Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

HORSE SENSE

Column by: Toby Daltry

Full transparency — when I sat down to write this week’s column, I was deeply unfocused. Our modern world is so full of distractions, and I couldn’t help myself from opening up my phone and checking my emails. But I’m SO lucky that I did. Because what was waiting for me? A brilliant question from one of you, that’s what!

This week’s question comes from Matt. Hey Matt! Thanks for reading. Matt wants to know: is it possible to rebuild trust and love with your horse after a bad experience, especially when it was your fault?

I’m super glad you asked, Matt.

[Continued on page 8]

Ring. Ring.

The night’s humid air sticks to Guillermo’s lungs. He tries in vain to regulate his breathing. 

In.

Out. 

Come on. Please pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up —

Click.  

“Hello?”

“...Hey. It’s me,” Guillermo says.

“Guillermo? Hey, dude. What’s up?” Derek’s voice is groggy on the other end of the line. “Kinda late to be calling. Everything ok?”

“Um.” Guillermo hates how watery his own voice sounds. “Meet me somewhere? Something happened.”

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

Once, Guillermo had shown his boss in London a photo of the place he’d grown up. “It looks like you lived in a watercolor painting,” Mr. Evans had mused. Guillermo had never been sure if that was a compliment.

Now, with his suitcases sliding around the dusty box of Nadja’s pickup, Guillermo finds himself staring out the filthy window at that very landscape. Rolling foothills, gold and tawny and emerald green, blend seamlessly into the jagged cornflower smear of the Rocky Mountains. Hay bales and the occasional bright red barn roll by as the truck rumbles along the highway. A herd of splotchy black and white cattle graze in the distance, hardly more than specks to Guillermo’s eye.

Exhaustion claws at the roof of Guillermo’s mouth, forcing him into his millionth yawn that minute. 

It had been 4 o’clock in the morning Greenwich Time when Nadja’s name had popped up on his caller ID. She never did figure out the whole time change thing. He can’t blame her; 14 months of mutual radio silence meant limited opportunities to get used to it.

After more than a year of running his lines, Guillermo admits that he should have been better prepared for her call. No way, he’d practised, I’m never coming back. I have a life here now. You had your chance to show me why I should stay, and you blew it.

Guillermo plays idly with the crumpled boarding pass in his pocket. And yet. 

What happened to standing his ground? What happened to putting himself first? Why is it that the second he’d heard Nadja clear her throat on the other end of the line, he was already out of bed and packing before she’d even so much as said hello?

Another yawn cracks his jaw as he leans his forehead against the window. Questions for his therapist, he supposes. At least Dr. Feldstein takes virtual calls.

The truck chooses that moment to hit a pothole, making Guillermo whack his head against the glass. “Ow! Fuck,” he grunts.

Nadja is quiet as she drives. Too quiet. Her slender hands grip the steering wheel of the pickup like she’s strangling it. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, her painted red lips flattened into a thin line.

“What is it.” He doesn’t ask it like a question. It’s not exactly an accusation either, but it’s approaching something like it.

Nadja’s lips press even tighter. She’s not wearing lip liner today, and the creme lipstick is ragged around the edges. For a split second, Guillermo is 11 years old again, perched on the edge of their yellowed bathtub as he watches her put makeup on in the bathroom mirror.

Guillermo pulls off his glasses to rub at his eye sockets. He sighs. “Just tell me. We’re literally almost home. I’m going to find out eventually.”

Nadja’s hands clench, making a squeaking noise against the vinyl steering wheel. “Bah! Fine, twist my arm,” she snarls.

“Ok, I barely said anything —”

“Laszlo and little baby Colin. They have moved! They have moved into a house, a house which is my house, which I own. I’m a property owning woman and they are living with me,” Nadja struggles out.

“Huh? Wait, Laszlo and Colin live at the ranch now?”

Nadja’s gaze flickers nervously from the road to Guillermo. Then back. “Yes. For some time now.”

Why Nadja’s sweet syrup pie as she calls him hadn’t moved in two decades ago, Guillermo will never be sure. And he supposes now that Laszlo has full custody of Colin, it only makes sense that the kid would move in, too. 

Guillermo frowns. “Alright. Fair. But why’s that a secret? From me, specifically?”

Nadja’s eyes are like slits as she stares at the road. “Come now, Guillermo. You are a very smart little Polly Pocket of a man. You know the house is quite small, yes? Especially since we turned the dining room into an office and the south bedroom into a parlor for the clients.”

“...so?”

“So, we are having a teensy little tiny bit of a shortage of sleeping spaces available,” she says in a honeyed tone. Guillermo recognizes her customer service voice, and manages to find gratitude in the fact that at least it isn’t the one she uses to talk to the horses. “Soyouwillbestayinginthebunkhouse.”

All Guillermo can do is gape before the rage signals reach his brain. “What?! You cannot be serious right now!”

“I am being so very serious right now, Gizmo!”

The old nickname nips at his ankles before he kicks it away. “Nadja, you know why I can’t do that. How could you not tell me this before?”

The truck lurches forward as Nadja hoofs the gas pedal. “It was bloody Laszlo’s idea to keep you in the dark. I wanted to tell you, but nooooo, he thought you’d hightail it back to England.”

Guillermo clutches the roof handle as Nadja takes a particularly sharp curve at high speed, spraying dust into the long grass along the shoulder. “Of course you’re blaming Laszlo,” he says through gritted teeth. “You always fucking do this. I guess it’s still too much to ask that my sister figure get the fuck over herself and actually be straight with me —”

“Sister figure?!”

The truck screeches to a halt on the highway. Guillermo slams his palm against the dash to keep from putting his face right through it. He whips his head around, about to demand to know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing — but freezes.

The weary look on Nadja’s face makes her seem a hundred years old.

Guilt curdles, hot and sour, in Guillermo’s stomach. “Nadja,” he starts. Hesitates.

Nadja holds up a hand. She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “You’re my brother, Guillermo. I don’t give a single salty shit if it’s by blood.”

A tight knot forms in Guillermo’s throat. Ok, so maybe she deserves it, but still. This is the woman who put food on the table and clothes on his back during some of the worst times of Guillermo's life. Who had been barely more than a teenager herself when she took him in. As hurt as he’s been over this past year — as he still is — Nadja deserves better than petty slights.

After all. Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as her?

“Sorry,” he mutters.

The corner of Nadja’s mouth lifts. 

Guillermo begins to let that half-smile settle his nerves. That is, before his stomach bottoms out and he remembers oh fuck, nonono the BUNKHOUSE — “Wait! You have a couch, right?! Please tell me you still have a couch.”

Nadja rolls her eyes. She shifts the truck back into drive, gently accelerating this time instead of stomping on the gas like a moose. “Really, Guillermo? You want the couch, when you could be comfy and all cozied up in an actual room of your own? You’re being absolutely ridiculous.”

“Nope. I want the couch.”

“Laszlo could clear out the closet underneath the stairs if you are so desperate,” Nadja suggests. “We have some old horse blankets that would make a very lovely curtain door.”

Guillermo scowls. He curls away from her, tucking his body against the truck door and resting his head against the window once again. 

They’re getting close to the ranch; Guillermo can tell by the way the ditches narrow and the road dips down into a slight valley. And of course, the way his gut twists sharply and makes him feel like he should open the truck door and roll out.

Nadja veers off the highway and onto a gravel road. 

“Ever heard of slowing down before you turn?” Guillermo spits.

“Hush!”

Stones clunk against the belly of the truck as they drive past the sign — Wildflower Creek: Horse Boarding & Rehabilitation. The painted motif, an Appaloosa stallion rearing up over a meadow of wild roses, looks more faded than Guillermo can ever recall seeing it.

A handful of weathered brick red buildings with white trim dot the property. The stables and horse corral look especially dilapidated; they were in dire need of a paint job when Guillermo last saw them, and things definitely haven’t improved. 

Some of the sun-bleached wooden fence posts marking off the pastures stand at attention, while others not so much. By Guillermo’s dismayed assessment, it wouldn’t take much for a determined horse to get loose.

Kalamáta, Sergeant Frisky, and Glitterfoot look up from their grazing as the pickup rolls past. Glitterfoot flicks her tail, whinnying. Nadja’s fortunate that their horses aren’t particularly motivated to escape.

Gravel crunches under their tires as Nadja pulls up to the ranch house. She throws it into park, getting out without a word to Guillermo.

Guillermo retrieves his dusty suitcases from the box of the truck. He follows Nadja up the steps of the wraparound porch, the wood creaking concerningly under his feet.

Inside, Laszlo and Colin are sitting on the floor of the living room. Lego is spread out on the carpet all around them.

“Fill me in on this automaton-looking chap. What’s his name?” Laszlo says, holding up a Lego robot figure.

Colin pushes a lock of his shaggy hair out of his face. “So basically, in the original Lego 6809 set, the space robot didn’t have a name. But then, when they came out with the brand new Galaxy Explorer — Uncle Guillermo!”

Before Guillermo has a chance to even open his mouth, Colin barrels into his stomach. He clutches Guillermo in a bear hug and buries his face into his sweater.

“Hrk!” Guillermo grunts. Still juggling luggage, he squeezes Colin back in a half embrace with his bicep. “Heeey buddy! Nice to see you. I missed you.”

“It’s so awesome you’re here. We’re playing legos!” Colin peels himself off of Guillermo and dashes back to the mess on the floor.

“So. The prodigal stable boy returns,” Laszlo says.

Guillermo tightens his grip on the suitcases. It’s not too late to turn heel and go straight back to the airport, after all. “Stable boy?” he says. He shoots Nadja a look. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No one can keep up with all your title changes, Guillermo,” she snaps. “Did they crown you King of England as well while you were off frolicking abroad?”

A long, steady exhale helps Guillermo walk several steps back from absolutely losing it. “Let’s start again,” he says, clipped. “Hello, Laszlo. It’s been a while. Good to see you. I’m not a ranch hand anymore. I'm the Director of Equine Therapy.”

“Rehabilitation,” Nadja corrects.

“I — that,” Guillermo says.

“Right,” Laszlo waves him off. “So tell me, lad. Is she well?”

“Who?”

“Brittania, of course!”

“Oh. Um. I guess?”

Laszlo stutters out an odd, humorless laugh. “To a fool’s eye, perhaps,” he says, mostly to himself.

Guillermo casts a bewildered look at Nadja, only to find her occupied with digging her phone out of her purse. She squints at the screen. “I must take this,” she barks, walking off without so much as a glance back in his direction.

“A potential client, I presume,” Laszlo says. He heaves himself off the floor, shaking out his clicking knees with a wince. “I sure as shit hope this one works out. I reckon we haven’t boarded a horse in months.”

“That’s, uh, a bit more specific that Nadja was with me when she called,” Guillermo says. To be fully honest, she hadn’t explained the situation to him at all. But Guillermo knew his sister well enough to understand that “Come home” was code for “Everything is completely fucked and I’ve exhausted all my options and now I need a Guillermo to fix it for me”.

“Where’s Uncle Guillermo gonna sleep?” Colin pipes up. 

“Ah, yes. That reminds me. Gizmo, I’ve gathered up some bed linens and left them for you in the stable hand quarters. Er, the bunkhouse, as you call it,” Laszlo says. “Boy? Be a good lad and take your uncle to his room.”

Guillermo drops his suitcases in defiance. “No way. I told Nadja already, it’s the couch or nothing.”

Laszlo shoots him a look. 

At first Guillermo thinks it’s pity. But then he’s not so sure. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. 

“Alright,” Laszlo concedes. “Be that as it may, that’s where you’ll find your bed linens. I’d run along and fetch them now if I were you. While the place is empty.”

Colin takes Guillermo’s hand. It feels warm and familiar, a balm on Guillermo’s raw nerves. “C’mon, follow me!” Colin says.

Is the aging, wood-paneled cabin as empty as Laszlo said it would be? 

Yes.

What he neglected to mention, however, was the condition Guillermo would find it in.

The shabby, 1940’s-era kitchen is littered with the detritus of its sole inhabitant. A sea of protein bar wrappers covers the kitchen island. The sink is piled high with dirty dishes and empty take-out containers (is that a to-go cup of Panera soup? Where would one even find that in a 300-mile radius?).

Guillermo squints at the floor. The fuck? There’s like, tiny bits of broccoli all over the place. Was someone chopping vegetables with a battle-axe?

Whatever. He can’t deal with this right now.

Guillermo heads directly to the unoccupied room at the end of the hall. When he opens the door, he’s immediately hit with the smell of musty, stale air. He’s almost positive no one’s been in here the entire time he was gone. Apart from Laszlo, of course, who apparently came in earlier to carelessly dump a mess of sheets and a pillow onto the bare mattress.

It’s impossible not to steal a glance around the room, as much as he wants to sprint in the opposite direction. The walls and shelves are completely bare, save for the odd Command hook that was left behind. There’s even still an indent in the shag carpet from where a minifridge once sat.

Guillermo grabs the bedding and gets the hell out of there.

“You’re funny, Uncle Guillermo,” Colin says. He’s been following Guillermo around like a duckling ever since they set foot inside the bunkhouse.

Guillermo’s pillow slips out of his hands. Shit. He bends to pick it up, and drops the quilted blanket. Fuck. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“You like to stand in one spot and get really quiet for, like, a long time. Is it a game?”

“No. It’s...” Guillermo sighs. He finally just claws all of his bedding into a huge ball and hugs it to his chest. “Don’t worry about it, bud.”

Colin skips past the rickety stairs to the loft and into the living room. He plops down on the faded paisley futon, not seeming to notice that he’s sitting on a pair of dirty basketball shorts. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, nearly knocking over a half-drunk cup of chai in a novelty Space Jam mug.

“I love the bunkhouse,” Colin says. “It’s basically like a secret hideout. Last week, Mr. Nandor and I built a pillow fort and we watched Mulan and he said —”

“Wow, buddy!” Guillermo blurts out. “I totally forgot! I’m supposed to be meeting up with my friend Derek right now. Let’s hang out later, ok? And you can tell me all about Mulan.”

“Is Derek coming here?! I love Derek! He plays Roblox.”

“Not today, bud. Soon though! Wanna carry this pillow back to the house for me?” 

“Sure! Anyway I saw a cool video on YouTube about making props for musical theater and they basically said you can paint pillowcases to look just like sacks of grain but I think that —”

Like an old flashlight that needs a whack or two to the base to get it going again, Guillermo slowly remembers how to tune out Colin’s endless chatter while still making sure he feels heard. Guillermo spends the short walk back to the ranch house nodding at all the right times as the little guy rambles on about set design for Oklahoma! — even the parts that, frankly, are so boring they make him want to eat glass.

When he’s absolutely sure Colin isn’t looking, Guillermo covertly pulls out his phone. He opens his texts with Derek.

Guillermo: hey

Derek: Hiya! Welcome home

Derek: Still down for gaming later?

Guillermo: about that

Guillermo: wanna meet up instead

Derek: 👀 Sure. [ryanreynoldsButWhy.gif]

Guillermo: i figured why wait for the weekend to see my best pal

Derek: Ohh. So this is one of those times when you don’t want to explain what’s really going on so you beat around the bush and obfuscate. I gotchu!

Guillermo:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Derek: See you at Sass. 8:00?

Derek: Also can you show me how to type that shrugging guy pls

The Sassy Cat Bar & Grill & Tack & Feed & Haberdashery hasn’t changed a bit.

A bell tinkles overhead when Guillermo enters. He veers away from the saddles and cowboy hats lining the far wall, instead following the sounds of drunken laughter and clacking billiard balls that mingle with tinny country pop seeping out of the sound system. 

Guillermo pushes aside the tacky saloon doors and into the watering hole. 

It’s a bit louder in here than he likes. But there’s something familiar about the swell of voices around him, warmer somehow than the crowds at the London pub he’s been frequenting for the past year. Among them, he can pick out the distinctive accent of “The Guide”, Sassy Cat’s resident bartender. She’s best known for leading regulars on alcoholic tours that would blow a Manhattan mixologist to smithereens. 

The Guide catches Guillermo’s eye while pouring rainbow shots for a bachelorette party. To his mild horror, she looks borderline ecstatic to see him. Still, he gives her a friendly wave and prepares to make small talk.

“Hey, man! Over here!” another voice calls.

Guillermo zeroes in on Derek seated at a corner booth. He hustles over, sliding into the cracked pleather seat like it’s home plate. “Derek! It’s so great to see you! How are you?” he says, flashing his friend a warm smile.

Derek launches himself across the table to pull Guillermo into a hug.

Wobble. Splash. 

Suddenly the embrace is a bit colder and wetter than before. “Shit. Sorry!” Derek says, pulling back to look down at himself. His glass of water is now all over the table. And himself. And Guillermo.

Guillermo laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just water.”

“Hey! I just realized, you didn’t even come back with a British accent. That was like your one job, remember? Are you sure you’ve been in London for a year?” Derek grins as he mops up the mess with a napkin.

“Well, now that Laszlo’s moved in with Nadja I might still have a shot at picking up the accent.”

