"You in the market?"
"I told myself I wasn't, especially with the baby coming." He looked longingly at the mare nursing her foal. "Shit, this takes me back."
Michael picked up a dandy brush and began to groom Zip. "What are you, about two-ten?"
"Twelve," Byron said absently. "Two-twelve."
"That bay gelding with the two front socks? He'd carry you."
Byron studied the bay, noted the lines, the flashy white blaze. "Handsome bastard, isn't he?"
"Good saddle horse, well mannered but no pussy. Needs a firm hand. The right hand." Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek as he continued to work. "Make you a good deal, seeing as you're related to Josh and married to one of my favorite people."
"I didn't come by to horse-trade."
"No?" Placidly, Michael leaned against Zip, lifted a hoof to pick it out. "Why, then?"
"I was in the neighborhood, more or less, and thought you might want to come by on Saturday night. Poker."
"I'm usually up for a game." Then he paused, narrowed his eyes. "This isn't going to be one of those enlightened evenings with women asking if a straight beats a flush."
"Kate would knock you on your ass for that comment." But Byron grinned. "No, it's purely sexist, men only."
"Then I'm in, thanks."
"Maybe I'll win that bay from you."
"Keep dreaming, De Witt."
"Good heart room," he murmured. "About sixteen hands, isn't he?"
Michael smothered a grin, continued to clean his mount's hooves. "About. Just turned four. His sire was a walker, his dam a dark-eyed floozy from Baton Rouge."
"Shit." He was sunk. "You stable?"
"Yep. Here, for now. Then at my place when it's finished. Should be ready to start construction in a couple weeks."
"Let's take a closer look." In his Saville Row suit and Magli shoes, Byron climbed into the paddock.
"I've heard you Southern boys are cardsharps and horse thieves," Michael commented as they strolled companionably toward the bay. "You heard right."
How long was she going to make him wait? Michael paced the floor, contemplated the bottle of wine on the counter. It made him scratch his head. He'd actually gone out and bought wine. Not his usual style, but he'd figured sex in a horse stall wasn't Laura's usual either. The least he could do was offer her a civilized drink. Before he jumped her again.
Which was just what he wanted to do.
If she ever got there.
Of course she was coming. He'd reminded himself of that half a dozen times over the last hour. The way it had been between them the night before, she had to be just as eager for a repeat performance. She'd have thought of him during the day, countless times, the way he'd thought of her.
The way he would have sworn he'd smelled her every time he took a breath. The way he'd caught himself going off into some brainless trance because he could see her face in his head, or hear her voice, or…
Want her. Just want her.
When had he ever wanted anything like this? Once he'd wanted escape, and he'd gotten it. He'd wanted danger and risk and reckless adventure. And he'd gotten that, too. And when he'd wanted peace, a life he could look at with some measure of pride, he'd gone out and gotten that as well.
But did he have Laura? Was she going to slip silkily through his fingers before he'd gotten a good grip, or before he'd figured out what the hell to do with her? About her.
She was out of his league, and knowing it pissed him off. Made him determined to drag her to equal ground. Sex was a great equalizer, and he had her there. For now.