out of bed. “’Cause she’s bringing Danny to dinner.”

“Fuck!”

* * * *

Angel enjoyed himself despite the fact that his mother’s boyfriend was sitting to his right

during dinner. And at his side in the kitchen doing dishes. And hovering there afterward, watching
as Angel wrapped up the last of the tamales.

“You don’t have to hang here, man. You can go in the living room and sit down with

Mamá.” Angel looked at Danny out of the corner of his eye. The winemaker had been standing
there silently for the last several minutes. It was starting to make Angel nervous. “You know she’ll
let you take a turn at Halo.” Maria had surprised the heck out of Angel with her love of first-
person-shooter games. She played with the two children regularly.

Danny cleared his throat.

Angel frowned and scratched his jaw.

Danny shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Angel bit his lip. What the hell was going on?

“Um.”

Despite his concern that Danny was having some kind of breakdown, Angel had to grin at

the froggy voice. He turned quickly to face the cabinets, rinsing the last of the soap from the old
apron sink.

“Angel. Um, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Angel bent his head, focusing on a spot on the ancient laminate of the kitchen counter. Was

that dried salsa? “Yeah?”

“Will…will you please look at me?”

Sighing, Angel straightened and tossed the sponge into the sink. “Look, dude.” He turned,

leaning his butt against the wood. “If you want to talk about the winery, I’m all ears.” He shook
his head. “But if you want to talk about mi madre, well, then, I’m going to have to disappoint
you.” Waving a hand, Angel stepped toward the table. “I don’t want to know.” He avoided
thinking about the fact that his mother had a…a lover as much as possible.

“I’mgoingtoaskhertomarryme.” Danny blurted the words out, his raspy voice cracking a bit

at the end.

Angel tripped, the toe of his boot skittering on the old tile floor. He caught himself with a

hand on the edge of the table. “What?” His heart started pounding, and he looked at Danny in
disbelief. “What did you say?”

Danny swallowed. “You-you heard me.” He jerked his chin to one side, and then the other.

Angel could hear Danny’s cervical spine pop, and he cringed at the sound. “No. No I

didn’t.” I couldn’t have heard you.

Chest lifting in a deep breath, Danny spread his feet. “I said I’m going to ask your mother to

marry me. And I’d like to have your blessing.”

Mouth open, Angel stared at the older man.

And stared.

Danny started fidgeting again, first winding his fingers together, next stretching them out, then

cracking his knuckles.

“You cannot be serious.” No. No way. Angel’s romantic proposal plan had gone up in

smoke, and now Danny was going to get into the game?

Danny waved his large hands in the air. “I wouldn’t kid about something like this, Angel. Not

about this.”

Angel looked closer. The older man’s face was a bit pale, and now that Angel was paying

more attention, he could see that Danny was sweating.

“Danny. Hombre. Por qué estás—Why are you… What are you—” Frustrated, Angel

slapped a hand on the table. “Why’d you have to go and ruin everything?”

“What?” Danny looked puzzled.

“It’s bad enough I had to watch you circle around my mother like a lovesick calf until

Brandon stuck his nose into the middle and got you two together.”

“Hey,” Danny protested.

Angel rolled on. “No, that wasn’t all, was it? Now you’ve actually been…dating, and you’re

over at her house all the time, and you take her to dinner, and to those-those musicals up in
Eugene.” He was practically sputtering as he gestured with his hands.

“Well, your mother and I—”

“Yeah. My mother. She moved up here to spend time with me. And the kids!”

“Whoa. You’re sounding a little bit like a kid now yourself. Is that a whine I hear?”

“Bite me.” Even Angel knew that was weak, but he hadn’t been prepared for Danny to

recover so quickly.

“No thanks. I’ve got more interesting things to sink my teeth into.”

Angel almost snarled. Was the guy taunting him? “Hey, asshole, that’s my mother you’re

talking about.” Cabrón!

“And she’s my-my”—now Danny was flapping a hand—“my lover!”

Ack! “God! Shut up!” Angel crossed his arms in front of his face. “I don’t want to hear it!”

The glass door to the kitchen slapped open as Brandon gave it a shove. “What in the hell is

going on here?”