“Wait —” Derek starts, before he’s cut off.

“Can I grab you boys something?” 

The Guide cocks her hip until it’s resting against their table. She’s sporting a glittery black beret that matches her thigh-high cowboy boots. Flicking her platinum blonde perm over her shoulder, she shoots Guillermo a wink and a wolfish grin. 

“Oh! Um.” Guillermo is suddenly fascinated by the Big Mouth Billy Bass on the wall. “I’ll have a beer? Anything. Whatever’s fastest. I mean, cheapest.”

Derek looks like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get to press Guillermo in the next five seconds about the little detail he’d shared. He still manages to squeak out, “A Bloody Mary, please.”

Finally seeming to notice Guillermo’s discomfort, The Guide throws her head back in laughter. “Oh, Guillermo. You’re absolutely hilarious! I lost feelings for you ages ago, you little mixed berry yogurt, you.”

Derek stifles a snort.

“Are you still scrumptious? Definitely. Do I wish I had a glue trap big enough to catch you with? Maybe. But I’ve moved on. Married to the job, now. One brewski and a Bloody Mary, coming right up!” The Guide struts off to fix their drinks. 

She’s barely out of earshot before Derek bears down on Guillermo like this is an interrogation. “Back up,” Derek hisses. “Laszlo moved in?! It’s been like, 20 years. What changed?”

“No clue.”

“Man, I can’t believe it. So glad I didn’t put money down on that. I really thought he’d never pull the trigger.”

“Me either,” Guillermo says. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. “Jeez, did they stop paying the heating bill while I was gone?”

“I feel fine. Maybe you’re just exhausted from all the traveling.”

Another server swings by to drop off their drinks. Derek pulls the celery stick out of his Bloody Mary and takes a bite. “So.” Crunch. “Is that why you wanted to meet up? To talk about your sister and her husband’s relationship?” Crunch.

“No. I, uh, actually wanted your advice.” Guillermo takes a swig of his beer. It’s only a little better than what you might wring out of a gym sock, but it’s what he ordered.

“Really? I mean, sure. What about?”

There’s something on the tip of Guillermo’s tongue, but it clings to the back of his teeth like hard candy. 

He pivots. 

“Apparently, the ranch isn’t doing well,” Guillermo says. “Like, at all. I don’t know this for sure, but I’m guessing we might be at risk of going under. Laszlo says Nadja’s barely boarded any horses all year. And if that’s the case, I know she’s gotten even fewer rehab clients. It’s bad.”

Derek nods solemnly. “Honestly? That’s kinda been the word around town. That whole incident in the fall with the Rinaldis’ mare was bad news. And then there was that rumor about there being a mountain lion den near your pastures.”

Guillermo snorts. That’s a new one.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but I heard from my mom that somebody even approached Nadja to see if she’d sell the land,” Derek says. “She said no, of course.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. She’s too proud.” It’s hard to control the bitterness in his voice.

Derek looks sympathetic. “Be that as it may. You’re back now, and you’re great with the horses. That’s sure to bring in some business, right? I’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re the new Director of Equine Rehabilitation.”

“Thanks, Derek. You know, we should get you on the marketing team,” Guillermo teases.

“I do have a Master’s degree in Public Relations.”

“Yep. You never let me forget it,” Guillermo laughs, before feeling the smile drain from his face. “It’s just. Can you keep a secret?”

Derek’s lips fight to find the straw of his drink. “Definitely.”

Guillermo steels himself. “Nadja asked me to come home. And so I did. We made a deal that I’d get a shiny new title and anything else I want, so long as I came back for good. But let’s be real. I can’t stay here.”

Derek frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. I didn’t leave because of Nadja. Even if she’s a big part of why I never came home.”

“Oh. So that’s still…?”

“Yep. It is. And honestly? Even if there wasn’t that elephant in the room…” Guillermo sighs. “I just can’t do this, Derek. She didn’t call me for 14 months! Not even once! Is that how you treat someone you supposedly care about? Someone you respect?”

Derek slides a hand across the table to give Guillermo’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

Guillermo shakes his head. “So. For one reason or another. This isn’t permanent. Nobody knows, but I’ve got a return ticket booked for London at the end of the month. I’m going to work at drumming up business, help us get some positive cash flow, and then I’m getting the hell out of dodge.”

“...Damn.”

Guillermo winces. He distracts himself from the uncomfortable feeling bubbling in his gut by swirling his beer around in his glass. “Yeah, I know. But it’s the way things have to be. I just. I don’t know. I’d love some reassurance that I’m doing the right thing? Am I crazy to want a life where I’m actually appreciated?”

Derek shifts in his seat. “I mean. I appreciate —”

A horrible mechanical whirring slices through their conversation. A raspy, feminine voice shouts, “Yeehaw! That’s my cowboy!”

Both turn to the source of the commotion.

Guillermo freezes. 

The terrible country pop, the cackling bachelorette party, The Guide lighting up a Flaming Dr. Pepper — it all fades into the background.

Across the bar, a stray lock of long, dark hair is brushed aside by a female companion. She presses her lips, crinkled with smoker’s lines, to a sensitive spot between beard and neckline.

She winds up and delivers a playful smack to the rear end of the mechanical bull. Not to the man sitting on it. Or so Guillermo tells himself.

“Let’s see how you ride, stud. I’ve heard good things,“ the woman says.

Guillermo’s heart starts up a jog. 

And then a sprint.

“Fear not! I will conquer this beast for you, my sweet Gail!” Nandor slurs.

“Ohmigod.” Guillermo plants his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers at the nightmare that is suddenly unfolding.

Derek does a double take. “Is that —”

A crackling squeal erupts from the speaker system as a new track begins to play. The song, which roughly sounds like an electric guitar tongue fucking a banjo, is instantly recognizable as the Sassy Cat’s special anthem for riding the bull. 

Just hearing it makes Guillermo’s skin flush with secondhand embarrassment. But he won’t deny he knows all the words.

A tilt-a-whirl of rainbow disco lights illuminates Nandor in bits and pieces. A red one, catching the strong bridge of his nose. A blue light, reflecting off of his drunken grin. Green, spotlighting the thrill that blazes behind his eyes.

The bull’s “coat” is painted canary yellow, its flanks worn down to gray fiberglass by the legs of countless riders. Nandor presses his calves to those well-loved spots and shifts his hips toward the bull’s shoulders. He grips the leather handle in one hand with such force that Guillermo can practically hear it squeak, the tendons in his forearm flexing under the dancing lights.

A question burns the roof of Guillermo’s mouth. Exactly how often does Nandor do this?

Gail steps out of the padded ring to let the show begin. Unlike Guillermo, whose eyelids feel like they’ve been superglued open, she has the wherewithal to pull out her phone and begin idly swiping.

“Come one, come all, and witness our resident high-scorer in his element!” someone booms over the speakers. After a beat, Guillermo recognizes the voice of Simon, the bar’s owner.

Derek sputters and coughs, narrowly avoiding spraying Guillermo with Bloody Mary. “High-scorer?!”

Machinery whirs once again as the bull begins to spin.

Nandor flexes his thighs, tilting his hips to load most of his weight over his pelvis. He’s practically sitting on his own hand where it grasps the handle. His other arm comes up, steady and confident, to wave his cockiness around in the air like a flag. He whoops, flashing the crowd the sign of the horns.

The bull dips.

Nandor dips.

The bull twists.

Nandor twists.

The bull rears up.

Nandor rocks in a single fluid motion: a positively filthy body roll that starts at his head and ends in his tailbone.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Guillermo says. “I mean! Jesus fucking Christ, it’s so hot in this fucking bar, isn’t it? Would it kill them to crank down the fucking heat? Fuck.”

Derek’s eyebrow quirks up. “I thought you were cold?”

Guillermo flaps a hand at him to please shut up.

The bull’s spinning and thrashing grows faster. Harder. It bucks, trying to loosen Nandor’s grip. 

But Nandor holds fast. His torso only moves unless he wants it to, and his ass stays planted in the saddle as if he’s fused to the leather. 

The display of muscular control is absolutely spellbinding. Not a soul in the bar can take their eyes off of him, except strangely, his own date. 

“Come on Nandor, you’re slacking!” Gail calls out as she scrolls for deals on what looks to be the Bed, Bath, & Beyond website.

On a particular hard buck, Nandor grinds the fly of his jeans against his wrist.

Guillermo crashes to his feet — and promptly whacks his head on the light fixture hanging above the table. “Ow! Shit. I-I-I’ve gotta. Sorry Derek. Gotta go.”

Nandor’s focus jumps to the disturbance like a spark of static.

Their eyes meet.

“Guillermo?!”

At that moment, the bull jerks backward. It flings Nandor clear across the ring. He crashes into the padding in a heap of limbs and wild hair.

“Ooh, not his best performance!” Simon announces. “Any challengers? Tonight may be your lucky night.”

By the time Nandor figures out which way is up, the only thing left of Guillermo at the Sassy Cat Bar & Grill & Tack & Feed & Haberdashery is the phantom swing of those tacky saloon doors.

Chapter Text

HORSE SENSE

Column by: Toby Daltry

I’ve been waiting all week to tell you, dear readers, about an unfortunate situation my friend has been dealing with.

She recently bought a young gelding that she’s hoping to start barrel racing with. On the very first day of training, however, she accidentally led the horse too close to where her wife was riding the lawn mower. It was super loud, the horse freaked out, and my friend got bucked off.

Now the horse won’t accept the saddle, and shies away from my friend whenever she gets close. Which is why I want to spend this week’s column talking about...

GETTING OFF ON THE WRONG HOOF!

[Continued on page 5]

A short drive and no fewer than five apology texts to Derek later, Guillermo’s headlights swing onto the front porch at Wildflower Creek.

A figure is standing motionless on the steps.

“Ah!” Guillermo yelps.

“Will you turn the bloody high beams off?” Laszlo shouts, shielding his eyes.

Guillermo breathes out. He switches off the ignition and climbs out of the pickup. “You scared the shit out of me. Why were you just standing there?” 

Laszlo refuses to make eye contact. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, polished fingers restlessly twiddling at his sides. It’s what a cat might look like if they had the capacity to feel guilt; an air of superiority, but with added shame for flavor.

Alarm bells are going off in Guillermo’s head. “Something’s not right. Is it?”

“Eh. Best I show you, lad.”

Laszlo leads Guillermo into the living room. “Now. Don’t blame my boy, Gizmo. He’s tucked away snug in bed at this hour, but he made me promise to deliver you his sincerest apologies. I’ve already promised that you won’t be cross with him. I ask that you direct any and all wrath solely in my direction.”

Horror grips Guillermo around the throat.

The living room is in complete shambles.

More Nerf darts than Guillermo has ever seen in his life cover every possible surface. Across the sea of blue and orange foam bullets, the coffee table lies on its side, glass top smashed. Glittering shards are strewn across the carpet.

“I…” The words just aren’t coming to Guillermo. “What. Happened.”

“A bit of a mishap during a good old fashioned Nerf war. ‘Twas an unfortunate accident, and I do regret how it’s impacted you.”

Guillermo’s eyes come to rest on the living room’s lone couch. Laszlo’s massive greenhouse cabinet has been knocked over on top of it. The fabric is completely covered in glass, potting soil, and an array of plant seedlings.

Just a few moments ago, that couch was the place where Guillermo had been looking forward to curling up and sleeping off the day’s cocktail of jet lag and bad luck. 

Now, that dream lies shattered in as many pieces as the greenhouse and coffee table combined. 

Maybe more.

“If it helps at all, know that my darling Nadja will be punishing me severely tonight.”

“It…doesn’t.”

“You’re a tough one to please, lad. Can’t say I didn’t try.”

Guillermo takes off his glasses to rub his hands all over his face. “I don’t have the energy to be mad at you right now, Laszlo. This has been the day from hell and I’m so freaking exhausted. I was literally on another continent this morning, for god’s sake. I really just need to sleep.”

“Say no more. I’ve coldcocked you, and that’s on me,” Laszlo says. “I’ll personally see to it that you have only the finest horse blankets to sleep on under the stairs. A serviceable bedroom substitute, and centrally located to boot. A better choice than the floor of the boy’s room unless you enjoy sleeping on Legos.”

Laszlo takes a step as if to go fetch the horse blankets.

Guillermo snatches a hand out, firmly gripping the man’s bicep. 

Laszlo makes a face like he’s never been more affronted. “Unhand me!”

“No.” Guillermo’s cordiality is hanging by a strand of dental floss. “No, I won’t sleep under the stairs. I deserve a real bed tonight.”

“If this is your idea of a proposition, then let me tell you —”

“What? No. No. I’m saying I’ve thought about it, and my comfort is the most important thing right now. I’m choosing comfort. I’m sleeping in the bunkhouse.”

Laszlo pats Guillermo’s hand where it still grips a handful of his flesh. “I’m glad you’ve come round to the idea. And you’re in luck; it seems to me that Nandor’s off having his corn ground tonight so you’ll have the place to yourself. Now can you kindly fuck off?”

Guillermo releases Laszlo’s arm. 

The two immediately repel each other like similar poles of a magnet, an invisible force pushing them in opposite directions. 

Laszlo disappears upstairs, presumably in search of his “punishment”, while Guillermo takes his bedding for its second trip of the day across the yard.

For the first time in more than a year, Guillermo stands beneath a glittering belt of stars.

He knows logically that it is the same night sky he was looking at in London, merely obscured by smog and light pollution. But seeing it again in its full glory is like putting on your first pair of eyeglasses after a lifetime of nearsightedness. It’s breathtaking.

Guillermo’s bones feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He drags himself to the door of the bunkhouse and slips inside, taking care not to let any moths in.

Briefly, he considers tossing his pillow and sheets onto the futon and just passing the fuck out there. The idea of sleeping in that empty bedroom feels like opening a can of worms he wasn’t prepared to yet. But his aching, exhausted body is screaming at him that there’s a goddamn actual mattress fifteen feet away . 

Guillermo can’t deny himself that simple luxury.

It’s 5:05 AM when Nadja starts banging on the bunkhouse door.

“Guillermo! Open up!”

Guillermo awakens with a jolt. “Wha!”

He’s curled up in some sort of chaotic nest of bedding on top of the mattress. 

“Guillermo!”

He kicks wildly at the fitted sheet that’s wound around his ankles. Freeing himself, he stomps down the hall, still blinking away the tendrils of a very strange dream about a yellow cow.

He swings open the front door in a groggy huff. “What the fuck do you want?” is what he tries to say. “Hrrrrrrmph,” is what comes out.

Nadja is practically vibrating. She flails her arms with glee, reaching out to shake Guillermo vigorously. “A client! We’ve got a client!”

Guillermo’s surprise does more to wake him up than a caffeine hit. “A client? That’s…amazing, actually.” 

He looks her up and down, noting that she’s wearing the same gauzy blouse and long skirt as last night. “Nadja. Did you sleep?”

Nadja scoffs. “I’m a businesswoman.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.

“Hush! I just got off the phone with Marwa Fakhri.”

“Did she sleep?”

“Are you very stupid? She is some sort of moon scientist — they’re nocturnal! Anyway. She spoke to your friend Derek last night at the Sassy Cat, apparently. He recommended us!”

“Oh. That’s great.” It’s not like Guillermo needs any more reminders about last night at Sass. “So she’s bringing in a horse this morning, I take it?”

“Her and her husband’s. Two, actually. Horses, that is. Not two husbands! Can you imagine?” Nadja cackles, smacking Guillermo repeatedly on the back. “Two husbands! One and two!”

“Focus, please.”

“Tch. Stop being a bossy boy, Guillermo. Anyway. This is a rehabilitation case. Jinesh and Marwa will be dropping the two horses off in an hour’s time. Can you receive them?”

“An hour?!”

“Have you forgotten you work at a ranch, Mr. Equine Director? 5AM is a late start.”

Guillermo’s eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, but he refuses to let them droop. Nadja can smell weakness like a shark smells blood. “An hour. Not a problem,” he grinds out.

“I’ve sent Nandor several text messages. Whenever that giant bloody turkey decides to tuck his peepee back into his trousers and check his phone, he should be arriving to assist you.”

“Oh. Um. Honestly, I’m fine on my own!”

But Nadja is already halfway down the path to the main house. “Nonsense, Guillermo! That’s what ranch hands are for.”

To Guillermo’s credit, by 5:58 he’s already finished feeding and turning out Nadja’s own horses. 

The crescent moon is out to greet them, hanging low in the lavender twilight and bathing the horses in a soothing glow. Kalamáta, Glitterfoot, and Sergeant Frisky watch him with interest from their paddock as he makes his way out to the round pen beside the barn. 

You’re back, their big brown eyes seem to say. Knew you would be. We had a bet going.

Guillermo leans against a fencepost of the corral, scuffing his boot across the grass to watch the morning dew jump. Headlights catch in the water droplets as a shiny black pickup truck rumbles up the driveway, trailer in tow.

The driver’s side window rolls down. 

“Oh! Hi there, Guillermo. Where do you want us?” Marwa says. She offers him a smile, face lit pink and gold by the rising sun.

