Chapter Text
“I’m gonna need some time to — to…” he swirls a hand swiftly through the air “…process.”
Her chuckle in his ear is as kind as it always is, as it’s always been.
“I thought you might. Call me back with questions. But Alex — are you there? Are you listening?”
He’s listening. Sort of. Half his mind has already detached from the conversation and moved into problem-solving mode. It’s not like this is the first issue they’ve had. Once they lost power for two entire days. Then there was the time, known forever after as The Year of the Snake, when not one, not two, but three members of his group got bitten.
Non-venomous, of course. Or that probably would’ve been his last group.
But this?
There’s never been anything like this.
He closes his eyes…and this, along with Russell’s apartment, disappears. Everything seems to disappear except the soft, steady rhythm of his own breath. One of his best focusing tools.
“I’m listening. Go.”
“You can’t talk about this. To anyone, for any reason. Understand?”
“Yes, Lucia, I understand. I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“I know you’re not, but I have to make sure we’re clear. Call me when you’re done processing, okay?” She’s straining so hard to keep her voice calm and even that it’s starting to tremble. His eyes pop back open.
“Just tell me one thing,” he says, lifting a hand to tug nervously at his curls. “Are you fucking with me?”
Lucia gives up. Her laughter is so loud he flinches, shifting the phone away from his ear and glancing over at the sofa. Russell’s already wide eyes get a little wider.
“I’m not fucking with you. Call me later."
The phone drops slowly to his thigh until his eyes settle, fixated but unseeing, on its empty screen.
“What’s up?”
A prince.
How fucking insane.
One of Russell’s hands enters his field of vision and curls around his knee with gentle pressure. “Hello?”
“Lucia’s lost her mind,” Alex mutters. “That’s what’s up.”
Russell doesn’t reply. Instead he stands and moves behind the chair, and Alex feels him turning down the collar of his shirt. His eyes drop closed again. Russell works his fingers along the muscles just below his neck, then gives the back of his head a push. He lets his chin fall toward his chest with an appreciative groan.
“What happened?”
Alex snorts. “I can’t even tell you. Like, legally.”
“Did she have to cancel your group? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.” He sighs, arching into the delectable pressure of Russell’s hands, now pressing into his upper back. “I just have to bring everybody in and get them to sign a bunch of shit before we head out there next week.”
Suddenly, the hands are gone. Dammit.
Russell steps around the chair and drops to the ground in front of him. Alex forces his massage-heavy eyelids open. “Oh, hang on,” Russell says in a breathy rush, dark, excited eyes searching his face. “It’s a celebrity. She’s got a celebrity out there. Who?”
Alex pantomimes zipping his mouth shut and tossing the key away. Russell stares at him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. “Hmmm,” he hums as his fingers begin a slow slide up the insides of Alex’s thighs. “I know how to get it out of you.”
Alex’s ass squirms in his chair. Because the fucker does know how.
“Not gonna work.”
Russell leans forward and wraps one hand around the back of his neck, pulling their mouths together. The other presses along the length of Alex’s rapidly-awakening cock. Fuck. His lips part with a long, low moan. Russell’s gonna have it out and in his mouth in the next 10 seconds if Alex doesn’t do something.
And it really is so tempting.
But then they’ll end up in bed and — he shakes his head slowly, disrupting the deepening dive of Russell’s tongue against his own. “Later,” Alex murmurs, running a fingertip down the black-stubbled cheek. “I’ve gotta go get started.”
_______________________
Pride pumps through him as his eyes circle the table. They always feel like his people after a year together, even though he only plays a small part in their journeys.
But he’s watched them struggle and sometimes fall, then invariably rise. Often the rising is slow. Often it’s grueling. But getting to witness them do it — occasionally even help them do it — is fabulous.
“What was so important we had to come in, Alex? I’m missing my tee time.”
Usually. Usually fabulous.
Other times, he wonders why he didn’t go straight to the courtroom as planned.
He meets the irritable eyes with a warm, placating smile. “I needed to be able to see your faces.” A glance at the others shows him Clayton is the only one who’s agitated. The rest are watching him closely but with open faces, Celeste displaying her usual I’m-up-for-anything grin.
“Please tell me you’re not canceling the trip,” Dorothy interjects, and Celeste reaches over and squeezes her mom’s hand.
“I’m not canceling. But I need to know if everyone still wants to go after you hear about the phone call I got yesterday.”