Maria came in right behind him. “What on earth?” She was followed by Trey and Marisa,

who squeezed their way through the door around her. “We could hear you two arguing over the
television.” The kids nodded in unison.

“We’re not arguing.” Angel shook his head several times.

“Oh yes we are.” Danny sounded pretty positive.

Angel sneered at him. “Well, if we are, it sure as hell is his fault.”

“My fault? How the heck do you figure that?”

“Because! You came in here hemming and hawing, then you-you—” He turned to Brandon.

“He just ruined everything. Everything!”

Chapter Ten

Brandon sighed.

Angel most definitely had a flair for the dramatic. There was no doubt about that. Brandon

rolled his eyes as Danny started to protest again, and Angel barked back. Maria tried to soothe
both of them, which was almost funny to watch.

Marisa and Trey seemed very interested, their heads swiveling back and forth between the

so-called adults.

He stuck two fingers between his teeth and whistled. The shrill sound broke the combatants

apart, and everyone whirled to face him. “Will you all knock it off? Somebody, please tell me just
what the heck the problem is?” He pointed to Danny.

“Figures you’d go to him first.”

Brandon ignored Angel’s mutter. “Danny. You want to tell me what’s going on?” He arched

a brow at the winemaker.

Huffing out a breath, Danny shrugged. “Well, I don’t really know. I—”

“Yes, you do!” Angel sounded fairly confident.

“Sugar, you wanna let the man talk?” Brandon arched a brow. “I want to hear what both of

you have to say,” he assured his lover.

“As I was saying”—Danny shot Angel a repressive look—“I came in to the kitchen to-to

talk to Angel about, well, about something.”

“Uh-huh!”

“Mi’jo!” Maria frowned at Angel.

“Angel, sugar, you are not helping.” Brandon patted his hot-tempered lover on the ass and

had to hide a smile when Angel grunted at him. He turned back to Danny. “Now. What were you
saying?”

Danny cleared his throat. “Well, it was actually, um, I wanted to ask him… I needed him to

—”

“Oh, not so easy now, is it? Why don’t you just blurt it out to them the way you did to me?

You know, when you ruined everything?” Angel didn’t do long-suffering well, and again Brandon
had to smother a grin.

“Maybe I will!”

Whoa. Danny was showing signs of fire. Quite a change from the quiet, easygoing man

Brandon had gotten to know. He ran an assessing glance over the older man, who showed a little
more fortitude than usual. Brandon had suspected there were hidden depths to Danny, or Maria
wouldn’t have been spending so much time with the man, but he hadn’t quite been sure. “So you
wanted to talk to Angel about…?”

Danny actually shuffled his feet. “I was going to talk to Angel, man-to-man, about something.

Something important.”

Angel took a step toward Danny.

Brandon managed to clutch at his shirt, hanging on in case Angel decided to get up close and

personal.

“And that’s when he blurted it out! That’s what started it all.” Angel cranked his head

around, staring at Brandon as if to say, See?

Except Brandon didn’t see, and neither did Maria apparently, who had a mystified

expression on her face.

“Blurted what, sugar?”

Danny squared his shoulders. “I just told him that I wanted to ask Maria to marry me on

Valentine’s Day.”

Maria gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“On Valentine’s Day? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Angel jerked out of Brandon’s grip.

He stomped over to Danny, then threw up his hands and stomped back toward Brandon. “You
see! This is what I’ve been dealing with.”

Maria ran to Danny and threw her arms around him. The two whispered to each other, and

Maria’s face shone.

Brandon tried to calm Angel. “But Angel, this is a good thing, right? You know your mamá

loves the guy. You know she does.”

“No! Yes. All right, yes, I do.” Angel closed his eyes for a second. “That’s not the point,

though. You don’t know what…how this…how this ruins things.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t get it. None of us gets it.” He turned to the kids for

affirmation, and both Marisa and Trey shook their heads.

“We like Danny,” Marisa piped up.

Trey shrugged. “He’s okay.” The boy spoiled his twelve-year-old coolness with the grin he

couldn’t quite hide.

“See, sugar?” Brandon reached out a hand.

Angel smacked it away. “No! No, I don’t. And neither do you. You have no idea—” Angel

bit his lip, clearly out of sorts.