Guillermo nods in greeting. He points to a spot near the gate to the pen. “Need help backing up?”

“No thanks! I’ve got it.” Marwa backs the trailer up with ease, pulling in so perfectly parallel to the gate Guillermo considers going to find a protractor so he can spend time marveling at the angle. 

Marwa and her husband each step out of the truck. Jinesh levels Guillermo with an evaluative look, peering at him over the rims of his oversized glasses. “Guillermo,” he acknowledges. A warm “welcome back!” in Jinesh terms.

Guillermo gives him a small wave and a smile. “Hey. Glad to see you guys again. Who have we got here, by the way?”

The door to the horse trailer screeches on its hinges as Marwa pulls it open. She disappears inside, returning a heartbeat later leading a plump blue roan by the reins. “This is Neptune. She’s our sweet girl. Aren’t you, Neptune?” Marwa strokes the horse’s nose fondly.

Neptune nudges back at her hand and snuffles.

“Oh, wow! What a beautiful mare. Clearly well-trained, too,” Guillermo praises. 

The corner of Jinesh’s lip quirks up. “Marwa has a talent. I’ve offered to buy her any horse she wishes — the finest Grand Prix jumpers, in fact — but no. She finds meaning in the journey.” He flashes Marwa a soft, private smile as he takes Neptune’s reins, their fingers lightly brushing.

“Is Neptune here to board? Sorry for the confusion, I just was under the impression this was a rehabilitation case.” He makes a mental note to talk to Nadja later about clear workplace communication.

CLANG.  

Something hard and heavy strikes the side of the trailer from the inside. A distressed whinny splits the air. 

Neptune’s ears prick. She grunts.

Jinesh adjusts his glasses. “That would be Magic Lamp.”

Marwa leads a second horse down the ramp from the trailer. This one has a sleek, champagne-coloured coat and long legs. The mare’s ears are pinned flat back as she tosses her golden head, yanking Marwa’s arm around by the reins. Marwa softly shushes her. “It’s alright, azizam. Come now.”

“Hey there, Magic Lamp.” Guillermo keeps his voice warm and even. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to let her smell him.

Magic Lamp sniffs his knuckles. She snorts, leaping up and stomping her front hooves on the ground. The whites of her eyes flash. 

Marwa holds her steady. “Woah, girl! Shhhh.”

“Has she always been so skittish?” Guillermo asks.

Jinesh shakes his head. “She never used to be. Not until a few months ago. She was cornered in the paddock by a wild animal and hasn’t been the same since. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I suspect a juvenile wolf or something of the sort. Neptune chased it off. She’s quite fearsome, in fact.” He pats Neptune’s nose.

“These two girls are bonded, so we wanted to bring them in together. I think it might help Magic Lamp to have a familiar face around while she’s here.” Marwa smoothes out a knot in the horse’s mane.

“That’s a great idea. I’m happy to accommodate that.” 

“Wonderful!” Marwa says. 

She passes Jinesh a look, like a baton in a relay race.

“You know, Guillermo,” Jinesh starts. He pulls a retractable pen out of his pocket, idly fiddling with the push button. “If all goes well, we are happy to put in a good word around the area about Wildflower Creek. I live to support local businesses.”

“It’s true. Jinesh is a Yelp influencer now,” Marwa says. “He’s written nearly as many reviews as The Guide.”

Hidden under a layer of aloofness, Jinesh looks mildly pleased with himself.

“Oh, wow. That’s amazing!” Guillermo says. He hopes his bright smile is enough to mask the wheels turning in his head. Turning the Fakhris into satisfied customers means word of mouth exposure about the ranch. Word of mouth exposure about the ranch means new clients. New clients means solving Nadja’s business woes.

Marwa and Jinesh don’t know it, but they’re offering to cut Guillermo’s kite strings loose.

Guillermo clears his throat. “I appreciate anything you can do to help us with our reputation. We’ve hit a bit of a dry spell attracting new clients, I’ll admit.”

“Your friend Derek mentioned as much,” Jinesh says. “Not a problem. We prefer to see for ourselves and cast our own judgements. I’m just surprised your sister didn’t mention anything to Marwa earlier. Nandor’s certainly never said anything to me, either.”

“I’m not surprised. You know how Nadja is! So proud,” Marwa laughs fondly.

“Yeah, good ol’ Nadja.” Guillermo stops himself from outwardly wincing. “Well! Unless there’s any more info I should know about these two ladies, let’s get them both into the corral and I’ll take it from there.”

Once the mares are safely on the other side of the gate and wandering around the pen, Marwa and Jinesh say their farewells. Jinesh even looks a bit misty-eyed as they climb back into their pickup and drive off, leaving Guillermo alone with the horses.

Magic Lamp has taken up an anxious trot around the perimeter of the enclosure. He watches her with an analytical eye, taking note of her behavior and checking for anything physical that might be making her act up. She looks healthy, however. No obvious signs of pain anywhere.

A grunt from beside him makes Guillermo jump. 

Neptune is staring him down, hooves planted in a defensive stance. As Guillermo tries to crane his neck around the mare to get a better look at Magic Lamp, Neptune pivots. No matter what he does, she is standing squarely between him and her frightened companion.

“Oh. Oh. You’re protecting her, aren’t you?” Guillermo says.

Neptune eyes him warily.

Guillermo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a peppermint. He holds it close to his body, just out of Neptune’s reach. “I thought so. You know, I think we’ll be good friends. You can trust me. We both want what’s best for Magic Lamp, I promise.”

Neptune still seems suspicious of him, but the temptation of the treat proves too much for her. She stretches her neck out as far as it will go and tickles his palm with her mouth as she takes the peppermint from his hand. 

Guillermo strokes her speckled gray forehead as she crunches on the candy. “Good girl.”

Tensing his middle and index finger, Guillermo starts to apply light, massaging pressure to Neptune’s forehead. He traces easy circles between her eyes, laughing under his breath as she leans into the touch. He moves those calming circles to her neck. Then her shoulders. Then her back.

Guillermo lets himself get a little lost in the comfortable bubble they’ve created. Just two beings, letting their tension evaporate into the humid morning air. 

Gravel crunches under tires in the distance, startling Guillermo out of his trance-like state.

A silver sedan lunges up the driveway. It pulls up to the bunkhouse at a haphazard angle to park partway on the grass. Light glints off of the car windows. 

Guillermo squints, shielding his eyes to get a better look. 

Neptune and Magic Lamp both turn their attention to the car at the sound of the passenger door opening. Intrigued, they swivel their eyes toward the man attempting to unwedge his mammoth-sized body from the cramped vehicle with all the grace of a Sasquatch exiting a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe.

When Nandor finally extricates himself from the car, he’s wearing the same jeans and flannel from last night. He pulls the open button-down across his bare chest, crossing his arms to keep it from falling open. The bewildered look on his face plainly screams, “I’m very hungover and it’s very morning and I very do not know what is happening.”

The driver rolls down the window. “Wish I didn’t have to have to drop you off so early,” Gail says. “But you know. Flight to catch!”

Nandor blinks. Then nods, forcing a smile. “Yes! Of course. So sorry again to hear about her promotion. She’s talented, and there will be more opportunities. Enjoy Buffalo!”

Gail lifts her fingers from the steering wheel in an approximation of a wave. “Stay gold, ponyboy.” She kicks the sedan in reverse, sending chunks of dirt and grass flying.

The ranch house’s screen door slams. 

“Gail!” Nadja flies down the porch steps, barefoot, in hot pursuit of the car. “Gail, come back! I wanted to have a little girly talk with you! GAIL!”

Nadja stumbles, regaining her footing just as Gail’s sedan peels off in a cloud of dust.

“A…girly talk?” Nandor says. He’s still holding the sides of his flannel together, looking a bit like a divorcee in a cardigan on a windy day.

Nadja glares at him. “Nevermind!” she snarls. “Malakas. Late again. Why do I bother with you when you are so very very shit? I send you 37 text messages and you ignore them all. Guillermo has been doing your job since dawn while you’ve been off getting your morning wood polished!”

“Er.” Nandor shoots a fearful glance in Guillermo’s direction.

Guillermo looks away, suddenly preoccupied with detangling a piece of straw from Neptune’s forelock.

“So you have nothing to say for yourself?”

Nandor holds up his cell phone in defiance. “Not fair, Nadja! My phone has been dead this entire time. How was I to know you were sending me text messages?”

“Oh! So a fully-grown adult man like yourself cannot remember to charge his own phone. Bloody brilliant!”

“I can remember! I charged it! I just…also dropped it. In Gail’s fish tank.”

Nadja makes a wild gesture, like she wants to claw the shit out of Nandor’s face with her nails. “You are impossible!”

“You are!”

“Pussy breath!”

“Hey!”

Nadja grits her teeth and screeches, making Nandor wince and cover his ears. She turns on her heel, stomping back into the house and slamming the door behind her. 

BANG.

The horses flinch.

“Well, fuck you too!” Nandor makes it to the bunkhouse in no less than three fuming strides. He, too, slams the door behind him. 

BANG!!

Magic Lamp rears up, snorting.

It’s Guillermo turn to be fucking pissed. He barely registers he’s moving until after he’s already hopped the corral fence. 

He charges toward the bunkhouse, wrenching the door nearly clean off its hinges on his way inside.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Guillermo demands.

Nandor freezes. His eyes are saucers, caught halfway through pulling off his jeans. He’s already ditched his flannel on the kitchen floor.

Guillermo doesn’t even blink. He kicks the heap of plaid fabric towards Nandor. It slides across the tacky floral linoleum to rest at Nandor’s feet.

The act seems to release Nandor from paralysis. “What is wrong with me? You mean, what is wrong with her!” he says, pulling up his pants.

“What’s wrong with you both?! Slamming doors? Shouting at each other in front of the horses?”

“Stop saying things I have done! Saying things Nadja has done, however —”

“Is this how you guys have been running this place while I’ve been gone? No wonder we’re fucking going out of business! Who in their right mind would bring their horse to a place where the staff think it’s ok to have screaming matches in front of traumatized animals?”

Nandor looks like he’s been doused with ice water. “The horses in the round pen are…?”

“A rehab case, yes. I was making fantastic progress until you showed up.” Guillermo takes off his glasses, scrubbing at his face. His skin feels sticky and hot. “You know, this is so fucking typical. I don’t know why I expected you to have matured after all this time. You’re still as selfish as ever.”

Nandor sharply inhales. He uses it to draw his spine up to his full height. “You wish to talk about selfishness, Guillermo? I really don’t think you do.”

For a moment, Guillermo feels like he’s in free fall. And then he’s caught, pinned like an insect under the intensity of Nandor’s stare. 

Guillermo tries to glare back, to give as good as he gets, but he’s less confident he’s achieving it with every passing second. 

Nandor’s right, he realizes. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“This conversation is over.” Guillermo forces the words through clenched teeth.

“Very well.” It doesn’t look very well with Nandor.

Guillermo has a sudden and intense need to get the fuck out of Nandor’s presence. “I need a shower,” he says, shouldering past the man’s broad body.

“The fu —” Nandor sidesteps to avoid any bodily contact. “Then why not use your own shower?”

“Um, maybe because this is my shower?”

Nandor gapes as Guillermo stomps down the hall to the bathroom. “You — hey!”

Guillermo pulls back the shower curtain, wincing as the rusty rings squeal against the curtain rod. He turns on the water and prepares to wait the few eons it will take to heat up to a serviceable temperature.

Nandor trails after him. He lurks in the doorway to the bathroom, picking at the skin of his fingernails. “Don’t you think you would be more comfortable moving into the main house? It is very luxurious. It even has a microwave. You love those.”

Guillermo spins around. “Look. It’s not like I want to share this tiny cabin with you. Ok? It’s a situation born out of necessity.” He casts a dark look in the general direction of Laszlo’s lifeforce. “And Nerf darts, I guess.”

Nandor scowls. “Then perhaps we should establish some ground rules.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Guillermo hisses, reaching out and poking Nandor’s bare chest.

“Stop that! The first rule is no touching.”

“Perfect rule.”

“Next rule. Let it be known that the tenant — that is you — is prohibited from using all of the hot water in the mornings.”

“Fine. You’re banned from my side of the fridge. If you drink my Yoo-hoos, I’ll end you.”

“Easy peasy, considering Yoo-hoos are nothing but fetid pond water.”

“Disagree. But go on.”

“Communication will be limited to strictly necessary topics, such as chores, complaints, and things of an equine nature.”

“Fuck it. Make it shop talk only. I don’t want to have any non-work related conversations with you about horses.”

“Fine!”

“And would it kill you to clean up after yourself? This place is seriously gross. I don’t get it, you used to be so meticulous about that stuff.”

“Says Mr. I’m-The-Best-Baker-Ever who heaps piles of dishes in the sink and leaves me to wipe flour off of every surface imaginable.”

“That was one time.”

“Oh! And no talking or breathing loudly while I am watching the Enn-Bee-Yay or having boys’ time with the boys!”

“No breathing?! How the hell am I supposed to —”

“I said no breathing loudly!”

“Well, no thinking loudly while I’m trying to enjoy my coffee. Oh wait, no risk of that happening!”

“I do think, little man. A lot! In fact, right now, I am thinking you are pissing me off! Fucking guy!”

Steam has filled up the room. It takes a moment for Guillermo to register that it didn’t come from them. “My shower’s ready. Get out, please.” Guillermo points for Nandor to leave.

Nandor turns and stalks down the hallway. “I hope you will enjoy my shower very much.”

“I will! My shower, that is!

Guillermo shuts the bathroom door and locks it. He tests the water, accepting that the temperature is going to fluctuate wildly. He piles his clothes in the corner and steps into the stream.

The warm water is comforting — even if the taps are rusted and the water smells like rotten eggs and the pink tile looks kinda like tiny squares of raw hamburger. His place in London didn’t even have a shower, so he forces himself to be grateful.

Guillermo flicks open the cap of his travel shampoo. He squeezes some out and lathers it onto his hair, letting his frustration with Nandor be soothed away by the massaging pressure. 

Some music or something would be nice, just to drown out the squealing of the old shower head. Unfortunately, he left his phone next to the sink. He looks for other ways to entertain himself as he rinses the suds from his hair. 

Guillermo notices the products sitting in the shower caddy. There’s some kind of overpriced body wash with “Twilight” in the name, and a value-sized thing of Mane ‘N Tail shampoo (for hair and body, in case the Twilight stuff doesn’t do the job, maybe?). No conditioner, just a bottle of almond oil straight from the grocery store baking aisle. 

The almond oil would definitely make his skin feel really, really soft. But no. He’s better off just not touching anything.

Light filters in through the shower window. Guillermo’s pleased to find that the privacy film he installed a few years ago is still there, even if the adhesive isn’t sticking anymore at the corners.

He’s already wasted several minutes attempting to press the peeling film back into place when he notices movement outside. He crouches, peeking through a sliver of unobstructed glass in the corner of the window.

Guillermo catches sight of Magic Lamp’s golden coat gleaming in the morning sun. She’s no longer doing laps around the corral. Instead, she’s stationed beside Neptune near the gate. The horses are snuffling at a metal bucket. 

A hand, broad and sunkissed, grips the handle close to its owner’s body. Their other hand dips into the bucket, producing an apple for each of the horses. Something in Guillermo’s hindbrain perks up to see that huge hand easily cradle two plump apples at the same time, but he banishes the thought before it can sink its feral claws into him.

Praying to heaven above that the window’s rusted mechanism doesn’t squeal, Guillermo gingerly cranks it open. Just a smidge. Only enough to hear what’s going on.

“— juicy apple for you too, yes! I’m so glad for the opportunity to become friends. You are both very good listeners, it seems. That’s a noble quality to have,” Nandor says.

Neptune delicately takes the apple from Nandor’s hand. Magic Lamp has already finished her apple, and is now poking around in Nandor’s pockets for more.

Nandor pats Magic Lamp’s slender neck. The horse twitches in alarm at the contact, but doesn’t shy away. “You’re a very good girl. I have no more treats for you at the moment, but you have my word that I’ll bring more soon.”

Magic Lamp takes a step back from Nandor, evidently annoyed at the prospects of no further apples awaiting her. She nips at his elbow as if to remind him that he owes her future snacks.

Nandor’s body language takes on a more somber edge. “And now for my admission of shame. I must deeply apologize to you both for my behaviour earlier. It was unbecoming of me to be doing the shouting and door slamming directly in front of you. I’m very sorry.”

A peculiar mix of warmth and outrage swirls in Guillermo’s stomach. So Nandor is capable of making a sincere apology — but only to a fucking horse, it seems?! 

In somehow an even worse mood than before, Guillermo reaches behind the shower curtain to rip a towel down from one of the hooks. It smells freshly washed, at least, unlike the rest of the house. He hastily towels off, gets dressed, and heads outside.

Nandor stiffens when Guillermo approaches. “Greetings. Thank you for joining me finally,” he says. He narrows his eyes as he takes in Guillermo’s damp state. “You better not have used my Twilight Woods Shower Gel with Vitamin E and Aloe.”