His eyes slide over to Zhen, who’s as silent as ever. A year ago, Alex wouldn’t have known what was behind that impassive expression. But now the slightly-lifted eyebrows tell him Zhen is fully engaged…and trying to determine where this is going.
“Lucia called to tell me there’s someone staying at the ranch who is of interest to the media. If you go, you will have to sign a document that legally prohibits you from telling anyone this person was there. Even if you don’t interact—”
“It’s Taylor — no. Taylor and Travis,” Celeste bursts out, her green eyes huge and shining.
“Wrong,” Clayton asserts. “Obama.”
“Who, Alex?” Dorothy is practically breathless.
What a crew.
“Hang on, guys,” he chuckles, lifting and shaking his hand so the stack of paper in it rattles distractingly. “I can’t tell you who it is until you’ve signed the Non-Disclosure Agreement. Anyone who doesn’t want to sign is free to take off, and you’ve got an automatic invite to go with next year’s group.”
A long pause. No one moves, and he gets his next words in order.
He’s not trying to discourage them from going. But it’s like Lucia said: They have to be clear. His eyes make the circuit again, resting on each face one by one.
“Everybody’s still in? If it somehow becomes known that you were there at the same time as this person, it’s possible you’ll be contacted by the press. And you’re legally bound not to give them information — them or anyone else. That includes family and friends.”
Four mouths open to speak.
“Bring the papers,” Zhen says softly. Three mouths silently close.
While they uncap their pens and bend toward the documents, Alex uses the lull to check his phone.
Russell: Come over for dinner tonight
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Pages turning and some light coughing and sniffling have become the room’s only sounds. Allergy season again. He shoves the phone in his back pocket and walks to the window, his eyes roving restlessly down the sun-streaked sidewalk.
“Alex?” Celeste is waving the NDA around like a flag-wielding fan at a football game.
“Did you actually read it?”
“I read it enough,” she grins. “I heard what you said. I get it.”
He shakes his head slowly, feeling his own lips lifting.
Eighteen years old and fearless. She and her mom have been through so much…and still that irrepressible smile. It’s more common now than this time last year, when her brother had only been gone a few months.
“So who is it?” He comes back to the table, and Celeste pokes determinedly at his arm with a turquoise-nailed fingertip. He just realized it matches her hair.
“Not yet,” he whispers, raising his index finger to his lips.
Zhen is the last to finish, which is no surprise. They all discovered early on that the software engineer is easily the group’s most fastidious member. Finally, though, four completed NDAs sit in a pile on the table in front of Alex.
He leans forward, resting his weight on his fingertips. The eyes drill into his face.
It’s sorta like being a jeans-wearing version of those people who open the envelopes at award shows. Even Zhen looks excited — in his own understated way.
“Prince Henry is at the ranch,” he says.
Dorothy and Celeste gasp.
Clayton sniffs.
Zhen blinks.
“So that’s where he went!” Celeste shrieks, bouncing in her seat. “And all the Palace would say was he was taking some time off. Everybody thinks it’s weird — doesn’t it seem weird, Ma?” Dorothy grunts quietly when Celeste elbows her in the side. “Like, if you take time off after your engagement, your fiancee usually goes with you, right? There hasn’t been a picture of that guy and Prince Henry together for weeks. What’s going on there?”
Alex shrugs. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what engaged people do — royal or otherwise.
And prior to yesterday, he remembers being aware of Prince Henry’s existence only once: A few years back, when he came out as gay. Alex was sitting in a bar while the interview played on a muted TV. He drank his beer and looked the prince over carefully.
Pale and blond: Not my type.
Pretty mouth, though. And nice-shaped eyes — but blue. So blue.
Ugh.
He clears his throat.
“No idea,” he resumes, smiling at Celeste. “And the less we learn about him while we’re there, the better. We can’t accidentally share what we don’t know, right? And remember: There’s a good chance we’ll have little to no contact with him. The place is big enough that he can avoid us completely, if that’s what he wants to do.”
“No pictures, though, if we do see him?” Celeste asks, her lips already preparing their pout.
“No pictures.”
“I’ve never met a royal before.” Dorothy watches her own hands as she rolls a pen back and forth contemplatively between the palms.
“Nothing to get worked up about. They’re human beings. Same as you and me.”
She squints across the table at Clayton. “So you’ve met one?”
“No.”