“But don’t you want your mother to be happy? Or happier, actually? What’s really going on

here, Angel?” Brandon knew Angel loved his mother dearly, but this reaction to Danny’s proposal
seemed a little over-the-top. Angel couldn’t be that jealous of his mother’s attention, could he?

“Of course I do! It’s not that.” Angel grimaced, then sighed. “Well, maybe not totally that.”

He shot a look at Danny and Maria, who by now had turned to face the rest of the group.
“Maybe it’s a little that.” He turned back to Brandon with an imploring expression. “But-but, he—
Now it’s…and I wanted to—”

“What? You wanted to what?”

“All right!” Angel blew up. “I was going to ask you to marry me on Valentine’s Day, okay?”

He pointed an accusing finger at Danny. “And he stole my thunder!” Angel slammed his arms
across his chest, defiance in his entire posture. “You happy now?” He sent a truculent look
toward Brandon.

At that moment, Angel appeared closer to Trey’s age of twelve than thirty-five.

Brandon’s heart started pounding, and his mouth went dry. “Um.” He swallowed hard.

“Actually I think I am.”

Angel scowled at Brandon. “You am what?”

“Happy.”

Marisa squealed and began dancing around Brandon, humming “The Bridal March.” She

grabbed his hand and swung it as she moved, then reached for Angel’s and dragged him closer.

“Oh.” Angel let himself be pulled forward, but his face was hard to read.

“Seriously, dude?” Trey shuffled forward and bumped his fist against Angel’s arm. “That’s

kind of girly, don’t you think? Valentine’s Day? Sheesh.” He hunched his shoulders and shoved
his hands in his jeans pockets. Brandon was sure he saw a hint of a smile, though it was quickly
hidden.

When Angel aimed a cranky look at the boy, Trey’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“Oh Angel, mi’jo,” Maria gushed as she left Danny’s side and rushed to her son. She

enfolded the still-scowling man-child in her arms, squeezing tight. “How romantic! You were going
to take Brandon to the wine caves, yes?”

With his pulse still racing, Brandon had to bite his lip to hide his own grin as Angel nodded

reluctantly.

“And propose to him there? How sweet.” Maria planted a kiss on Angel, then used her

thumb to wipe at the lipstick mark on his cheek. “And then Danny was going to ask me that same
day? And now he’s done it ahead of time? Santa Maria, I just don’t know what to think or
say…”

Maria rambled on, so unlike herself that Brandon had to stop for a moment and watch.

But his lover’s body language was way too intriguing. And that sexy pout was back in full

force. Brandon was tempted to step over there and take care of it with a hot-and-heavy kiss.
Angel wanted to get married.

Holy shit.

With a quick murmur to Maria, he pulled Angel forward with a yank. Marisa obligingly let go

of Angel’s other hand, and he sent the little girl a wink as he wrapped his arms around his man.
“Sugar, that is absolutely the sweetest thing I think I’ve ever heard you say.” He took Angel’s lips,
wanting to conquer and tame his feisty lover.

I’m getting married.

He thrust his tongue deep, moaning softly when Angel immediately began sucking. Brandon’s

hands slid down Angel’s back, heading for that sexy, bubbled ass. He caught himself just in time.

They were in PG-13 territory. Maybe even G, since Danny was looking a little wide-eyed.

Oops.

He tilted his head just enough to stare down into the brown eyes he loved. “Angel. Cariño.”

He smiled as Angel sighed. “I’m sorry your surprise didn’t work the way you planned.” Brandon
was man enough to admit he would have liked the whole hearts-and-flowers routine. “How about
if I hold off giving my answer until next Saturday? Maybe we can do this the way you wanted. Is
your mother right? Do we have reservations at the tour?”

Angel bit his lip and nodded, watching from under his lashes, then darted a heated look at

Danny. “Yeah. We do.” His look turned mulish. “I just wish that we didn’t—that he didn’t—” He
jerked his head in Danny’s direction. “I mean, I wish that—”

Momentarily feeling sympathy for both Angel and Danny, Brandon hugged Angel tightly.

“Sugar, my grandmother used to say, ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.’”