“I didn’t,” Guillermo says flatly. His wet hair is dripping down the back of his neck, but he suppresses a squirm. 

“Great,” Nandor growls, only softening after turning back to the horses. “I was just speaking with our friends here. Who are called…er…”

“Magic Lamp and Neptune.”

“Oh! What lovely names,” Nandor gushes. He lightly scratches Neptune’s neck, who stretches out her chin to give him better access. “You look like a Neptune. And if you are she, then your golden friend here is Magic Lamp.”

“Lucky guess,” Guillermo grumbles.

Nandor ignores the comment. He bends to plant a dainty kiss on Neptune’s forehead before straightening, raising his chin to look down his nose at Guillermo. “I’ll be requiring you to run some trust exercises with Magic Lamp each morning. And make sure you do a good job mucking out her stall in the barn. A clean bed will help her to feel safe and relaxed.”

Gullermo sputters. “What? Why is that my job? You’re talking to me like I’m some kind of stable boy.”

Nandor looks around, making a show of being confused and exasperated. “That is because you are? I’m the lead ranch hand who oversees the treatment. You are the assistant who helps me. It’s been this way for years, why the sudden shocked routine? Yeesh. Trust a fucking guy like you to run off for a year and forget everything important.”

“Oh, so you think I’m just gonna fall right back into — wait. Nadja didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I —” Guillermo groans in frustration. “Of course she didn’t tell you. Because I have to do literally everything myself around here, always.”

“Tell me what, Guillermooo!”

“I got a promotion. I’m the new Director of Equine Rehabilitation. Which actually would make me…”

Nandor’s eyes widen.

Guillermo smirks. “Your boss.”

Nandor’s grabs onto the fence to support his weight. There’s a split second where Guillermo thinks the other man might fall over, but he rapidly recovers.

“I. That. No, Nadja has not informed me,” Nandor says. “Perhaps I should be speaking with her to confirm.”

“No need. It’s a done deal.”

“As I said, I will need to confirm.”

Guillermo clenches his jaw. “I could fire you, you know. I have the authority.” He has no idea if that’s true, of course. It’s a cutting threat mostly meant to scare Nandor into submission.

It has the opposite effect. 

Nandor’s stiffness thaws. He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh! Now I understand, you are having a bit.”

“Having a bit of what?”

“No. Having a bit? You know. As in, you are doing a joke?”

Guillermo huffs. It would take too long to even get into it. “No, Nandor. I’m not doing a bit. Things aren’t gonna be like they were before. In any respect. Got it? I’m a Director now. I’m the one running this show.”

Nandor looks alarmed at that. “I don’t think so,” he scoffs. “I am the one with more experience, so it is I who will be taking charge.” He beats his chest once with a fist for emphasis, the flesh jiggling a little from the impact.

Guillermo snatches his gaze back from Nandor’s pecs. “We’ll see about that.”

Chapter Text

Guillermo drags a finger through the dust on Nandor’s coffee table. 

Filthy. 

A good wipe down wouldn’t hurt; if anything, it would make Guillermo’s temporary digs in the bunkhouse feel that much more liveable. Tough to clean with all this crap in the way, though. 

Guillermo starts clearing Nandor’s junk off of the table. Expired coupons. A yogurt lid that’s been licked clean. An empty can of something called Sportsman’s Mansport Sports Fuel.  

A magazine tucked under an empty kleenex box catches his eye. He pulls it out to get a better look. “Ranch N’ Rider,” Guillermo reads aloud. “Huh.”

On the cover, a cowboy kneels on a hay bale. He’s facing away from the camera, neck twisted to look mischievously over his shoulder. His Wrangler jeans are pooled around his knees, presenting his naked, olive-toned backside to the viewer. A coffee ring stain on the page marrs one of the globes of his ass.

“Ah!” Guillermo yelps, dropping the magazine. It lands open to a text-heavy page, next to an advertisement for saddle oil.

HORSE SENSE

Column by: Toby Daltry

My friends, have we really not covered this topic before? I was talking to my editor earlier, and she mentioned that we’ve never discussed how to handle a horse that just doesn’t want to listen.

There’s differing philosophies on this, I know, my lovely readers. I don’t want any angry emails! This is just my opinion, as your humble columnist pal.

The first thing you need to do with a stubborn horse is to demonstrate DOMINANCE. You’re the boss! So act like it!

[Continued on page 7]

Guillermo scrambles to pick up the magazine. Blushing furiously, he stuffs it into the closest drawer he can find.

Creak.

Guillermo cracks an eye open. He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, squinting against the offensively bright screen. 3:28 AM.

A bolt of adrenaline propels him upright. Was that the sound of the front door?

Shit.

Someone’s in the house.

Guillermo whips back the sheets and scrambles out of bed. A weapon. He needs a weapon. 

He knows there’s a rifle in the locked cabinet in the basement, but to reach it, he’d probably need to sneak past whoever had broken in. 

No. He needs something he can grab right now.

As quietly as possible, Guillermo slides open the closet door. He’d left one moving box behind when he’d left for London, which should still be…yes!

The box is open. It’s clearly been rummaged through. A book sits on top of the pile. Maybe Nadja needed his old, worn copy of Interview With The Vampire for something? 

Guillermo sets the book to the side and reaches into the box. He curses himself for having donated most of his stuff when he moved. He could have used that heavy gothic candlestick right about now. Or the antique dagger he’d gotten from Nandor. 

He pulls out a blunt object with a heavy base. It’s an old bowling trophy. The plaque reads Hardest Worker.

Guillermo creeps into the hallway. He holds the trophy up like a club as he tiptoes into the kitchen. He squints through the darkness, listening for movement. 

Nothing. There’s no sign of anything out of place. No muddy footprints on the floor. No man in a ski mask running at him with a machete.

The distant sound of a whinny reaches his ears.

Barefoot, Guillermo careens outside and down the porch steps. He sprints onto the grass, brandishing the trophy in the darkness.

Across the yard, light leaks from the crack in the stable door.

Guillermo's heart nearly pounds out of his chest. Images flash through his mind of a thief rustling the scared horses into a trailer. He races toward the building and flings open the door with a shout: “Stop!”

Sergeant Frisky jumps in surprise. He’s standing in his stall, his head poked over his half door into the aisle. Kalamáta and Glitterfoot join him, peeking out of their own stalls at the commotion. 

At the sight of Guillermo’s raised weapon, the trio flatten their ears.

Guillermo frantically looks around for the intruder. There’s no sign of anyone — until he hears it.

“That’s it. Think calming thoughts. You are doing so well!”

Guillermo creeps up to Neptune and Magic Lamp’s double stall. He cranes his neck to peer over the half door. 

Nandor is sitting down on the straw. Magic Lamp is stretched out on the ground beside him, looking floppy and relaxed.

A portable, elephant-shaped humidifier stands by Nandor’s knee, blowing vapor out of its trunk. 

It smells like lavender and lemon balm.

“Nandor!” Guillermo hisses. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nandor flinches. He whips his head around to glare at Guillermo. “Shh! It is aromatherapy time and you are ruining it,” he whisper-shouts.

Magic Lamp softly grunts in Neptune’s direction. Neptune shakes out her mane, lifting her head to watch the argument with interest.

Guillermo clenches the trophy tighter in his hand. “Obviously I can see that. But. Jesus! Don’t you know it’s 3:30 in the morning? You scared the shit out of me. I thought somebody broke in.”

Nandor’s focus returns to Magic Lamp. He gently wafts the steam toward her with his hand. “I am not Jesus. And there is only one intruder here doing the intruding, which is you, Guillermo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am saying this is scheduled treatment time for Magic Lamp and you weren’t invited. Begone!”

“Um, excuse me? Don’t tell me to begone.”

“I just did. Begone!”

“I will not begone!”

“Well, get away then!”

Guillermo plants his heel. “Nuh-uh. This isn’t part of Magic Lamp’s treatment plan. She’s supposed to be resting right now so she’s ready for equine yoga later.”

Nandor scoffs. “Equine yoga. How ridiculous,” he says, scooching the elephant-shaped aromatherapy diffuser closer to the horse’s face.

“You can’t just sneak out in the middle of the night to do unauthorized treatments.”

“Then perhaps you should defer to my expertise and abandon your own silly little treatment plan. It is my job to be helping these magnificent animals, and you can’t stop me!”

Guillermo feels the enamel on the trophy creak under his grip. “I’m going back to bed,” he growls.

“Good. You can use the aromatherapy stuff when we are done with it — I hear it is great for sucking a lot syndrome!”

As physically demanding as his job in London is, it’s nothing compared to ranch work. 

Apparently 14 months was enough time for his body to forget what it’s like to get up at the crack of dawn to run around with thousand-pound animals all day. But after days of working with Magic Lamp and the other horses, he can consider his memory officially jogged.

Guillermo shambles over to the futon and eases down, despite the protests from his aching muscles. He really hadn’t expected this morning’s session with Magic Lamp to be such a workout. 

To say that she’s stubborn would be putting it criminally lightly. 

He’d struggled with her for no less than an hour to accept the saddle — and things only devolved from there. Once he’d finally gotten her strapped in, she made it her mission to buck him off not once, not twice, but three separate times. He’ll be tasting dust for a month.

Guillermo wipes a hand over his sweaty forehead. His damp, dirty curls cling to his skin. A shower is definitely in order. But hasn’t he earned the right to rest first?

An arm length away, his art history book lies face down on the coffee table. A bookmark is tucked only a few pages into it. It’s been a slow and agonizingly dry read so far. But Mr. Evans says it gets better, so Guillermo tries to have faith. 

He picks up the book and cracks it open. Time to get hyped up about Pliny the Elder.

Guillermo tries, and fails, to get hyped up about Pliny the Elder. 

His mind veers off the page to wander aimlessly around in his own thoughts. Was that magazine of Nandor’s still in the drawer? The one with the cowboy on the hay bale?

“Guillermooooo!” Nandor’s voice calls out from somewhere in the bunkhouse.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

“What?” Guillermo yells back.

Heavy footsteps trudge down the staircase from the loft. “Guillermo!”

Guillermo groans, sitting up on the futon and tucking in his bookmark. “I said, what?”

Nandor storms into the room in such a rush that the coffee table nearly takes him out at the knees. “I called a house meeting this morning, but you were not in attendance,” he says. “Do you know how shitty it is to have a house meeting when you are the only one there? Because it is very shitty.”

“I had work to do. I was doing saddle exposure therapy with Magic Lamp,” Guillermo says. “It’s funny, she wouldn’t accept the saddle until she saw me get down on all fours and put it on myself. That thing is heavy.”

Nandor looks like he’s just remembered something very important. He appears to brush it off. “Er. Enough! When I call a house meeting, it is very important that you respect the timings of them and the general protocols. Got it?”

Guillermo rolls his eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

“What is what?”

“The house meeting. What’s it about?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Nandor straightens, flipping a lock of his hair over his shoulder. “It has come to my attention that you, Guillermo de la Cruz, are not abiding by the rules of this living arrangement. Observe.”

Nandor pulls out his laptop, fiddling around with something on it for no less than four minutes. He sets the open laptop down directly in front of Guillermo. “There! Now observe.” 

“De la cruz housemate evaluation. By: nandor,” Guillermo reads. “Wait, is this a PowerPoint?”

Nandor produces a slide clicker from the pocket of his joggers. “Obviously. Please try to keep up.”

On the screen, rainbow text flies in over a rainbow background. 

Nandor clears his throat. “Guillermo de la Cruz. You have been cohabitating with me for —”

“Not what cohabitation means.”

“No interrupting! Rude. Anyways. We have been cohabitating for officially one week now, and several major issues have arisen from your presence. Number one, you are not following the agreed upon housemate rules.”

A number of bullet points twirl into view, one after another:

Summary of concerns 

• Doesnt follow rules of the house
• Mocks rules of the house
• Is rude (regarding rules of the huose)

Guillermo crosses his arms, frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been the victim of an attack PowerPoint before.”

“Victim? If anyone is a victim here, it is me.” Nandor stomps his foot for emphasis.

“Come on, Nandor. You’ve literally added 17 new rules since Wednesday alone. I don’t even know what half of them are.”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

“Can’t you admit this is ridiculous?”

“I admit nothing. If I add a rule, it is your responsibility to know about it. In fact, that’s rule 14: Housemate agrees to keep abreast of any rule changes or additions.”

“Yeah, I never agreed to that one either.”

Nandor aggressively presses the advance button on his slide clicker. 

New text bounce, bounce, bounces into view.

Notable rule violations:

• Messy beyond all reason
• Yoohoos touched nandors pickels in fridge (gross)
• Annoying iphone ringtone
• Annoying morning alarm
• Annoying face

“My face is against the rules now? Really?”

“Of course not. Rule 37 states you shall not be annoying me, and you have flagrantly flouted that,” Nandor huffs. “But I understand this is hard for you. You’re an annoyer.”

Guillermo rolls his eyes. “What’s annoying about my ringtone, dare I ask?”

“‘ Reflection’ , Guillermo? Honestly! Not even ‘ Constellation’? Or better yet — ‘ Twinkle’?”

Guillermo leans back on the futon, contemplating the most satisfying way of putting Nandor through the south wall. “Wait, back up. The first complaint here makes no sense. How am I the messy one?”

Nandor gestures around the cabin. “Your belongings are everywhere! Look. Those are your boots right there.”

“Ok, that’s literally the shoe rack,” Guillermo growls. “And at least I don’t leave my…my porn lying around in the common areas. Does Ranch N’ Rider mean anything to you?”

“I only read that for the articles! Little pervert.”

“I — ugh. Can we just move on, please?”

“Very well. Next slide,” he declares, issuing an unheeded voice command to his Built-For-Windows 98 IBM ThinkPad. When nothing happens, he resumes attacking the slide clicker.

New text appears on the screen, letter by flying, spinning, exploding letter.

Consequences for afourmentioned violations:

“PowerPoint literally has a spell check feature.”

“Zip it!” 

Consequences for afourmentioned violations:

• No wi-fi for guillermo
• No using nandors VCR (this means for guillermo. nandor can still use it.)
• No more privilege of getting the extra little bit of protein smoothie left over in the blender when nandors cup is full

“What?!”

Nandor looks smug. “You read that right. No more getting that extra little bit of —”

“Fuck the smoothies. You can’t just cut me off from the Internet, Nandor,” Guillermo says. He’s about to continue, then stops. Chuckles. “Hang on, I don’t know why I’m freaking out. I’m the one who set up the wi-fi in the first place. It was a whole thing. And I know you’re allergic to technology.”

Nandor sniffs arrogantly. “Genius people who are good at sports don’t need to know technology.”

“Mhmm. So if you don’t know how to change the password, how are you planning to enforce the wi-fi rule?”

Nandor’s snooty expression turns into a smirk. He clicks his remote.

There’s no text on the next slide. Instead, a vertical video plays.

A little blond-haired boy perches on the very futon Guillermo is currently sitting on, filming himself vlog style. “Hi Uncle Memo! Colin here.” Colin waves at the camera. “Mr. Nandor needed some help with computer stuff, basically. And he wanted me to make this video! Which is fun!”

Colin flips the camera. Nandor is standing by the stairs to the loft, awkwardly waving.

Back to Colin. “Did you like the PowerPoint? Mr. Nandor worked really hard on it. I barely had to show him how. Isn’t that neat of him?” he says. His attention focuses off camera for a moment. “And now he’s basically handing me a crumpled up piece of paper. There’s some stuff scribbled on it. What the heck is this, Mr. Nandor?”

Nandor says something, but it’s too muffled to hear.

“Whatever you say! So basically, Mr. Nandor wants me to read this thing out loud that he wrote.” 

Colin’s voice shifts, and — shit, that is actually a really good Nandor impression. “ To: Guillermo. I have enlisted the help of our dear little Colin Robinson to enforce the c…con…consequences. Of your rules viol…vola…

Nandor makes another muffled comment.

“Oh! Violations. I have unleashed our tiny friend on the Internet network in our shared living quarters. Little Colin has changed the wi-fi pass…pash…posh…patch…”

The microphone catches a snippet of Nandor’s whining voice. “— behave! Or I will be telling your papa!” 

“Yeesh, ok. Password to something only I, Nandor, can ever know. Aside from tiny Colin himself, of course.” Colin shoots the camera a toothy grin. “That’s me. This is so fun. Basically it’s like a stage reading. I can’t wait to do more performances like these with you guys.”

The video stops. 

Nandor closes his laptop. “I hope this will help you learn your lesson. And while it brings me no joy, I think this could be good for you. With no more silly little online games to distract you, you’ll have plenty of time to finish your book!” 

Nandor bends and picks up Art History: An Unillustrated Guide from the coffee table.

Guillermo seethes . He lets out a war cry, launching himself out of his seat and barreling straight for Nandor.

“Hey!” Nandor shouts.

Guillermo’s hands land in Nandor’s t-shirt collar. A crazed laugh escapes him. He’s going to crack this fucking asshat like a goddamn glow stick, and he’s gonna enjoy it!