Alex grins as he watches the alert slide of Zhen’s eyes from speaker to speaker.
“And it’s likely we’ll get back here still not having met one,” he reminds them, stowing the NDAs neatly in his messenger bag. “So text me with any questions. Otherwise, I’ll see everybody at the airport Thursday. But right now I’m thinking…pizza?”
_______________________
A parade of faces marches through his mind as he gazes out the window of the train taking him home.
Clayton, Dorothy, Zhen, Celeste, Lucia, Prince Henry —
— wait. Go back.
No, not that one. He’s already spending more time than he ever wanted to thinking about that one. The one before him.
He still hasn’t called Lucia with his questions. This is some crazy shit…having to prepare these people to meet a member of a royal family. But her tone was light, her voice full of laughter. Lucia thinks it’ll be all right. And he trusts her. It’s unlikely he would’ve stumbled into doing this work he loves if she hadn't come into his life.
Because eight years ago, at 20, he had it all mapped out:
He would move to DC and fly through Georgetown Law, ace the bar, and argue cases for a few years before making the leap to politics. Sub UT for Georgetown, and it’s the same path as his parents’.
Fly through law school: Check.
Ace the bar: Done.
But instead of getting hired and heading right to the courtroom, he fell in love. And it was all her fault.
Professor Esteros — Lucia — planted the seed when, midway through his final semester, she invited him to join her one weekend at the nonprofit where she volunteered. H2 (Hope + Healing) partnered with the Victim Services Branch of the Metropolitan Police Department to help those personally affected by violence.
It was a side of the law he’d never seen: People and/or their families who’d been impacted by crime and wanted to heal. To move past survival, back into health and happiness.
The H2 staffers he met that weekend were patient, funny, loving. Those they served were…raw.
Real.
Messy.
But recovering.
When he started law school, he couldn’t have imagined wanting to be anywhere but in the spotlight: Thriving amid the pressure — and, yeah, the glory — of working on those Big Cases that lead to Big Changes. But he couldn’t stop thinking about H2. Six months after the weekend he spent there, he was interviewing with firms for his first job when Lucia called.
He’d heard she retired and moved. Nothing specific.
“The cell reception is shitty,” she said. “I may lose you. What are you up to these days, Alex?”
It turned out Lucia now lived on a ranch she bought in the mountains outside Santa Fe. And she was calling to let him know H2 had a full-time opening for a legal counsel.
He interviewed.
They loved him.
He sat in on the social workers’ meetings and groups when he wasn’t too busy, and his bosses listened when he started getting ideas that fell outside his job description.
For the last three years, he’s taken a group to Rancho Cielo Azul — Blue Sky Ranch — to mark 12 months of participation in H2 programs. It’s not a graduation; no one ever has to stop coming around, if they don’t want to. Just a simple celebration of their perseverance.
Mountain sunsets, horses, laughter around the campfire. Alex gets rejuvenated every time.
“So are you a social worker? Or a lawyer?” Russell asked when they first started dating. Alex had smiled and answered, “Yes.” Thanks to tuition help from H2, he now has the second degree that means he can officially function as both.
And he loves the double role. But sometimes — like right now, melting back into his seat on the train — it’s fucking exhausting.
His mind is fried, his body fidgeting and hungry…the kind of hunger four pieces of pizza did nothing to sate. He finds his phone at the bottom of his bag. Fuck. He never answered Russell. How is making the relationship “open” any better when you still feel stifled?
One hand unbuttons his collar while the other scrolls. The newly exposed skin at his neck drinks in the cool air, and he sighs quietly. He’s got no energy for apps tonight. So he’s gonna break one of his rules.
“You told me you don’t do second times,” she says instead of hello.
He smiles. Amanda — no, that’s not it. He checks her contact again. Amira was fun last week, flexible in more ways than one, and sexy as hell. “I usually don’t. I’ll be home in 30 minutes.”
“See you there,” she purrs.
____________________
He expected to be able to sleep after two rounds with Amaya and a shower, but he’s still lying here, watching the ceiling fan twirl and tapping his feet together thoughtfully beneath the blanket. Finally, he grabs his phone.
Lucia’s chuckling when she answers. “So it took over 24 hours to get your questions ready, huh? That was a lot of processing time.”
“I needed it,” he says wryly.
“Go ahead.”
“You sure? It’s kinda late.”
“Not here. Mountain Standard Time, remember? Two hours behind you.”