Angel drew back far enough to frown at Brandon. “What? What the hell does that mean? I

don’t want to ride a stupid horse.”

Laughing softly, Maria reached out and ran her hand down Angel’s arm. “Mi’jo, it just

means that wishing about something doesn’t get you anywhere. You have to do something about
what you want.”

Angel arched a look at Brandon. “Really? I ask you to marry me, and this is what I get?”

“My old man used to say, ‘Wish in one hand, and spit in the other, and see which hand gets

filled first.’” Danny grunted. “Used to hate that saying.”

Angel actually shared a commiserating look with his mother’s lover.

Brandon eyed the two of them. Could that moment be the start of some connection?

“Well, I hesitate to remind you, but technically you haven’t really asked me.” Brandon

ducked in for another kiss. “Can’t we do this again in just six days? Please?” He nuzzled Angel’s
cheek with his nose. “You can take your time figuring out what you’re going to wear. I can go get
my haircut…”

“Yeah, ’cause it’s so long.” Trey was never shy about his opinion on Brandon’s brush cut.

“Dude, why don’t you just grow it out?”

Brandon flicked his finger at Trey and caught the boy in the biceps. “You know I like my

haircut just the way it is.”

“Ouch!” Trey hopped out of reach. “Child abuse!”

Maria laughed, pulling Trey into a hug. “Muchacho, you are such a little devil.”

One arm around Maria, Danny clapped a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Funny, kid.”

“Uh, if all of you people don’t mind, can we get back to what I’d consider a slightly more

important subject?” Angel stepped away from Brandon and raised both hands, elbows bent. “My
Valentine’s Day surprise has been ruined.”

“Apparently so has Danny’s,” Brandon reminded Angel.

Angel ducked his head at that. “Oh. Uh. Yeah.” His chest expanded on a deep breath.

Brandon shook his head at his lover. “Give him a break, huh?”

“But I-I just really wanted—” Angel rubbed his hands over his face. “What a mess.” He

glanced around, gaze bouncing between the kids and the adults before settling on Maria. “Lo
siento, Mamá. I’m sorry.”

Maria cupped his face and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Angel.” She

stepped back next to Danny.

Angel’s gaze followed Danny’s arm going across Maria’s shoulders. Brandon watched,

wondering what was going through Angel’s mind.

Maria cleared her throat. Angel jerked his eyes up, and Brandon spotted a hint of a blush on

his brown cheeks. “Um. Sorry to you too, Danny.”

Danny waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Angel.”

Brandon smiled. The vintner was gracious as always.

“Um.” Angel coughed. “Anyway,” he continued, “um, I was kind of thinking. There are some

small storage rooms down in the caves that we’re making into private dining spaces for couples. I
was holding a few of them for last-minute bookings. So.” He glanced down at his feet, then back
up again. “If you want”—he reached a hand over to his mother—“um, you and Danny could have
dinner in one of them.”

Brandon felt a flush of warmth go through him. Angel really was a nice guy. The man tried so

hard to hide that fact most of the time, though. Maybe too hard, sometimes.

“Oh Angel, my son, that’s amazing. It’s so sweet of you. Are you sure? You won’t get into

trouble with Cliff?”

Angel shook his head almost negligently. “Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Almost dancing in place, Maria hugged him again. Her eyes shone as she stared over

Angel’s shoulder at Danny. “Amado, won’t that be wonderful?”

Danny rumbled his agreement, stepping forward and hesitantly patting Angel on the back.

“Thanks, kid.” He gave a slight grin. “I mean it. That’s really nice of you.” Danny bowed his head
for a second. “I’m sorry I ruined your surprise.”

Angel impressed Brandon even more when he shrugged good-naturedly. The man had

clearly recovered his equilibrium. “Hey, no sweat, hombre. Enjoy. Now I don’t have to really
think about you two getting married, since I have to concentrate on the winery for Valentine’s
Day.” He sent a smirky grin to Brandon. “Now that the pressure’s off, I’ll be golden that night. I
can focus on the tour, making sure everyone has a good time, that kind of thing.”