Nandor looks more insulted than afraid. “Stop that! This is yet another rule violation! What happened to no touching? You agreed to no touching. A very simple rule, in my opinion.”

Guillermo drops him, panting.

Cool it, he reminds himself. This is temporary, remember? 

Only temporary! 

Just a couple more weeks, and all of this will be nothing but an infuriating memory.

Radiating displeasure, Nandor’s chin squishes into his neck as he inspects his collar. “You stretched my shirt, Guillermo. Now I have a stretchy shirt.”

Guillermo turns on his heel and marches out the front door. “COLIN!”

“No, no, of course. Don’t worry Celeste. I totally understand.” Guillermo cups his hand around his cell phone, shielding the call from the raucous laughter coming from the living room.

“So sorry, Elmo! But, y’know, I can’t take any risks,” Celeste says.

“It’s Guillermo,” he reminds her mildly. “And there actually haven’t been any sightings of wolves or cougars or anything at Wildflower Creek. I promise. That was just a rumor.”

Someone’s laugh — either Laszlo’s or Nandor’s — turns into literal howling.

There’s a puff of air on Celeste’s end of the call. Was she vaping? “Hm, right,” she says. “Regardless, I think all our horse boarding needs are already taken care of, thanks.”

“Oh. Well, what if I offered you a discount? Like, promo pricing? A friends and family discount, in fact,” Guillermo says. Celeste is less “friend” and more “former classmate you’d recognize at Walmart”. But it might be enough to reel in her business, if that YouTube video he watched last night on sales basics is to be believed.

“A discount? I’m listening. Oh, that reminds me! Would you be free to do me a favor —”

Whatever Celeste is about to say is totally drowned out when someone cranks the volume on the TV. The booming voice of a sports announcer and thousands of cheering fans fill the house.

“Sorry, just a sec.” Guillermo storms down the hall to the living room.

Laszlo and Sean are both lounging comfortably on the futon with beers in hand. Laszlo’s arm is slung over the back of the couch behind Sean’s head. Nandor sits on the floor between them, eyes glued to the television.

“Can you guys please keep it down? I’m on the phone,” Guillermo says, palm over the mic once more.

They all turn to look at him in surprise. 

“What?” Sean shouts back.

“The TV! And the laughing! And the yelling!” Guillermo yells.

Nandor rolls his eyes. “Do you see what I have to be dealing with?” he says to no one in particular. He grabs the remote and cranks the volume even louder.

“Nandor! Ugh!” Guillermo’s fingers itch to yank him by his stupid man bun and fling him out the front door.

Instead, he retreats into the kitchen. 

“Celeste? Are you still there?” Guillermo says into the phone.

Silence greets him on the other end.

Fuck.

Guillermo stomps back into the living room, planting his feet directly in front of the TV. 

He’s rewarded with a chorus of “The fuck!” and “What the tits?” and “Ay, come on!”.

“Seriously? That was a potential client!” Guillermo says.

“Move your arse, Gizmo. Can’t you see we’re spectating baskette ball?” Laszlo says.

Guillermo glances at the TV. The image is letterboxed, and the jerseys look vintage. The scoreboard says ANG - USA. “What even is this? I don’t care about sports, but obviously it’s not NBA season,” he says.

“First Olympic match of the Dream Team. Barcelona ‘92,” Sean pipes up. “Nandor had it on tape.”

On screen, Patrick Ewing sinks a three-pointer. 

As if he hasn’t seen it a thousand times, Nandor shoots to his feet. “He’s got it!”

Knock. Knock.

“Be a good lad and get the door,” Laszlo says.

“Why do I have to…” Guillermo trails off.

When Guillermo answers the door, he finds Jinesh on the porch with a cotton shopping bag. 

“Oh! Uh. Hey there,” Guillermo says.

Jinesh pushes his glasses up his nose. “Hello. May I come in?”

“Right! Of course you can.” Guillermo steps aside to let Jinesh walk past. “Sorry. I didn’t know Nandor was expecting more company.”

“This guy!” Nandor rushes to pull Jinesh into a hug.

Jinesh cracks a smile. Huh, guess he can do that. “You rang?” he says.

When they separate, Guillermo notices against his will that Nandor’s shirt reads: BEWARE, I Ride Horses Which Means I Own Pitchforks, Have The Strength To Haul Hay, And Have The Guts To Scream At A Half Ton Animal After Being Kicked — You Will Not Be A Problem.

Guillermo’s temple throbs. Simply being in the same room as Nandor is clearly bad for his health.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed, actually. Just. Keep it down, ok?” Guillermo says.

Nandor throws his head back and laughs. “Cannot do, Guillermo. The party has just arrived. Jinesh is going to make us frozen margaritas and then we are going to be watching the basketball even harder. ”

Jinesh unpacks the contents of his bag onto the kitchen table with maximum efficiency: tequila, a bottle of store bought margarita mix, and a souped up blender that looks pricier than anything Guillermo owns. 

“I live to serve. Liquor, that is,” Jinesh says.

Guillermo narrows his eyes. The choice is immediately clear. He could go to bed and let these guys keep him up all night with their partying…

Or.

“On second thought,” Guillermo says. “I think I’ll stick around. I love parties — especially party games.”

Nandor goes rigid.

Guillermo pulls a chair out from the table, letting the legs squeal against the linoleum before taking a seat. He turns to Laszlo and Sean. “Hey guys? Want to spice things up a bit?”

Laszlo’s full attention is on him like a K-9 unit. “Spice, you say?”

Jinesh pretends to be interested in setting up the margarita station. He dumps ice and a few hefty glugs of mix into the blender, eyeing Nandor with apprehension.

“Who’s up for a game of Snark Cards?” Guillermo says.

Sean blows a raspberry. “Boo!”

“Yes, thank you, Sean. Very lame!” Nandor declares, battling the roar of Jinesh’s blender.

Laszlo lays a hand delicately on his friend’s knee. “Now, now, Seanie. Let’s hear old Gizmo out. Adult party games aren’t as tedious as you may think. And he promised spice, after all.”

“Yeah, alright Laz,” Sean concedes. “Get to the spice already!”

Electricity sparks in Guillermo’s gut. He sits tall. His voice doesn’t shake.

“ I propose we play Strip Snark Cards.” He says it like someone who says the word strip all the damn time.

Laszlo claps, delighted. “Ohoho! Brilliant.”

“I could be convinced to play,” Jinesh says.

“Clothes off, clothes on, who gives a shit? No one is wanting to play a pointless and boring game such as this,” Nandor says, arms crossed.

“Oh yeah? Seems like everyone’s interested except for you,” Guillermo says.

Nandor’s sulk deepens. “Guillermooo,” he whines. “You know Snark Cards is my most hated game. It is like watching paint dry.”

“That so, old chap?” Laszlo says. “Nothing to do with your complete inability to put together a clever hand, hm? Which is odd, since I’ve been personally acquainted with your clever hand on many an occasion.”

Guillermo pretends not to have heard that. “If you don’t want to play, no one’s stopping you from sitting it out. Why don’t you run along upstairs and let the fun people enjoy the game?”

Jinesh’s eyebrows shoot up. He takes a long sip of his margarita, gaze flitting between Nandor and Guillermo with interest.

Nandor goes quiet for a moment, presumably while getting his tongue un-superglued from the roof of his mouth. He grabs a chair and drops himself into the seat. “I am fun,” he growls. “I am way more fun than you, in fact! Let us get going already."

“Great. Hopefully the game is still…” Guillermo walks over to the entertainment center and opens the cupboard. “Aha! Here.”

The rules of Strip Snark Cards are simple. 

Simple, because Guillermo is completely making them up.

“You’ve played normal Snark Cards, right? The Kard Kaiser draws a fill-in-the-blank card, the group submits their answer cards, and then the Kard Kaiser picks which one was funniest,” he says. 

Sean mimes falling asleep at the table.

“In the strip version —"

Sean perks up.

“—the Kard Kaiser picks two cards from the group: the funniest card, AKA the one that wins the round, and the lamest. Whoever played the lamest card has to take something off.”

Spreading out the cards in play, he immediately spots his target. “Whoever played ‘foreskin’ —”

Nandor snickers.

“— strip.”

The snickering stops. Nandor frowns. “Foreskin is very funny, Guillermo. Perhaps you made a mistake?”

Guillermo doesn’t flinch. “I said, strip,” he says, popping the p.

“Fine.” Nandor’s fingers dig into the edge of the table. He stands, immediately drawing his hands to his waistband.

Sean’s eyes bug out. “Pants?! Who the fuck starts with pants?”

Nandor ignores Sean. His eyes lock with Guillermo’s, glinting competitively. His fingers flutter against the drawstring of his navy joggers.

Guillermo doesn’t even blink. His face feels hot, skin-meltingly so, but he’s not about to back down from Nandor’s obvious challenge. He quirks an eyebrow. Do it, then.

A quick inhale. Nandor’s deft finger pulls at the drawstring tie, releasing it. He hooks a thumb into the elastic. Prepares to tug the garment down.

In what is surely a world record display of iron will, Guillermo doesn’t break eye contact. 

He doesn’t watch as a strip of bronze, plush stomach makes itself known when Nandor flicks up the hem of his t-shirt. He doesn’t watch Nandor begin to peel his pants off of his body a fraction of an inch at a time. He doesn’t watch the slow reveal of the bright pink jockstrap band, or the white and pink hearts that dot the material stretching tight over his —

“Laszlo, it’s your turn!” Guillermo blurts out, practically shoving the deck of cards across the table. 

Laszlo startles, as if Guillermo had just broken him out of a trance. “Wha? Oh, right.” Laszlo wrenches hungry eyes from Nandor’s display to choose a card from the deck.

It’s Sean’s turn to strip this round. He merely takes off his ballcap, much to Laszlo’s dismay.

When Jinesh has the deck, Nandor strips again. He seems to reconsider his bold strategy this time, instead opting just to remove his class ring.

By the time it’s Nandor’s turn to be Kard Kaiser, he’s left fuming in his chair in nothing but his underwear and socks. “Give me that,” he hisses, wrenching the deck out of Sean’s hands.

Nandor collects everyone’s answer cards. He spends a long time studying each one, brow furrowing and tongue darting out in concentration. 

After what feels like several minutes, he plucks one of the cards from the lineup and places it face up on the table. “The lamest card is this one: Letting a werewolf chew on you like a squeaky toy.”

Guillermo gapes. “That’s not lame! It’s like one of the funniest cards in the deck!”

“Bah! Hardly,” Nandor scoffs. “You should try to be less obvious, you know. I could tell it was you. It is your favorite card, after all.”

“You literally just admitted you’re unfairly targeting me.”

“Me? You were the one doing the targeting first! My foreskin card was aces and you know it.”

It’s Laszlo’s turn to stand. “Now, now. Calm down, my beauties. I think there’s a way to settle this.” He exchanges a roguish smirk with Jinesh, who is kicked back in his chair and observing the squabble with interest.

“Gizmo, let’s face it. You did unfairly target Nandor earlier,” Laszlo says.

“But I —”

“Ah, ah ah. You know it’s true. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to strip down to Nandor’s level, and the two of you are going to enter into,” Laszlo pauses for dramatic effect, “sudden death!”

“Oh my god! Sudden death!” Sean whoops.

Nandor leans back, amused. “Good luck, Laszlo. I know Guillermo. He thought he’d get through the game without having to strip off any clothing himself, and now he’s trying to come up with a reason to back out. Isn’t that right, my little friend?” He takes a long, languid sip of his drink.

Guillermo’s whole body feels like it’s glowing bright red. “I — I mean…”

He could back down. He could walk down the hall, never to return. But how could he face Nandor’s smug fucking face tomorrow? Ever again? 

He brought this challenge. And now he has to finish it.

Jinesh is studying him like the most interesting bug on the planet. Laszlo’s eyebrows have shot up to his hairline. Sean just looks confused.

Guillermo stands up. “Maybe I’m not the Guillermo you remember.” 

It’s like psyching yourself up to drink cough syrup. Don’t think, just do it. 3, 2, 1. He unbuttons his shirt, staring at a spot on the wood paneling on the wall.

Nandor chokes on his margarita.

Guillermo slides the shirt off of his shoulders and drapes it carefully over the back of his chair.

Pauses.

Goes for the fly of his chinos. 

He inhales shakily as he zips them down. Shimmies out of them. Lays them on the back of the chair as well.

“Come on, lad! Good show, but we don’t have all night,” Laszlo barks.

When Guillermo is in nothing but his socks and briefs, he sits back down in his chair. “Ready.”

Laszlo makes an excessive show out of shuffling the deck. He deals them five cards each. 

Jinesh pours himself a shot of tequila in the bottom of his empty margarita cup and downs it. “I don’t have much confidence in Nandor’s strategy, I’m afraid,” he says.

“Hey! Not fair. I haven’t even picked up my cards yet,” Nandor whines.

Jinesh leans over the table, locking eyes with Nandor. “Listen. If you wish to win, you cannot just play whichever card refers to a penis. This is Guillermo you’re up against. You need to look for the unexpected card.”

“Pretty sure this is interference,” Guillermo grumbles.

Sean slaps the table. “Interference! He’s right.”

Jinesh concedes, sliding back in his chair.

Laszlo cracks his knuckles. “Let’s begin. Complete this phrase: I vant to suck your blank . You have 1 minute to select your cards. Starting…now!”

Nandor scrutinizes his cards as if they carry all the secrets to the universe within them. A faint sheen of sweat has settled in the dip of his collarbone. 

He’s nervous, Guillermo realizes.

Guillermo shifts his focus to his own cards. It’s not a great hand. There are a few references to penises, sure, which makes up like 40% of all the deck anyways. He has a couple that could be promising. Promising in a game against Nandor, at least.

As Laszlo reaches over to pick a piece of lint off of Sean’s shoulder, it hits Guillermo. His card doesn’t even need to make sense for the fill-in-the-blank. He just has to win over Laszlo. And the best way to do that is to focus on getting the biggest laugh from Sean, which is likely to influence Laszlo’s decision the most.

“15 seconds.”

Guillermo grabs a card and places it face down on the table, sliding it toward Laszlo.

Nandor’s eyes dart across his own cards. He’s muttering to himself, too quietly for Guillermo to hear what he’s saying.

“5, 4, 3, 2 —”

“Got it!” Nandor picks a card and slams it down on the table. 

“The players have submitted their cards. Now for the judging.” With great pageantry, Laszlo collects the cards and brings them into his view. “The first contender: I vant to suck your…stack of cash embezzled from a preschool.”

Sean guffaws. “A preschool! That’s fucking hilarious.”

“And now, the second: I vant to suck your…Master’s Degree.”

Guillermo snorts. He claps a hand over his mouth. 

Fuck.

Everyone turns to look at him in surprise. 

“My, my, Gizmo! You’ve got the second sight,” Laszlo says. “The latter card takes the crown. Reveal yourself, brilliant mind!”

For a moment, no one moves.

Then Nandor gasps. “It is…me? I won?”

Laszlo offers Guillermo an amused smirk. “Which leaves your card as the lamest. Bad luck, old chap.”

Jinesh aims a warning look in Nandor’s direction. “Don’t do it. Nandor, don’t —”

“BAZINGAAA!”

Something tan, pink, and hairy blurs past Guillermo, thawing him out of his shell-shocked stupor. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? Did he just lose… to Nandor?

Nandor laps the kitchen table. He’s got his t-shirt in one hand and he’s swinging it around like a medieval flail. “I am the champion! Me! I defeated Guillermo!”

“Nandor —” Jinesh tries.

Nandor plants a socked foot on the edge of the table, one thick thigh bent in Guillermo’s face. 

There’s nothing but a perilously tight jockstrap between them now. 

Nandor leans in close, grinning for all he’s worth. “How does it feel to lose to your much more smarter housemate, Guillermo?” he gloats. “I suppose it is time for you to make with the stripping.”

Guillermo peels off his socks. He hurls them venomously in Nandor’s face, letting fly with a string of expletives he didn’t even know he had in him.

“You sound just like my Nadja,” Laszlo says proudly.

“You know what I just thought of?” Derek says. He looks up from his Switch with a relaxed grin, eyes red and glassy. He passes Guillermo the joint.

Guillermo takes a puff. He leans back on the bunkhouse futon, resting his feet on the coffee table. “What?”

Derek giggles. “That you’re playing a game about being a farmer right now, but in real life, you’re literally a farmer.”

Guillermo glances up from his own Switch, snickering. “I’m not a farmer, Derek. Do you even know what I do?”

“Pfft. Farming. Ranching. All I know is, I’m a city slicker and I should shut up now,” Derek jokes.

On screen, Guillermo maneuvers his Charmin’ Farmin’ character to his and Derek’s shared field, where a row of baby corn are in dire need of watering. 

Thump. CRASH.

Guillermo scowls at the ceiling.

Derek takes the joint back, as if concerned that Guillermo's fist might crush it into dust. “Just ignore them, dude.”