“Right. Okay. So.” He runs a hand aimlessly over his chest, the skin still soft from his shower. “With all the five-star resorts in the world…” Lucia is laughing again “…I mean, you know I love your place. But damn. There’s horse shit and snakes, and half the time there’s no WiFi —”
“Do you hear yourself answering your own question?”
“I mean, I get the unplugging part. But he could’ve done that on an island somewhere. Snakes and horse shit: explain that.”
“He already lives on an island.”
“Fucking hell, Lucia. Answer.”
A smile stretches his face as he listens to her swallow another round of giggles.
“Here’s what happened,” she finally replies after a loud sigh. “The last time I was in London, a friend of a friend introduced me to an Englishman who was looking for guidance through the legal loopholes of buying property in the US.”
“Sure, you mentioned that: Shane.”
“Close: Shaan. I couldn’t tell you much about him then, but I can now that you’ve signed everything. Shaan Shrivastiva is Prince Henry’s equerry.”
“His what?”
“His handler.”
Alex squints at the ceiling fan. “Like a secretary?”
“Beyond helping manage Prince Henry’s schedule and facilitating his communications, I’m not sure what his role entails. All I know with certainty is that Shaan and I stayed in touch. And not long ago he reached out and said Henry was interested in getting away — far away — for a few weeks and asked if my ranch was a possibility.” She pauses for a breath. “Good so far?”
“Sure.”
“Next?”
He sits up suddenly, drawing his knees to his chest and sifting damp curls through his fingers. It’s just so hard to imagine (and he has a great imagination): that stiff-looking dude with the perfect hair he saw on TV, spending his days on a dusty ranch in New Mexico.
“But what does he do? Didn’t you say he’d already been there two weeks?”
“He’s a horseman, Alex. Do you ever look at news? Social media? Anything? His polo matches raise hundreds of thousands for charity. He doesn’t just sponsor them; he plays. He’s the draw.” She pauses. “Hang on. Back in a sec.”
Alex slides out of bed.
The post-orgasm languor is long gone, and his interest in sleep is dwindling by the minute. In fact, that mental malaise he was dealing with on the train is history, too. His mind feels sharp, potent – relentlessly awake.
He heads for the kitchen, bare feet thumping quietly over the faux wood flooring. These are some of his best thinking times: The world outside is dark and sleeping, but he’s at the kitchen table on his laptop, taking long sips of his favorite espresso roast. There’s always a pot prepped and ready to go.
“I’m back,” Lucia says just as he drops into a chair at the kitchen table, positioning himself to watch the carafe fill up.
“So he’s into horses,” Alex goes on, “but that’s polo: Manicured grass and shiny boots. You’ve got trail rides and dirt. And snakes.”
“Again with the snakes, Alex. That was one year, because of the drought. It’s never been so bad again.”
“I know, but I think I’m traumatized.”
She chuckles. “He wanted to get away from what he’s used to, remember? Except horses. That seems to be the connecting point. Wait til you see how he is with them — so calm and gentle. If you really want your mind blown, listen to this: He shovels stalls nearly every morning.”
The quick breath he inhales is thick with that decadent dark roast smell. “Bullshit,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief as he steps up to the counter. “Now I know you’re fucking with me. There’s no way he does that.”
“He does, even after I thoroughly explained the rotating schedule Juan and I have. He said he wants to.”
There’s only one more question. Alex’s stomach performs an odd rolling twist before he asks it. He stirs the sugar in extra vigorously, creating a minor mess on the counter he’ll deal with later.
“He just got engaged, right?”
“Right.”
“Then why is he there alone?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“He’s — Alex, he doesn’t talk much. I don’t know if he’s shy or if he’s going through something…I don’t know. He’s always polite, just very, very quiet. I don’t know why he’s here alone.” She sighs. “I’ve tried, but I haven’t been able to get past formality. You’re close to him in age. Maybe he’ll open up to you.”
He wanted to laugh. He meant to.
Because Lucia’s told him some crazy things: that a shit-shoveling prince who could literally go anywhere is staying at her ranch, and that his visit happens to overlap with Alex’s group’s annual trip.
But this isn’t just crazy. It’s fucking lunacy.
Maybe he’ll open up to you.
Right. The American who’s still belching from his pizza dinner and is, once again, having a hard time remembering the name of the girl he fucked tonight. Twice.