“Really, sugar?” Brandon started to feel just the tiniest bit snarky. His marriage proposal

seemed to have evaporated while Angel focused on the grand winery campaign. “You might want
to rethink your little plan there. Seems to me you’ve got a heck of a lot more going on than just
your itty-bitty tour.” Brandon gave Angel the stink-eye. “Your mother is getting married whether
you like it or not. And to a guy that we all like. Including you, you little snot. And I’m sure she’d

appreciate some support. Right, Maria?” He nodded toward his—perhaps?—future mother-in-
law, who bit her lip.

“Yes, she would,” Danny agreed. He hugged Maria closer.

Angel’s eyes once again followed the movement.

Brandon again felt a spurt of sympathy. He simply couldn’t relate to Angel’s angst, since

Brandon and his mother hadn’t spoken in twenty years, but he knew it had to be hard for Angel to
let Danny into the close relationship between Maria and her son.

“Angel, you know you like Mr. Danny. You told me you did.” Marisa piped up from the

kitchen chair, where she’d moved to set up her doll.

“True that.” Trey lifted his head briefly from his handheld game console. He was definitely

grinning now.

Angel grunted as he acknowledged the two kids with a shrug. “Yeah. I guess.”

Brandon almost—almost—wanted to chuckle at the way Angel now resembled a chastened

schoolboy. “Well, there is one more thing.” Brandon straightened and turned to face his lovable,
flamboyant, frustrating man. “That proposal thing you were planning?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to ask me again.”

Chapter Eleven

On Tuesday evening they had the talk.

Angel and Brandon had a heart-to-heart about job offers and moving, and they’d finally

spoken calmly about just what the television offer meant to Brandon individually and to the family
altogether.

“Sugar, there is no way I’m making this decision without knowing how you feel about it.

How everybody feels about it.”

They sat on the white leather sofa in front of the fire while the kids perched nervously on the

green velvet club chairs flanking the couch. The children each held a game controller. They’d been
playing Call of Duty in the television area on the other side of the living room and now seemed to
be holding the components as a sort of talisman, staring at them.

Angel kind of knew how they felt.

Brandon continued. “This isn’t something to decide on my own.” He shook his head,

expression serious as he looked at all three of them. “I want to hear what each of you think.”

Not a one of them had spoken, all three avoiding looking at each other. The silence had

dragged out a minute or so, and finally Angel felt like an idiot. He was the adult, wasn’t he? It was
understandable that the kids didn’t know what to say, but for crying out loud, couldn’t he figure
out what to do?

“Jeez Louise.” More proof that he’d learned to temper his vocabulary in the last three years.

He turned sideways to face his lover. “Slugger.” That nickname always made Brandon’s eyes
shine. “I’ll admit I was the first one to bi—uh, complain when we came up here from LA three
years ago.”

That got the kids’ attention, and both Marisa and Trey looked up.

“It’s not something that comes…well, comes easy to me, but I want you to know. I really

like it up here. Well, I guess I kind of love it here. I love having the kids, I love working at the
winery.” He met Brandon’s gaze. “I love you.” He exhaled heavily. “But I honestly and truly think
you should do whatever you want to do.” He briefly raised his hands. “I’ve been thinking about
nothing else since this came up. I realized I was being kind of a di—uh, a jerk.” He grimaced as
he caught himself in time. “We-we all need to do what makes us happy.” Angel looked down for
a second. “Coming up here led me to a great job, and-and this family. But-but that shouldn’t…
shouldn’t make you feel like you can’t go do what you want. What makes you happy.”

There. He’d said it.

And he realized he meant it. Even if it meant uprooting the family, and possibly Brandon

being pulled back into a world way more exciting than Cave Junction, Oregon.

“Thank you, sugar.” Brandon’s voice was husky.

Angel smiled faintly before nodding to the children. “Kids, what do you think? Do you feel

the same? Or different?” He nudged Trey’s knee with his toe. “How about you go first,

muchacho?”

Trey had a hunted look on his face, and he swallowed hard as he clutched his controller.

“Why me? I don’t know.”

“Just tell us what you think about Brandon being offered a job back in California.” Angel

wiggled his fingers encouragingly. “There is no right or wrong answer. Just be honest. If I can do
it, you can do it.”