Deep down, Guillermo knows Derek’s right. This is supposed to be a chill day of playing games and hanging out. If he lets Nandor get to him, Nandor wins.

“Oh, fuck yes! Nandor!” Gail shrieks from the loft.

Thump, thump, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP —

Guillermo sets his Switch down on the coffee table and stands up. He grabs the broom he keeps nearby for this very purpose, flipping it around to whack the ceiling with the handle. “Hey! Keep it down up there, please!” he yells.

The cacophony stops.

Satisfied, Guillermo leans the broom against the back of the futon and settles back in. With all of their crops watered, it’s now time to check their lobster traps down at the beach.

A shockwave of blaring music shakes the bunkhouse walls.

Guillermo drops his Switch, scrambling to cover his ears. “What the fuck?” he shouts.

“Is that Bob Seger?” Derek’s voice is barely audible over the insane racket.

“OH! HARDER, MY SWEET GAIL!” comes Nandor’s reverberating cry.

Guillermo leaps to his feet.

“Guillermo! Dude, just —”

On his way up the loft stairs, Guillermo almost slips on a pair of discarded basketball shorts. He snatches them up, using them to shield his eyes from whatever scene was about to greet him.

Guillermo storms into Nandor’s bedroom, blindfolded. “Nandor! Gail! Please, all I’m asking for is —”

Nandor’s answering moan is enough to make a porn star blush.

Guillermo’s brain enters complete lockdown. Solid titanium doors slam down, security lasers activating. His thoughts would have an easier time breaking into Fort Knox. 

He closes his eyes and winds up, firing the shorts like a nudity-seeking missile.

“Hey! Fucking guy!” Nandor shouts over the music.

Guillermo cracks an eye open.

Nandor is propped up on one elbow in bed. His wadded-up basketball shorts cover his shame, thank fucking Jesus. He looks positively affronted.

Gail rolls off the bed, completely nude. When she turns around, Guillermo’s eyes bug out at the bright purple strap-on bobbing heavily between her slender legs.

“Need to take a break for my stretches,” Gail explains. “These hips aren’t what they used to be.”

Guillermo manages to dodge the thing jutting out from her body as she squeezes past him, heading down the stairs. He shuts his gaping mouth and focuses again on Nandor. “Please, I’m literally begging you. Just keep it down!” he shouts.

Nandor stands and saunters over to his record player. To Guillermo’s complex joy, he’s now donning the shorts.

Nandor dials the volume up. “I cannot hear you, Guillermo!” he shouts.

“Are you kidding me? Turn that off!”

Louder still. “What is it? I am still not hearing you!”

Guillermo can’t answer. 

He can’t answer because someone is screaming.

Screaming like a tea kettle releasing steam. Screaming like a berserker rushing into battle. Screaming like he’s going to flay this giant man and turn him into a thousand hairy volleyballs.

All the colour drains from Nandor’s face. “You’re gonna do what to me?”

Imagine if you will, that you are Nadja Antipaxos.

You might be sitting in your office, Wildflower Creek’s financials spread out across your desk. Maybe you yawn, and realize a second hit of caffeine is sorely fucking needed if you’re going to be the business bitch the world needs today. Perhaps you glance out the window when you stand up from your desk.

Nadja’s scream stirs a flock of birds from the bushes outside.

Guillermo tackles Nandor to the ground like a rabid animal. They roll, grass and leaves sticking to Nandor’s bare, sweaty back. Guillermo’s glasses go flying.

“Guillermo! Get off!” Nandor yells. He claws at Guillermo’s arms, which are locked around his shoulders and attempting to throttle him. 

Nandor plants his feet in the dirt and flips them over.

Guillermo is slammed into the ground. He wheezes as all of the air is forced from his lungs. He slaps wildly at Nandor’s face, wrapping his legs tightly around the man’s sweat-slick waist.

“Ah! Fucking — stop it!” Nandor hisses. 

“Fuck you!” Guillermo buries his hands in Nandor hair and yanks.

Nandor yowls in pain. He grips one of Guillermo’s socked ankles hard in one hand. He flips them once again, using his leverage to incapacitate Guillermo’s furious kicking.

Guillermo’s hamstring shrieks. He yelps, clawing for purchase amidst the pain. He finds it in something wet and hot and slimy.

“Hlymmmo whatha fuhhh!” Nandor’s shout is garbled from Guillermo’s fingers in his mouth. 

Now with the upper hand, Guillermo rolls until he’s straddling Nandor’s waist. Grass clings to his curls. He gasps for breath.

Nandor bites down on Guillermo’s fingers.

“Ow! You dick!” Guillermo snatches his hand back. 

Nandor grapples for the advantage once again, ripping his hair from Guillermo’s grip and shifting his weight. He hooks a leg around Guillermo’s neck and pins him between his thighs. He grabs Guillermo’s wrist, stretching the other man’s arm out and holding it tight against Nandor’s chest.

Guillermo gasps.

A door slams.

“What the pissing shit is going on here?!” Nadja bellows.

Chapter Text

HORSE SENSE

Column by: Toby Daltry

Listen, dear readers. I know we all love our horses. But do our horses know we love them? 

I mean, you’ve probably heard about love languages, right? My love language is acts of service [My wife’s love language? My credit card! HA-HA-HA. She loves to shop, that lil rascal]. 

But what is your horse’s love language? If your precious pony is anything like mine, it’s probably FOOD. My first tip: find out what his favorite snack is, and surprise him!

If you liked that, my second tip is gonna blow your horseshoes off.

[Continued on page 10]

The sun’s almost to the middle of the sky when Guillermo lightly pulls back on Neptune’s reins. “I think we should stop for lunch,” he says. 

He cranes his neck to look back at Nandor, who’s bringing up the rear on Magic Lamp.

Nandor adjusts his cowboy hat as he squints up at the sun. Perched on that golden horse, he looks almost like a statue of some long ago conqueror. 

If long ago conquerors wore Western wear, that is. 

The hat’s rim casts a shadow over Nandor’s face. “That is an…acceptable idea,” he says.

Guillermo turns back around before Nandor can see the smile tugging at his lips. One non-hostile interaction under their belts. Nadja would be proud, at least.

After their, er, “tussle”, Nadja had dragged the two of them into the ranch house like ragdolls. She’d sat them down in the client parlor with her hands on her hips, face contorted in a furious snarl.

“What do you two bloody fucking imbeciles have to say for yourselves?” Nadja had growled.

Guillermo had said nothing. He’d simply folded his arms and scowled, refusing to look at her. 

Nadja had snatched a hand out to grab his chin. “Etsi gamnusin sto horkon su? We get it! You and Nandor have a complicated rat's nest of emotions going on that somehow hasn’t improved after not speaking to each other for a year. Who gives a flying shit? That’s no excuse to be beating the piss out of each other on the front lawn.”

Guillermo had held her gaze defiantly. Nadja was one to talk. She was the one always yelling and screaming and threatening to mutilate people, after all.

Like always, Nadja seemed able to read his mind. “Yes, yes, I’m one to talk. Do I wish to grind Nandor into wet cement and use him to lay bricks? All the bloody time. But do you see me actually doing it?”

Begrudgingly, Guillermo had shaken his head.

“No, you don’t. So stop acting like a stupid shitting meathead and learn to co-exist!”

“Fine. I’m sorry, ok?” he said.

“Good.” Nadja had dropped Guillermo’s chin, focusing her fury on Nandor. “And now you.”

Nandor had shrunk in on himself like a cornered rabbit.

Nadja had leaned in close to the shirtless, grass-covered man with teeth bared. “The only reason I am not tearing you limb from limb is because it would be fucking hypocritical. So gather all the bits of your donkey brains together and listen the hell up. You are not to be bullying this boy.” She pointed a sharp fingernail at Guillermo.

Guillermo had blinked in surprise.

“He is my boy,” Nadja had hissed. “If I catch you being even a teensy little tiny bit mean to him from this moment on, I will possess your dreams in the form of a demonic sheep and slowly drive you to utter madness. I’ve done it before. Lilith taught me how.”

Nandor’s eyes had been saucers.

“Do I make myself clear?”

He’d nodded.

“Are you sorry?”

He’d nodded again.

Nadja had released Nandor then, straightening up to her full height. “Wonderful. Now, I think it is time for me to step in and fix this mess for you men. You know. Help you get along.”

Guillermo had frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going on a lovely little trail ride, of course,” Nadja had said.

“Together?!”

Nadja had thrown up her hands. “Of course together! A trail ride can fix the bad feelings. It worked that one time Laszlo wasn’t speaking to me because I said I didn’t like his hat.” Her face grew wistful. “But after our trail ride, it would have taken the entire fire department to remove his face from between my legs.”

Guillermo had groaned. “Nadja! Can you not —”

“Would you prefer I got a very large shirt and made you both get in it?”

There had been no arguing with that.

At dawn, they’d made preparations. Hoping to minimize time spent together, Nandor had packed them a lunch while Guillermo tacked up Neptune and Magic Lamp.

Nandor had chosen the trail that led from the yard down to the ravine. Relatively flat. Nice views of the mountains. Lots of logs and other places to stop. It would make for a leisurely ride, good for Magic Lamp’s first time out of the yard.

Guillermo spent most of the ride letting Neptune lead. The soft and steady thud of her hooves against the earth had lulled him into a pleasant trance, her body rocking him side to side with each step.

Every so often, Nandor’s soft mutterings would be carried over the wind to Guillermo’s ears. Quiet, kind things he whispered privately to Magic Lamp. Complimenting her mane. Remarking on her newfound confidence. Assuring her that everything was going to be alright, and that she was doing a very good job. 

Guillermo turns those words over in his mind as they settle in for lunch. 

He picks a shady spot near some comfortable-looking logs, a stone’s throw away from a tiny stream that has branched off from the main waterway.

The river’s been low that summer. It flows, murky and lazy, through the thick forest of pine trees. It’s nothing like the rushing white rapids Guillermo remembers. The receding water has exposed several feet of sunbaked riverbed on either side of its banks, the mud pale and cracked.

They each take a seat on the logs. Guillermo pulls their lunches out of Neptune’s saddle bags. 

Nandor removes his cowboy hat and sets it on the ground beside him. He reaches down to scoop some water from the stream, splashing it on his face and hair. He shakes his head, running his fingers through the damp locks. 

He catches Guillermo’s eye. “What is it?” Nandor asks warily.

“Oh. Um, nothing,” Guillermo says.

“Er. Okay.”

They sit in silence once again. 

Paper crinkles as Guillermo opens up the brown lunch bags. Nandor’s packed them burritos wrapped in tin foil. In one of the bags, he’s thrown in an orange and a little container of cashews. And in the other, double-bagged one —

“A…YooHoo?” Guillermo says. 

He stares down at the drink. It’s still cold, courtesy of the ice pack Nandor included.

Nandor picks up a twig and begins drawing random shapes in the dirt. He doesn’t say anything.

Something is stirring in Guillermo’s chest. A wriggling little worm that was asleep for the winter, but is now just waking up. He clears his throat to make it stop. 

“Thanks,” Guillermo says in a small voice. 

“Do not mention it.” It sounds like Nandor means it. 

He doesn’t have to tell Guillermo twice. 

Guillermo looks around for something to change the subject. Magic Lamp takes the opportunity to distract them both with a nicker, shaking out her mane. She seems at ease, despite the unfamiliar environment. 

“Magic Lamp is doing really well,” Guillermo ventures. 

The words make him feel fifty tons lighter. Whether it’s Magic Lamp’s exposure therapy making the difference, or Nandor’s essential oils, he’s not sure. Either way, she’s making significant progress. 

And just in time, too. 

Guillermo can’t afford to lose any more sleep over whether her rehabilitation will actually be complete by the time he needs to leave for London. But Nandor doesn’t need to know that.

Nandor instantly loosens up. He reaches up to pat Magic Lamp’s neck. “She is,” he agrees. “I’m very proud of her.”

“I thought she might spook once we got out here, but she’s been good,” Guillermo says. “I think getting her used to all the smells and sounds of wildlife again is smart. To show her they mean her no harm, you know?”

Nandor nods. Magic Lamp leans into his touch for a moment before craning her neck down, snuffling at his chest pocket. Nandor reaches in to pick out an unwrapped peppermint. He lets Magic Lamp delicately lick it off of his palm. 

Neptune watches with interest. She noses at Guillermo’s shoulder roughly. 

“Ok, ok,” Guillermo laughs. “Hey, can I have one of those peppermints?”

“Of course.” Nandor reaches into his pocket and produces another peppermint.

Guillermo holds his palm out flat. Nandor drops the peppermint into Guillermo’s hand from several inches above, immediately drawing back once the transaction is complete.

“Here you go, Neptune,” Guillermo says, letting her greedily snatch up the candy. 

Nandor inhales like he’s bracing himself. 

“Guillermo?”

Guillermo doesn’t look up from Neptune. “Yeah?”

For a moment, Nandor doesn’t say anything.

“What is it?” Guillermo says.

Nandor shifts his weight on the log. “I wish to. Er. Well, I wish to say…” he pauses. He frowns, then shakes his head like he’s changed his mind. “I think we should ease up on the rules of the house.”

“Oh. I’d be pretty amenable to that, actually.”

Nandor picks fretfully at his thumbnail. “It is necessary. If you’re going to be residing in the bunkhouse for the foreseeable future, then I suppose I can make some concessions.”

Guillermo cracks open his YooHoo and takes a long, long, long sip. “Foreseeable future. Absolutely,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as wooden as it felt to say. “Which rules?”

“Eh. All of them.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, most. Maybe let’s keep the hot water thing. I do not wish to have cold showers.”

Guillermo chuckles. “I guess that’s fair.” 

Nandor watches him intently. His face is unreadable.

“Do you want some?” Guillermo asks, holding up the YooHoo.

“No. I still think they are very disgusting,” Nandor says. Then adds, “but thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Guillermo says. He takes another sip. “Do you think that, um, we could make some kind of a truce? A work truce, at least.”

A breeze weaves through the pines, making the needles whistle. It gently blows Nandor’s damp hair away from his face. “That depends. I do not wish to be taking orders from you,” Nandor says. 

Before Guillermo can interject, Nandor holds up a hand. “So I have a proposal,” Nandor continues. “You do not stomp around in your loud boots telling me what to do and where, and in return, I will stop challenging your so-called authority at every available opportunity.”

“So, like equals?” Guillermo suggests.

Nandor’s expression makes it clear he isn’t entirely pleased with that idea, but not entirely upset about it, either. “I suppose that is acceptable. Equals.”

It’s not a hard decision for Guillermo. At this point, he’d trade his first born child for some reprieve from Nandor’s lack of cooperation. “Equals, then,” he says. He hands Nandor the burrito and orange from his lunch bag. “Mind if I eat your cashews?”

“I do not mind,” Nandor says, accepting the burrito and unwrapping it. He takes a bite. 

Guillermo does the same, digging into the soft tortilla and sighing as the flavourful rice and beans hit his palate. It’s heavy on the lime and light on the cotija, just how he likes it. “Still not a fan of cilantro, I guess?” he comments.

Nandor chews and swallows. “Coriander,” he corrects. “And no. My mother has been after me for 40 years to eat it, so you’ll have to get in line if you wish to scold me.”

Guillermo laughs. “Nadja was pretty heavy on the stuff growing up. She always made sure I had Mexican food whenever I wanted it, which I appreciate, but in hindsight someone should have banned her from the fresh herbs aisle. I always felt too bad to say anything though. Luckily, she eventually started leaving the cooking to Laszlo most nights when he stayed over. He makes a mean sopa de frijoles.”

Nandor is silent for a few moments, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of burrito. “Do you have many memories of your mother’s cooking?”

Guillermo takes a sip of YooHoo. “A bit. Not a ton. I remember her tamales, but not much else. Sometimes I imagine what it would have been like if she’d had time to teach Nadja before she passed. Our kitchen would have been like a Mexican cooking boot camp.”

“I cannot imagine Nadja taking directions from someone,” Nandor says with a chuckle. “That would have been a sight to see.”

Guillermo snorts.

Nandor hums jovially, finishing up the last few bites of his food. He offers an orange segment to Magic Lamp, and then another, before finally just giving her the full orange. At least he seems like he’s grown out of feeding the horses from his own mouth like he used to do. 

“You know,” Guillermo says. “Nadja thinks of herself as your sister, too. Even if it doesn’t always seem like it.”

Nandor stiffens at that. A slight bridge too far, Guillermo realizes.

Nandor picks up his cowboy hat and settles it back on his head, angling it forward a bit to shield his eyes.  “Let us depart,” he says. “If we leave now, we will still have time to muck out the stables before the sun sets. Shall we?” 

“Oh. Ok. Sure.” Guillermo’s neck aches a bit from the whiplash. He hastily packs up his trash, taking Nandor’s as well and storing it back in Neptune’s saddle bags. 

They climb onto the horses’ backs and begin their journey back home, as silently as they came.

Dear Gigi,

I hope this email finds you well. With your sabbatical nearing its natural end, I am writing to request an update regarding your return. Please reply promptly to inform us when we should expect you back in the gallery.