The American who’s only one generation removed from poverty on both sides of his family. He may not know shit about Prince Henry’s dad, but his mom’s lineage is one of prosperity and power dating back centuries.
And Alex still remembers what he saw years ago in that TV interview: the rigidly regal set of his shoulders. The blue, blue eyes.
Other than a similarity in age, is there anyone in the world Alex has less in common with than Prince Henry?
Lucia’s full of shit. And he meant to laugh.
He swallows his coffee too fast and coughs a little to ease the burn.
“I guess we’ll see,” he hears himself say instead.
________________________
“…I knew all along you’d come back to me. You’d come back to me, ye-ah.”
Alex is the only one of the SUV’s occupants listening to Celeste’s wispy soprano serenade.
She has her headphones on, but it doesn’t matter. He loves this song and doesn’t have to hear it to enjoy it. Finishing the chorus in his head, he taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel.
Several coarse, phlegmy grunts draw his eyes to the passenger seat. Clayton is snoring with his mouth wide open, the New Mexico sun adding golden highlights to his silver hair. A glance in the rearview mirror shows him Dorothy asleep on Celeste’s shoulder. Zhen must be lying down in the far back seat; Alex can’t see him at all.
It’s been a long day.
They assembled promptly at Dulles at 5 a.m. for the 7 a.m. flight. Then it was one delay after another…but finally, six hours later than planned, they’re rocketing up I-25, covering the distance between Albuquerque and Rancho Cielo Azul at 75 miles an hour.
Celeste is humming a new song he doesn’t recognize. His fingers curl around the wheel again, the tips tingling a little in anticipation.
Sure, the unexpected presence of Lucia’s other guest made for a last-minute logistical scramble, but it sounds like Prince Henry would rather avoid Alex’s group than disrupt it. There’s no reason to believe this visit will be any less amazing than they always are. Even snakes weren’t able to ruin a week at Lucia’s.
And this — the approach — is one of his favorite parts.
Every time.
Flat, monochromatic grasslands become steadily-thickening clumps of scrubby bushes, and then they’re among the foothills. And up ahead, closer all the time, are the mountains, dark green and august. Beckoning like a gateway to some mystical discovery.
Alex could really use one of those.
It doesn’t even have to be mystical. He’d be more than satisfied with a practical, regular, down-to-earth discovery.
Because things at home are getting a little complicated.
“You can’t make time to see me before you go?” Russell had asked when Alex finally responded to his dinner invitation…two days later. His answer came easily enough, especially since they were together when Lucia called. So Russell knew Alex was working extra without knowing exactly why.
But he still could’ve found time. And the reason he didn’t was just as easy to explain — to himself at least.
Russell had been a mistake from the very beginning.
Three months ago, Alex reached out to Yvonne, his contact at the police department, and asked her to send someone by his office at H2. Someone with next-level people skills. Two of the four members of his group have dark histories with law enforcement, and Alex had seen it work before — giving them access to a good cop. Giving them a chance to ask questions, cry, preach…once, someone even screamed. It can help.
Yvonne didn’t just send him a good cop.
Russell was perfect.
Alex watched as he leaned forward in his chair, his face pinched with compassionate concern, as Dorothy described the frustration of working with investigators when her son went missing. Then he listened to Russell’s simple and respectful response to Clayton’s harangue.
“Thank you,” Alex said, shaking the large hand afterward. It was a struggle to keep his gaze from slipping down to where Russell’s muscular chest strained against his uniform.
“Call me directly anytime you need something like this.” Alex glanced at the card Russell handed him. He’d written his personal cell under the work number. “Anytime,” he repeated, staring down at Alex with an attentive smile.
After two weeks of incredible sex in every room of both their apartments and more shared meals than he could count, a pattern started to develop: When they were at Alex’s place, Russell would already be asleep by the time Alex got out of the shower. And he started leaving things. A few bath products, his favorite running shoes.
The time had come to share his Monogamy Policy.
Which is very simple: He doesn’t do it.
Only the fact that he wants kids someday has tempted him to avoid making it an actual policy. But this is the second quarter of the 21st century, not 19-fucking-50. Having a partner isn’t required to start a family. And he’s already got a great plan. He’ll adopt two (maybe three?) and make sure his income is sufficient to hire the help he needs…unless June’s still single and he can convince her to move in.
Russell wasn’t happy about the Monogamy Policy. His impassioned speech detailing the joys of exclusivity — which went on for so long Alex had to fight off a yawn more than once — finally fizzled into begging.