Trey slid forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. “Okay.” He stared at both men

defiantly. “Honestly? I think it sucks.”

Angel darted a glance at Marisa. The little girl had a worried look on her face. “What about

you, chica?”

“Um.” Marisa kicked her feet against the chair bottom. “I don’t know. I guess it’s okay. But

who will we live with?” She gazed back and forth between both Angel and Brandon. “Are we
going back…back to Pastor Jim’s house?”

“No!”

“No! No way!”

Angel and Brandon answered at the same time.

Angel’s heart melted at the fear and uncertainty in both the children. “Whatever Brandon

decides, we’ll still be a family. I promise you that.” He slid closer to Brandon and linked hands
with his lover. “Right, Slugger?”

Brandon nodded emphatically. “Yes, my love. And yes”—he nodded to the children—“we

are a family.” He pointed his index finger and circled it around to all four of them. “And I have to
tell all of you, when Trey and I talked last week, for maybe the first time really talked to each
other about things that matter, it hit home for me just what I’ve got here. I’ve got myself a real,
honest-to-goodness family. A man I love”—Brandon slid his arm over Angel’s shoulder—“and
two of the best kids on the planet.”

Angel’s heart had started pounding, and he was almost afraid to guess what Brandon’s

decision was going to be. He thought he could tell, but what if? He looked quickly at the kids and
saw the expressions of hope on their adorable little faces.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was thinking—hoping?—it was going to work out okay.

Brandon slid off the couch onto his knees, then sat back on his heels. He gestured to Angel

and the kids. “C’mere.”

Angel obligingly knelt next to his lover and circled an arm around Marisa when she plopped

beside him.

Trey begrudgingly crouched next to Brandon.

“So. I figure it this way.” Brandon moved his gaze to each of them as he spoke. “What I

have is what a lot of people dream about. And I’d be damned stupid to give it up for some TV
show that might be fun, might be exciting.” He nudged Trey’s thigh. “But I want to go on the
camping trip. And I want to be here, not working on the weekends, when you have your school

dance next month.” He reached across to Marisa and dragged her onto his lap. “And I darned
sure want to be here when my little girl starts dating.” He leaned down to nuzzle her hair. “Even
though you’re not allowed to date until you’re thirty-five.”

Marisa giggled madly, hugging Brandon tightly.

Angel felt his throat tighten.

“You’re not allowed to date until you’re forty, young man.” Brandon arched a brow at Trey.

That surprised a laugh out of the boy, and Angel breathed a sigh of relief.

“You sound pretty sure about this, amado. You’re not gonna get another offer like this if you

turn this one down. You know that, right?” Angel was pretty sure about that, given his years at
Hill. Companies throwing money around didn’t like to be refused.

“Yup.” Brandon rocked Marisa as he met Angel’s gaze over the girl’s head. “I know that.”

He tugged Trey close with one arm. “And I’m okay with it.”

* * * *

Shit, shit, shit. Angel paced back and forth behind the maître d’ station. It was nine o’clock

in the evening on Valentine’s Day, and all the tables and private rooms in the caves were filled.

Except one.

The most important one.

The one that was set up and ready for a certain blond Slugger, who’d been pretty damned

cagey as to whether he was planning on showing up tonight.

Angel had reserved that room for eight thirty sharp, the last seating. He’d made the

reservation as late as he could so he’d be available to handle any emergencies or lend assistance if
anybody needed it. So far, though, they’d managed to have just a few fumbles and missteps. The
caterer had forgotten to load a strategic part of the table centerpieces, but Angel and his team had
quickly come up with a credible substitute by taking some of the flowers from the tasting room
and setting them in empty wine bottles. It was simple yet elegant, and thank God, it worked. The
other issues had been fairly minor.

But right now? Now that everyone else in southwestern Oregon was dining with a

sweetheart on Valentine’s Day? It wasn’t looking too good for Angel. He’d been such a smart-
ass dick the night Danny had initiated the marriage proposal clusterfuck that he might just have
screwed the pooch.

He muttered under his breath as he paced. “Pinche idiota.” He still felt bad—and guilty—

about the way he’d overreacted to Danny’s surprising announcement. “You had to go all postal
on the guy, didn’t you?” Angel was lucky that his mother was so deliriously happy with her own
proposal she’d forgiven him for his behavior that night. Maria had practically floated into the caves
this evening.