In other news, we finally found someone for the role of my personal assistant. Believe or not, his name is Freddie as well. We get on quite marvelously.

Best,

Frederick Evans

Executive Director,

Nandemonai Art Gallery

P.S. Have you given any more thought to my invitation to accompany me down the pub? There is a splendid jellied eel IPA I have been meaning to introduce you to.

“Ready to go?” Laszlo interrupts.

“Nothing!” Guillermo blurts out, nearly knocking his own cowboy hat off of his head in his rush to put his phone away. He holds Glitterfoot's reins tightly in one hand. “I mean. Uh, right. We’re all ready for you, Colin.”

Laszlo eyes Guillermo, but doesn’t press him. He leans against the bars of the corral fence and gives Colin an encouraging nod. “Well, my boy. Climb aboard!” he says.

“I’ll hold her steady for you, bud,” Guillermo says. “Just get your foot in the stirrup. Yup, right there. Nandor, can you help him?”

Nandor steps up behind Colin. “Hello. Helping up time,” he says in a singsong voice. He takes Colin’s foot and sticks it into the stirrup before grabbing him around the waist. He lifts the child easily, “hup!” and deposits him in the saddle.

Colin grins from ear to ear. “I’m doing it! Woohoo!”

“Make sure you hang on to the saddle horn until you’ve got the reins, pal,” Guillermo reminds him. “We’re gonna start with learning the one rein stop, ok?”

“What’s the one rein stop?” Colin asks. He wobbles a bit in the saddle.

Nandor puts a hand on Colin’s back to steady him. “Think of it like an emergency brake,” he chimes in. “It is when you pull on one rein, which brings your horse’s nose around and to the side. Almost to your foot. That will make your horse stop.”

“Exactly. Ready to try it?” Guillermo asks.

“Yeah!”

“Awesome. Nandor is gonna walk with you and tell you when to try your stops. If you feel scared, make sure to let him know, ok? Don’t worry, you’re totally safe. Glitterfoot is Nandor’s horse and she’s super mellow,” Guillermo says. 

He hands Glitterfoot’s reins to Colin and shows him how to hold them properly. “And what’s the number one rule?”

“Have fun,” Colin declares.

“Er, actually,” Nandor says. “The number one rule is to never approach a horse from behind.”

“That’s — nevermind,” Guillermo says. “You got this, Colin. Alright? Here we go.” 

Nandor starts walking around the perimeter of the round pen.

Glitterfoot’s attention stays glued on her human. She trails Nandor at a leisurely pace, sniffing occasionally at his pockets in search of treats. 

“Good girl, Glitterfoot. Keep doing the following, please,” Nandor murmurs. “Okay, little Colin. Time for your first stop. Can you pull the rein with one hand?”

“Gizmo? A word,” Laszlo calls.

Guillermo catches Nandor’s eye to confirm he’s got things covered. When Nandor flashes him a thumbs up, Guillermo jogs over to the fence where Laszlo is leaning, one foot resting on a low beam.

Laszlo gestures to his son, who is nodding along as Nandor instructs him on the right amount of force to pull on the reins. “He’s old enough for this?” Laszlo asks. His gruff tone betrays a note of anxiety.

Guillermo nods. “Definitely. He’s the perfect age, actually. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Hm. I suppose.” The worry doesn’t completely disappear from Laszlo’s brow, but it ebbs at least. “You chose the right pony for the job, I reckon. Kalamáta is too much of a spitfire. And Sergeant Frisky is —”

“True to his name,” Guillermo supplies. In all honesty, he’s never seen a horse so frequently sporting an erection, but he’s not going to say so in front of Colin.

“Quite right. At any rate, the boy will no doubt have a nanty narking today,” Laszlo says. Something flashes across his face, culminating in a smirk. “Speaking of a good time. My darling wife tells me you took Nandor for a ride the other day?”

Guillermo nearly swallows his own tongue. “Um, we took the Fakhris’ horses down the river trail if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course that’s what I meant —”

“No, I —”

“What else —

“No, no I knew what you —”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“And how did the animals fare?” Laszlo asks.

Guillermo is grateful for the pivot. “Pretty well, actually. I’m excited about how well Magic Lamp is progressing. I think she’s just about ready to go home to Marwa and Jinesh, actually.”

“Good man,” Laszlo says. “And I should ask. Any sign of that sodding wild animal everyone’s going on about? I swear, it’s the only thing I hear from the buggers in town, and I’m tired of it.”

Guillermo shakes his head. “Nothing. I didn’t see any tracks or scat. If there was anything hanging around, I’ll bet it’s moved on.”

“That’s what I bloody well thought. I’ll make sure Simon over at the Sassy Cat gets that through his thick skull.” Laszlo claps him on the shoulder. “At any rate. Great to see you’re getting back in the country groove, old chap. I was concerned Brittania had sunk her blunt, cod-scented talons into you and ruined you for good.”

Guillermo snorts. “You were concerned?”

Laszlo waves him off. “An ill choice of words. Merely an observation took place that raised the question as to how well you were settling back in. But by the looks of it, you’ve fallen right back into stride.”

Guillermo shifts back and forth, studying the grain of the wood fencepost. “Yup. Super settled over here.”

Laszlo seems to chew on his next words for a while before deciding to go for it. “Listen. Don’t ask me to repeat this, because I won’t,” he says. “You have my thanks for returning home. My Nadja sleeps much more soundly now that you’re back.”

Guillermo’s gut twists sharply. “Oh.” 

He searches for something, anything, more coherent to respond with. But before he finds it, the lazy clop of hooves on dirt announces Colin and Nandor’s arrival behind him.

“Hey Laszlo! Guess what?” Colin says, smiling wide from Glitterfoot’s back. “I asked Mr. Nandor if I could have a sleepover in the bunkhouse tonight and he said yes! Can I? Please?”

Laszlo chuckles. “Why, of course you may. So long as your Uncle Gizmo ensures you’re asleep in bed at a proper time. Gizmo?”

Colin’s eyes shine with hope.

“I’m on it,” Guillermo says. How could he refuse a face like that?

“Yes!” Colin cheers. “This is basically the best day of my life!”

Laszlo steps back from the fence and straightens, dusting off his hands. “I’ll fetch your overnight bag. Would you prefer the strawberry toothpaste or the Minions one?”

“Minions!”

“What does a minion taste like?” Nandor asks.

Colin bursts out laughing. “You’re like the funniest guy I’ve ever met, Mr. Nandor.”

Nandor shoots Guillermo a bewildered look.

“It’s banana flavored,” Guillermo explains.

Laszlo says his goodbyes — which really means mumbling something unintelligible and offering them each a curt nod — before departing for the ranch house.

“Are you ready to try something new, Colin?” Nandor asks.

Colin beams. “Yeah! I’m basically a pro at stopping now. What’s next?”

“That is up to your Uncle Guillermo,” Nandor says wryly. “What do you suggest, Director?”

It takes a second before Guillermo registers that Nandor is asking for his opinion. “Oh! Um. I think maybe learning to turn would be a good next step.”

Nandor nods. “Learning to turn it is, then.”

Guillermo takes off his hat and sets it down on the ground in the center of the ring. “We’re gonna use this as a training cone,” he says. “You can practice turning around it. Just try not to let Glitterfoot step on it, if you don’t mind.”

Nandor laughs. “Glitterfoot would never do such a thing. She’s far too intelligent for that. Aren’t you, jahan?” He strokes his horse’s nose, looking positively drunk with affection for her.

Eager to put some space between himself and the terribly intimate scene in front of him, Guillermo focuses on Colin. “Ready, bud? First, you’re gonna look in the direction you want to turn. She’ll feel you doing that and know you want her to turn that way.”

“Wow. How does she know that?” Colin asks.

Nandor turns his back to them to demonstrate. “If you move your head, the rest of you moves a little bit too.” He turns his head to the left, gesturing to his back. “Your horse can feel tiny shiftings in the muscles of your back and of your butt.” He shakes his backside around for emphasis.

Colin breaks down into giggles.

Guillermo pointedly looks away from where Nandor is comically wiggling his ass. “He’s right, to an extent. Sometimes I think Mr. Nandor here,” he jerks his head in Nandor’s direction, “was born in a saddle. Subtle cues like that don’t always work for us non-horse whisperers. So we’re gonna learn to use our hands, too.”

“Ok!”

“Good,” Guillermo says. “So, next you’re gonna open the rein on the side you want to turn. Do you know how to do that?”

Colin shakes his head. “Not really. Can Mr. Nandor show me?”

“Of course,” Nandor says. “I thought you might ask this. Observe.”

Nandor picks something up that’s lying next to one of the fence posts. It looks like a pair of old reins, the long strap of leather cracked and worn from years of use. “Guillermo and I will demonstrate,” Nandor tells Colin. 

Nandor approaches Guillermo with the reins held out. When Guillermo doesn’t immediately take them, Nandor shakes them a little impatiently. “What is the matter now?”

“Uh. What exactly do you want me to do?” Guillermo asks. He takes the reins and holds them at arm’s length.

Nandor rolls his eyes. “We are showing little baby Colin how to open the reins, obviously. I am the horse and you are the rider. Like so.” 

Nandor steps close, then spins on his heel, turning his back to Guillermo. His long hair is almost brushing Guillermo’s nose.

“O-oh. Um. Ok.”

“The reins, Guillermo.”

Holding the ends of the reins tightly in both hands, Guillermo loops the strap over Nandor’s head and shoulders, trapping him in a circle of cracked leather and Guillermo’s own body. 

With a light tug, he feels Nandor pick up and hold the looped end of the reins. A strange feeling is nipping at Guillermo’s heels that he has no trouble ignoring entirely. What’s harder to ignore is how he’s suddenly sweaty and antsy, like he just chugged a jumbo red bull.

Nandor twists his neck to frown back at Guillermo. “What is this technique you are employing? Put a little pressure on the reins. Yeesh.”

Guillermo swallows thickly. It’s so dusty out here today; he feels like he can barely breathe. He yanks the reins taut, catching Nandor by surprise and forcing him to take a half-step backwards. 

Nandor’s back presses into Guillermo. He’s warm, even through his shirt.

Nandor twitches like he’s going to jump clean out of his skin. “H-hey! Fucking guy —”

All the blood in Guillermo’s body is now in his face. No, scratch that — most of it. Guillermo tries to let go of the reins but his brain signals are all messed up. He pulls them tighter. “Uh!” he intelligently shouts. 

Nandor yelps as he’s yanked flush against Guillermo’s chest and stomach. He teeters on one foot, throwing his weight back onto Guillermo for balance.

Guillermo is suddenly buried in an avalanche of long, dark hair. He coughs and splutters. “Oh gaw ith in ma mouf, pffff —”

Nandor thrashes like a rabid animal caught in a snare. “Guillermo! Remove your mouth from my hair this instant!” he shrieks.

“Ohoho. It’s about time you handled him, Gizmo. Shall I run and fetch my crop?”

Guillermo screams. He drops the reins and shoves himself away, landing flat on his ass in the dirt.

Laszlo shoots him a wicked grin. He’s leaning up against the fence, holding Colin’s overnight bag.

Nandor catches his footing and whirls around. “What was all that shit for?!” He touches a lock of saliva-soaked hair, scandalized. 

Glitterfoot grunts, stepping forward and sniffing at Nandor’s disheveled state. 

“Uncle Guillermo?” Colin pipes up. “I couldn’t really follow the lesson. Can you show me again?”

“It is finished!” Nandor calls out. He spins away from the stove, chest puffed out as he holds out the domed aluminum pan of stovetop popcorn. “Are you ready, little baby Colin?”

Guillermo and Colin are sitting at the bunkhouse kitchen table, working on a 500-piece Mamma Mia! puzzle that Guillermo is pretty sure was stolen from Nadja’s closet. 

Colin looks up from their activity, eyes round with excitement. He grabs the clear plastic popcorn bowl sitting on the table. “Woo! Jiffy Pop! My guess is seven.”

Nandor scoffs. “Seven? Where is your faith in me?”

“What are we guessing?” Guillermo asks, frowning.

Colin holds the bowl steady as Nandor peels back the tin foil, watching the stream escape with wonder. “Mr. Nandor makes Jiffy Pop every time we have a slumber party. It’s our tradition to basically guess how many popcorn kernels are gonna be left over when he dumps it into the bowl. I guessed seven this time.”

Nandor’s face screws up as he contemplates his own guess. “I am thinking…five. Which is my record. Should we allow Guillermo a guess, Colin?”

“Yeah!” Colin cheers.

“Go ahead then, Guillermo. What is your guess?”

Guillermo considers the question. He takes in Colin’s eager expression, and Nandor’s even more eager expression. 

“Hmm. I’m feeling optimistic tonight,” Guillermo says. “My guess is four.”

Nandor stills, before linking his hands bashfully in front of his stomach. A soft smile blooms on his face. “Okay,” he mumbles. 

“Dump it, dump it, dump it —” Colin chants. He holds out the bowl.

“I’m dumping it, yeesh.” Nandor flips the pan over to deposit the popcorn. He takes the bowl from Colin and shakes it to settle out the kernels. He lifts the bowl up above his head, squinting at the bottom.

“Well?” Guillermo says. “I think Colin’s gonna explode if you don’t say something.”

Nandor sets the bowl down and turns to Guillermo, eyes are glittering. “Four.”

Something stirs inside Guillermo at that. At the possibility that just by uttering it out loud, by manifesting a good thing, he’d put that look on Nandor’s face. He wouldn’t be opposed to seeing that look again. “A new record,” Guillermo says simply.

Colin whoops. “Mr. Nandor, you’re amazing!” 

Nandor frowns and smiles at the same time, like a confused little deer in the headlights. 

Guillermo decides to have mercy on him. “I think it’s time to get started on that movie. While the popcorn’s still hot, I mean. Which one did you pick, Colin?”

Colin pops up from his chair and dashes over to the TV cabinet. He opens it up, pulling out a VHS in a weathered cardboard sleeve. 

“Me and Mr. Nandor have been watching basically every animated musical from the Disney renaissance. Which was basically all the movies they made from 1989 to 1999. They were successful because they were musical adaptations of stories that basically everybody already knew, going back to what made Disney successful in the 1930s to the 1960s —”

“Wow, super cool, bud! So which one are we watching tonight?”

Colin holds up the VHS. “The Little Mermaid!”

It’s one of Guillermo’s favorites. Growing up, he reduced more than one copy to tatters from overplaying it. Part of Your World has never failed to reach deep into his gut and grab hold of something there, even when he was too young to really understand why.

Nandor pushes the tape into the VCR and shuts off the lights. 

The three of them settle in on the futon. It’s not a very big piece of furniture, so Colin and his big bowl of popcorn have to squeeze fairly tightly between Guillermo and Nandor just to fit.

The cozy, blue glow of the television illuminates their faces as the movie starts to play. 

The futon creaks. Out of the corner of his eye, Guillermo can see Nandor shifting uncomfortably. Nandor’s not a small guy by any measure, and his arm is trapped awkwardly between his own body and Colin’s. 

“Oh, uh, one sec. I’ll move over,” Guillermo says. He scoots until his hip nearly hangs over the edge of the futon. “You too, Colin. Let’s give Nandor some room.”

Nandor sighs with relief. He flexes his fingers and moves his shoulder in circles, as if letting the blood flow return to normal. Clearing his throat, he stretches his arm high above his head and  settles it along the back of the futon.

What follows is the longest 83 minutes of Guillermo’s life.

He’s hyper aware of Nandor’s wrist lying mere inches behind his head. Some strange, entirely disjunct part of his imagination runs wild instead of paying a speck of attention to one of his most beloved movies. 

That entirely separate part of Guillermo can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have long, hot fingers stroke over the ridges of his spine and settle against the base of his neck. To feel them massage his tense muscles and rub tiny circles into his skin. To feel the pressure of fingertips on the side of his skull, turning his head and his neck towards, towards, towards…

Guillemo springs to his feet the second the credits begin to roll. “Wow, would you look at the time? I think we should be getting you ready for bed now, buddy.”

Colin’s face falls. “But Uncle Guillermo, Mr. Nandor promised we could make a fort to sleep in.”

Guillermo blinks at Nandor. “Did he now?”

Nandor shifts forward, clasping his hands together between his knees. He bares his teeth in a half smile, half grimace. “I did promise this. But do not worry, Guillermo, it’ll take no time at all to build. I am an incredible pillow fortress architect.”

In actuality, it takes more than an hour to construct the pillow fort. There are several initial delays, including a long quarrel between Colin and Nandor about whether the proposed design would protect them from attack should a pillow monster army lay siege. 

Guillermo doesn’t interject. He won’t go so far as to call it cute, but it’s not not cute.

Colin and Guillermo clear a space in the living room while Nandor fetches pillows and blankets from his bed, along with the cushions from an old recliner in his room.

Guillermo takes his orders from Colin, helping him to stretch Nandor’s sheet — printed with little galloping horses — over the futon and a kitchen chair they’d dragged into the room.