Alex was flattered. It was sweet.
Then he had flowers and food delivered to Alex’s apartment for several days — which was also sweet, but no more effective than begging. When Alex objected to the waste, Russell made a large donation to UNICEF in his name instead.
“We can try,” Alex said that night over dinner. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” And Russell, wearing a massive smile, clicked their wine glasses together.
It lasted a little over a month.
Then the usual restlessness began agitating his mind anytime he wasn’t completely focused on a task. An intimately-familiar feeling with a proven solution: Break free.
“I’m sorry —” he began the day he decided to end it.
“Wait,” Russell interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I have an idea.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s not break up. I like you. A lot. I don’t want to be just friends. What if we try open?”
Alex felt himself scowling. “Um…I wanna go back to being unattached. So I don’t know how that would work.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” Russell replied quickly. “Do whatever you want, with whoever you want, and you don’t need to answer to me about it. Promise to stay on your PrEP and keep getting tested, and I’ll do the same.” Steadily slowing, his words suddenly stopped completely. A self-conscious grin touched his mouth. “Look. I’ll be honest. I’ve been talking to this dude at the gym. Putting him off, you know? Trying to make this work with you…”
He waited, watching Alex with bright eyes.
“And you want to fuck him.”
Russell gave a short, relieved laugh, then slipped a hand onto Alex’s leg and twined their fingers together. “Yeah, I do. You’re special to me, but I’m done pressuring you to be exclusive, if that’s not what you want. And obviously I’m still looking — even though I didn’t plan to.” His questioning eyes rose from their joined hands to Alex’s face.
…obviously still looking, even though he didn’t plan to.
The story of relationships.
His parents’ story, his friends’ parents’ stories. Virtually everyone’s story.
Not his. Alex decided that a long fucking time ago — so long ago he can’t remember exactly when anymore.
He returned Russell’s gaze with a tentative smile. “Okay.”
But it’s probably not okay anymore. Because whether you’re doing exclusive or open, avoiding your boyfriend is never a good sign.
The rumble of the SUV’s engine deepens as it downshifts. Alex straightens his back and stretches his neck, looking out at the stands of ponderosa pines now separating them from the deep orange glow of the setting sun.
Down to second gear now. Almost there.
“Alex?”
“Yeah, Zhen?” He can only make out the dark-haired head and the tops of silver-framed glasses in the mirror.
“It is 3.2 miles to our destination.”
Alex grins. “Thanks.”
“I’m so hungry,” Celeste moans, wrapping her hands around the back of his seat and pulling herself forward.
“Don’t worry. Lucia has a meal waiting. You’ll never lack food out here, guys. Each cabin is stocked for the week, so you’ll be on your own for breakfast and lunch. But trust me, you’ll wanna be at Lucia’s every night for the group dinner. Yum.”
“Noooo.” Celeste’s volume has risen to a near-wail. And fuck, she’s close to his ear. “Don’t talk about it. That just makes it worse.”
“Stop whining,” Dorothy laughs.
Clayton is the last to wake, sitting up and shifting his glasses higher to rub his eyes. “Are we expecting Prince Henry to attend tonight’s meal?”
“No idea,” Alex replies. “Lucia says he keeps to himself a lot, so I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Are you his roommate?”
“Hilarious.” He finds Celeste’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, in the mirror. “There’s only one single-bed cabin, and it’s his. Y’all get the two with doubles, and I’ll be in one of Lucia’s spare rooms.”
Then even Celeste falls silent, peering out the windows at the dense forest, and Alex leans closer to the windshield with a smile. This is the mountain gateway. Wait til they see what’s next.
“Are you ready?” he asks, trying to keep the excitement wringing his heart out of his voice.
“For what?” Celeste and Dorothy reply in unison.
“This.”
He guides the SUV around the last corner. Then the road leaves the trees, and a rose-bronzed sunset washes the gathering of adobe buildings below them. Rancho Cielo Azul looks like it was carved from the stone of that mountain valley — warm, solid, enduring. As the SUV starts its descent, three of Lucia’s seven horses go streaking across a broad paddock.
“It’s like…like…” Celeste begins softly.
“Like being in a movie,” her mother suggests.
“…like something from a dream,” Celeste finishes.
Or, Alex silently adds, like we’ve passed through a gateway. And discovery awaits.