She and Danny were in room number three and being well taken care of by Cliff himself. The

winery owner had jumped to volunteer when Angel had let it slip about Maria and Danny’s
engagement.

Lizzie was working the tasting room, and by all accounts was labeling it a very successful

night for Ridgecrest.

Angel just wished he could celebrate all the good things happening tonight. He wasn’t sure

that Brandon was ready to say yes. After the way Angel had acted, it would be hard to blame the
man.

For some dumb reason, that stupid saying of Brandon’s grandmother whispered in his head.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

He was beginning to understand. He’d done what he could in the name of damage control

the previous Sunday, apologizing and shaking hands with Danny, hugging his mother, joking with
the kids that yes, absolutely he liked Danny.

Which really wasn’t a stretch. He did like the guy. He just didn’t really want anyone dating

his mother. Or marrying her. Or sleeping with her.

He shuddered now, thinking about it.

And yes, he’d also agreed, absolutely, wouldn’t it be great if Brandon said yes.

But his Slugger had been tight-lipped on the answer. The man wouldn’t even discuss it this

past week. Brandon would still not talk about the proposal.

Angel sighed, remembering the wonderful closeness of Tuesday evening. And the fantastic

sex he and Brandon had enjoyed that night.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Angel?” The voice of the maître d’ broke into his musings. He stopped his pacing and

turned to face his assistant, Edward.

“Yes?”

“Since your party didn’t show, is it okay to put a latecomer in the last private room?”

Edward held the desk phone to his ear. “Yes, sir.” He nodded. “I’m checking.” Edward arched
his brows in inquiry. “Will that be okay, Angel?”

Shoulders slumping, Angel nodded. “I guess, Edward. No point in waiting any longer.” He

turned away as he heard Edward confirming the available table with the caller.

Angel roamed the dining room, checking on the service. He bussed tables here and there,

refilled wineglasses, and greeted customers, many of whom he’d come to know. But he was very
glad to see a large number of new people, knowing that meant future business for the winery.

Cliff approached him from the direction of the private rooms. “Hey there. Your momma and

Danny are having a grand old time.” His boss snorted. “I’ve never seen Danny so relaxed. He’s
pretty funny when he’s around your mom. She must bring out the best in him. Usually he doesn’t
say more than five words at a time.”

Angel gave him a sideways look. “I guess. They do seem to make each other happy.”

“What’s the matter, boy? Why are you so down at the mouth? You see how many

customers we got in here? And in the tasting room? Hoo-ee, son, we gonna make some money

tonight.”

Angel scuffed his three-hundred-dollar loafers against the concrete floor of the caves.

“Brandon didn’t come for dinner tonight.”

Cliff snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, that’s right! We put someone else in your little room.

Too bad, huh?”

Angel’s mouth dropped open. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic, you old

bastard.”

“Son, I’m too busy seeing dollar signs. Thanks to you, I might add.”

Angel grunted and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. The Armani tux showed off all his

best assets, but right then, he didn’t give a damn. He’d worn the suit for Brandon, but apparently
it was going to go to waste tonight.

“Oh! Ed wanted me to mention that the folks in room eight were asking for you.”

“He likes to be called Edward,” Angel said absently. “Number eight?” He looked across the

cave toward the small storage rooms they’d converted to romantic dining rooms. “But that’s the
one that I…” He scowled at Cliff. “You go see what they want.”

Cliff was already shaking his head. “Nope. They specifically asked for you. Probably want

to complain about something, huh?” He chuckled and headed toward the screens hiding the
kitchen area from the diners. “Let me know how it goes, eh?”

“Bastard,” Angel muttered. Straightening his jacket, he pushed his shoulders back and

headed for room eight. Whatever it was, he’d get it over with quickly. He was going to see if
Lizzie would switch with him and let him take over in the tasting room.

He was getting sick of watching lovers moon over each other.

* * * *

Brandon watched the door of room eight. He was hoping Angel was going to walk through it

any moment.

“Now you kids remember what we’re going to say to Angel when he gets here?” Brandon

waved his hand encouragingly at Trey and Marisa.

“Uh-huh,” Trey mumbled. Marisa bobbed her head, a huge smile on her face.

Just then Brandon heard Angel’s voice on the other side of the door. His heart began a

thumping beat. “Okay, he’s coming. Get ready.” He motioned with his head, and the children hid
behind the table edge. Brandon stood behind the door, palms a little sweaty.

As the door handle turned, he held his finger to his lips, silently shushing Marisa, who was so

excited she was practically squeaking.

Angel was speaking as he came through the door. “I’m sorry to keep you wait—” His voice

petered out as he moved farther into the room.

Brandon took a deep breath, then tossed the long-stemmed red rose he held onto the table.

Angel froze.

“A single red rose means I love you.” Brandon’s voice was raspy.

“I know.”

He could barely hear Angel’s whisper. Brandon slowly pushed the door closed, then took a

couple of steps toward Angel. He held a second rose, this one white. “The white rose stands for
marriage. When they’re given together”—he laid the white next to the red—“they represent unity.”

“That’s… I didn’t know that.” Angel reached out to touch a petal.

“I wanted you to know how much it meant that you were going to surprise me tonight.”

Brandon stepped closer. “But I also wanted to make sure we did this right.” Smiling at the
confused expression on his lover’s face, Brandon leaned over the table far enough to see the kids.
“Okay, you know what to do.”

When Trey and Marisa popped up, Angel jumped. “Holy sh—cow. Where did you two

come from?”

Giggling, Marisa scurried around the table, carefully holding a red rosebud. Trey circled the

table in the opposite direction and came to a stop in front of Angel. He held a white rosebud.

Angel brought his hand up to his mouth, and Brandon saw a shudder go through the lean

frame.

Marisa looked at her brother, who nodded and took a deep breath. Together, they spoke as

they offered the flowers to Angel. “Angel, will you marry us?”

“OH, GOD.” ANGEL’S voice shook. “Brandon.” His eyes burned, and he blinked several

times. Hesitantly, he reached for the roses.

“It’s okay, Angel. They won’t stick you.” Marisa’s voice was earnest. “They don’t have any

thorns.” She tilted the flower she held. “See?”

“I think we surprised him, sweetheart.” Brandon slid his hand over Marisa’s curls, then

tugged Trey into his side with his other hand.

Angel cleared his throat as his gaze bounced between Brandon and the children. “You did.”

He couldn’t seem to speak above a whisper. He swallowed hard as he accepted the two small
roses. His vision locked on the buds, and he raised them to his nose for a delicate sniff.

“You gonna look at me, sugar?” Brandon had moved so that he and the children were

grouped around Angel in a half-circle. “Are you going to tell us what your answer is?”

Angel blinked against the wetness he could feel building. He nodded as he looked at

Brandon. “I-I wanted to do this right, and I messed it up before—”

“No, you didn’t. Well, not really.” Brandon gave Angel a half grin. “When we looked in on

Maria and Danny a few minutes ago, they looked happy as can be. And anyway, we’re all here
now to do this as a family.”

“C’mon, Angel—say yes!” Marisa hopped from foot to foot.

Even Trey had a smile on his face. The boy usually frowned at anything he deemed gushy or

touchy-feely, so Angel was gladdened to see happiness showing.

“Okay, mi’ja.” Angel bent to pick up the little girl. She wrapped her legs around his middle,

and he hugged her tightly. “Okay.” He tilted his head upward and stared at the man he loved.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. All of you. Especially you, Slugger.”

Loose Id Titles by JM Cartwright

Brainy and the Beast

If Wishes Were Horses

SUPERIORZ.ORG

JM Cartwright

“JM Cartwright is a polished professional who works all the time. Well, maybe not all the

time... but paying the mortgage and buying dog food keeps JM pretty busy.”

Makes me sound kinda stuffy, doesn't it? :>)

I'm a Midwesterner by birth—lived briefly in the Pacific Northwest—and I dream of the

Appalachians and someday sitting on a veranda looking over one hundred acres of paradise.

Writing stories about lovers butting heads, making each other crazy, laughing and loving is

what I like to do.