Nandor uses the cushions and pillows to make walls and a door. The futon mattress and Nandor’s comforter make for a plush and cozy floor.

“Wait!” Colin says. “We need a window so we can see the TV.”

“You are right. Excellent thinking,” Nandor says. “Maybe if we move this load bearing wall, we can open it up here…”

The window is a nice touch, Guillermo thinks. Laying inside the fort, it offers a clear view of Colin’s second movie pick, Hercules. It was never Guillermo’s favorite Disney film, but the music’s good and the story’s entertaining, so he has no reason to complain.

While Hercules goes toe to toe with the Hydra, Guillermo steals a peek at Colin. Bundled up in his Lego Star Wars pajamas and sandwiched on the mattress between Guillermo and Nandor, his eyelids have been steadily drooping for the past twenty minutes. Now, they seem fully closed.

“Is he asleep?” Guillermo whispers to Nandor.

Nandor cranes his neck to get a better look. “It seems he is slumbering, yes.”

Guillermo braces a hand behind him on the mattress. “Ok. M’gonna go to bed. To my own bed, I mean.” 

He’s just about to push himself to his feet when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t move. You’ll wake him,” Nandor whispers. “One night in the fort won’t kill you, Guillermo. Colin and I manage it biweekly at minimum. I can assure you it’s quite comfortable. So please.” Seeming to notice that he’s still gripping Guillermo, he snatches his hand back. “Er, for Colin’s sake.”

Guillermo’s skin prickles. The ghost of a giant handprint is branded into his shoulder. He settles back onto his side, facing Nandor. 

Colin stirs in his sleep. He rolls over, curling up into Nandor like a cat.

Nandor soothingly pats the child’s curly blond mop of hair.

“Thank you,” Guillermo says without thinking.

Nandor’s brow furrows. “For what?”

Guillermo studies the Lego pieces on Colin’s pajama shirt, avoiding eye contact. “For being there for him. He’s my nephew and I…well, I haven’t been the best uncle to him. You, on the other hand. I think you could write the book on uncle-ing.”

It’s obvious, the moment that those words sink into Nandor’s brain. He stops patting Colin’s hair and freezes solid from head to toe. It looks like he’s forgotten how to blink.

“No, no. Come on. Don’t do that,” Guillermo groans. “Seriously. Still? We’re still doing this?”

Nandor is completely stoic. “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

Guillermo almost throws his hands up in the air, but thinks better of it when he remembers the sleeping child between them. “I — ugh. That!” he whispers. “That thing you always do. Can’t we just.” He stops. Sighs. Takes a breath. “Nevermind. Just forget I said anything.”

It feels like hours pass before Nandor starts to relax again. The stress eases out of his limbs, and his eyelids look like they weigh ten tons. 

“It was not easy when you left,” Nandor murmurs, almost like he’s talking in his sleep.

Guillermo doesn’t move. Heart thudding, he peeks at Nandor’s face from the corner of his eye.

Nandor is as impassive as a boulder. 

Frowning, Guillermo shifts his attention back to the movie.

Nandor’s whisper is barely audible above the sound of the television. “Of course, I am speaking of your family. In my objective opinion. As an outside observer. It was not easy for them when you left.”

Guillermo tamps down the disappointment that flares in his stomach. He should know better by now than to get his hopes up about a potential Nandor feelings talk.

“You see, Laszlo’s tongue becomes loose when he’s drunk,” Nandor continues.

Guillermo makes a face. “Disgusting, but ok.”

“Tch! Not that kind of loose. Well. Maybe a little bit that kind. But I was referring to his sharing of secrets.”

It’s strange to consider that there are many things Nandor knows about Laszlo that Guillermo doesn’t.

For as long as Guillermo has known him, Laszlo has always played his cards close to his chest. As a child, Guillermo often tried to eavesdrop through the vents whenever Laszlo would visit Nadja, in hopes of learning something about the man with the weird accent who never talked about where he came from. 

“I believe you were gone, eh, maybe one week when Laszlo and Colin moved in with Nadja,” Nandor says. “He showed up in a wretched state, knocking at the bunkhouse door with a fresh bottle of Seagram’s. We finished it. I barely helped.”

The silence stretches on for longer than Guillermo is comfortable with. But somehow, he musters up the self-control not to fill it for the sake of filling it.

“I asked Laszlo, ‘Why the sudden shift? For twenty years, you’ve been content with your living arrangements, and then out of the blue you move in with her.’ Do you wish to know what he said?”

A giant lump has settled in Guillermo’s throat. He swallows around it. Nods. 

He already knows the answer. 

It looms over him like a grand piano, suspended by a fraying thread.

Nandor slices clean through the thread without preamble. 

“He said he’s never seen Nadja so lost as when you left,” Nandor says. “He did not even think twice; he packed up his things, packed up little Colin, and made Nadja his number one priority.”

There’s a yearning edge to Nandor’s voice now that wasn’t there before.

Guillermo closes his eyes. It’s all he can do to keep the feelings from bubbling up, to spill out in the form of excuses and explanations and reassurances for himself that no, he didn’t do that to Nadja.

Couldn’t have. 

He was only doing what needed to be done for his own sake. 

Guillermo opens his mouth to defend himself, but all he says is, “I’m glad Laszlo had you to talk to. Has you.”

Nandor chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Laszlo would sooner talk to a fencepost, but a fencepost cannot drink with him. I know where I stand. I’m not under impressions that I am anyone special to him.”

Guillermo’s stomach clenches. It doesn’t take a genius to pick up on what Nandor has left unsaid: that he’s accepted the fact that he is not someone special to anyone . 

The fierce desire to soothe burns on Guillermo’s tongue. To cover up and distract from that ache he knows is festering just beneath Nandor’s skin. But he doesn’t have the slightest clue how to speak those words, or at least how to convey the meaning without chasing Nandor away.

“Laszlo told me something else also. I don’t think he meant to say it, but the booze and the guilt mixed together and then…” Nandor trails off. “He apologized to me.” 

Guillermo stares dead ahead and does not move a muscle. 

“What for?” he whispers.

Nandor sighs. “For sending you away to England.”

Guillermo tries — he tries so damn hard — to outrun the tidal wave of memories that swamps him. 

But try as he might, the powerful and frigid water crashes over his head and knocks him off his feet. It shoves him to the slimy bottom of the ocean, burying his shoulders in the mud as seaweed clings to his wrists and ankles.

Shapes move in the water. Faces and scenes, projected onto the curtain of darkness. 

The distant sound of Laszlo’s knuckles rapping on the door to Guillermo’s bedroom, in another place and time, echoes all around him. Guillermo closes his eyes against the memory, but it still plays on the backs of his eyelids.

Laszlo knocked again. “Gizmo?”

Guillermo had choked on a shaky breath. He’d wiped frantically at his eyes and cheeks before answering the door. “What do you want?” he rasped.

Laszlo had peered around Guillermo’s room. The wood paneled walls and rickety bookcase were all bare. Cardboard boxes were scattered around the floor, some taped up while others were stuffed to the brim with personal effects. 

Guillermo’s suitcase was open on the bed, filled with neatly-folded clothes.

“I thought as much,” Laszlo had murmured. “Have any idea where you’re off to, lad?”

Guillermo had resisted the urge to sniffle, unwilling to completely fall apart in front of Laszlo of all people. He shook his head. “Gonna figure that out later. I’ve got a motel room in Billings for the night, at least,” he’d said. “I just need to get away. As fast as I possibly can.”

The floorboards above them had creaked. Someone was pacing around in the bunkhouse loft.

Laszlo had chewed on his next words. “I’m aware,” he’d said.

“Don’t try and stop me. Please.”

“I can assure you, I’m not.” Laszlo had reached into the pocket of his peacoat. “In fact, you may find me more supportive than most.” He’d held out an envelope. Written on it in stuffy cursive were the words Gizmo - London .

The memory evaporates. 

Guillermo surfaces from the water, trying not to gasp for air. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet that he’s not even sure Nandor can hear him. 

“Laszlo didn’t send me away,” Guillermo whispers.

“I know that,” Nandor says. “I don’t blame him.”

“But you blame me.”

“I blame —” Nandor stops. Opens his mouth, and then closes it. There’s a strange pressure to his expression; it’s like something’s trying to claw its way out of Nandor’s throat, but he’s fighting with every ounce of his being to keep it down.

It’s kind of unbearable to watch. Guillermo rolls over, turning his back to Nandor and pulling the comforter over himself.

“Guillermo.” Nandor’s voice is suddenly thick.

Guillermo wants like nothing else to see what’s written on Nandor’s face, to find out once and for all what feelings he’s been carrying all this time.

But he can’t. 

Whatever he might find there, the possibility that it could shatter the careful narrative Guillermo has been weaving for more than a year is far too terrifying. He’s made his peace with all of this already.

Really, he has.

Guillermo leans against the door to the stables. He pulls up his email drafts for the fiftieth time that day, tapping on an unsent message called Re: Sabbatical.

Dear Mr. Evans,

So sorry for my delayed response. I am very chuffed that you reached out. Your email did indeed find me rather well. :)

Your reminder regarding the end of my sabbatical came at a marvelous time. The horse I have been rehabilitating is doing splendidly. I believe she will be fit to go home after her final assessment this week. I realize you did not ask, but it is too thrilling not to share.

Anywho. I am landing at Heathrow this weekend, and you can expect me back at work on Monday. Looking forward to meeting your new assistant — he sounds jolly good!

Cheers,

Guillermo de la Cruz

Janitorial Intern,

Nandemonai Art Gallery

P.S. We should go round down the pub for that fancy pint when I’m back. ;) 

Guillermo’s thumb hovers over the send button.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket instead.

Another cramp attacks his stomach. Had those scrambled eggs he’d eaten for breakfast gone off or something? Maybe he should have stolen one of Nandor’s protein muffins after all.

Speaking of which. Across the stable, Nandor is feeding one of said muffins to Neptune. She picks it cleanly from his palm, chewing contentedly. 

“You’re magnificent,” Nandor coos, petting her neck. “Would you like to go out in the paddock for a nice evening? I spotted a delicious looking patch of dandelions growing in the south corner. I think you and Magic Lamp would enjoy eating them very much. But you’ll need to be quick about it — Kalamáta is a dandelion hog, and Sergeant Frisky is known to goad her into eating as many as possible.”

Magic Lamp pokes her head over the half door of the stall, nickering as Guillermo approaches. Her coat looks shiny and clean. There’s even a braid in her mane that wasn’t there before, plaited with a sparkly pink ribbon.

Guillermo keeps his fond smile to himself. “Hey, pretty girl,” he greets her, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. “Looking forward to heading home soon, aren’t you?”

Nandor draws back from Neptune. He pulls his hands close to his body, worrying at the pad of his thumb with a fingernail. He nods curtly. “Guillermo.”

Meeting Nandor’s eyes right now is like playing tag, and Guillermo’s losing. Badly. 

“Um. Is everything ok?” Guillermo asks. “Sorry, I know I haven’t really been around the past few days. I’ve been hanging out with Derek and stuff. I really didn’t mean to make you feel like I’ve been avoiding you or anything it’s really just —”

Nandor firmly cuts him off. “That’s not necessary, thank you. I merely wished to inform you that I’m quite busy today with my chores. I don’t have time for chit chat.”

“Oh. Ok. Cool, me too,” Guillermo says, taken aback.

Without another word, Nandor strides off in the direction of the stable’s tack room. He disappears around the corner in a blur of denim and flannel.

The discomfort in Guillermo’s stomach has become a full-on roiling vortex. 

What the fuck was that about?

He’d told Nandor the truth. He really has been hanging out with Derek a lot for the past couple of days, and just hasn’t had time to check in.

Guillermo didn’t mention, of course, that his upcoming flight to London is putting significant pressure on the need to spend as much time with Derek as possible this week. But who could blame him for that omission?

Ding.

Guillermo reaches for his phone.

[The Addams Family🕷️⚰️]

Laszlo: Gizmo you are needed forthwith.

Guillermo: where? and why

Colin: hI uNcLe gUiLLeRmO 💩

Laszlo: Boy - remember what we discussed.

Colin: 🤐

Guillermo: colin when did you get a phone?

Laszlo: He’s using his Apple Pad.

Colin: Haha I just thought of “pad pineapple apple pad”. Thats pretty funny

Nadja: Guillermo get your arse over here now

Guillermo: again, where?

Nadja: The bloody house obviously 

Guillermo: not obvious

Guillermo: coming

Guillermo resists the urge to peek into the tack room on his way out of the stables. If Nandor wants to be snooty and avoidant today, then so be it.

Despite the other man’s stormy mood, it’s an absolutely gorgeous day outside. Bright rays of summer sun stretch across the yard. The trees and grass have drunk their fill after last night’s fresh rain, taking on a vivid emerald green hue.

Guillermo takes the porch steps two at a time, the way he used to when he was a kid. The weather-beaten wood creaks under his feet. He pulls open the screen door and enters the kitchen.

To his surprise, the place seems deserted.

“Hello?” Guillermo calls out. 

There’s no sign of anyone in the living room. No one in Nadja’s office, either.

Guillermo ventures to the second floor, the staircase groaning under his steps.

Scuffle, scuffle.

He stops.

Sounds are coming from the client parlor at the end of the hall. 

“Nadja?” Guillermo calls again.

He hesitates in front of the door. 

Gingerly, he eases it open.

“Surprise!”

A torrent of colorful bits of paper blast Guillermo directly in the face. He coughs and sputters, trying to eject a mouthful of confetti. 

At first, all he sees are jazz hands and a room filled to the brim with balloons. When his brain stops rattling around, he realizes those jazz hands are attached to Nadja and Laszlo. 

Colin is on one knee between them, clad in a sharp little tuxedo and holding an empty ice cream pail that in all likelihood once contained confetti. 

A homemade banner hangs on the wall behind them that reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUILLERMO!

“O-oh my god?” Guillermo says. 

Colin drops the pail and rushes in for a hug. “Do you like it?!”

“This is…wow.” Guillermo pulls Colin snug against him. “Thanks, guys. It’s not my birthday for another twelve days, though.”

“Exactly!” Nadja declares. “This was the only way we could be absolutely sure you would be very, very surprised. So, were you very, very surprised?”

Colin looks up at Guillermo with shining, hopeful eyes.

Guillermo’s words stick to the roof of his mouth. It’s hard to think of what to say when it feels like someone’s squeezing his heart with a vice grip.

“Hang on!” Nadja says. “Where the fucking shit is Nandor?! He was supposed to be here at six sharp.”

The champagne bubbles fizzing in Guillermo’s chest go flat. 

“Oh. Last I saw him, he was in the stables,” Guillermo says. “I doubt he’s going to show. He was in a super pissy mood.”

Nadja waves him off. “Bah! When isn’t he?” 

She strides over to the table behind them, drawing Guillermo’s attention to —

Wait.

Are those all of his favorite foods? Chilaquiles, fried chicken, meze with olives and tirokafteri. Even tamales! 

Next to the savory spread is an even more mouthwatering assortment of desserts. A tray of tiramisu is nestled between a tower of honey glazed donuts and Laszlo’s famous baklava. And at the end of the table: a gigantic 3-tiered chocolate cake, piped with yellow frosting flowers.

“A pity, though. Why’d I go to the trouble of learning to make noon khamei for the man if he can’t even be fucked to show up?” Laszlo says.

“Perhaps he’ll still show,” Nadja reassures him. “But I sure as shit will not be waiting up for him. Colin? Are you ready, my little deviled egg?”

Colin leaps into action. He grabs his top hat from Nadja’s desk, spinning it with a flourish before placing it on his head. “Ready!”

Laszlo pulls out a retro-looking boombox. He sets it on the floor, pressing the analog PLAY button with a satisfying click .

Staccato piano notes drift out of the old speakers.

Colin plants his feet. His shoulders shrug up and down to the beat, and he begins to sway back and forth. 

“This is ‘When He Sees Me’ from the Broadway musical Waitress, lyrics by Sara Bareilles and originally performed by Kimiko Glenn,” Colin announces. “I stick with real things, usually facts and figures —”

Colin’s pleasant voice is a salve on Guillermo’s troubled mind. He’s barely listening to the lyrics, instead allowing the melody to lull him into a state of contentment. Even his stomach ache seems to settle a bit.

Colin steps up, crosses over, backwards and to the side. He finishes it with a kick ball change, twirling before looping back to the beginning.

Guillermo claps, letting pride soak through him and settle in his bones. He can’t get over how much the kid’s footwork has improved since last year.

A year. So much can change in a year. It’s both an eternity, and yet no time at all.

Guillermo’s thoughts begin to drift to the comforting glide of the song. A memory laps at the shores of his mind, the swell of it only barely washing over his feet.

The fight had been inevitable. Had Guillermo grinned and bore what was wrong, or had Nandor kept his biting dismissals to himself — it wouldn’t have mattered. They were objects in space, hurtling towards a fiery collision. There was nothing anyone could have done to stop it.

Nandor’s bare chest had felt alien under Guillermo’s hands as he shoved, shoved, shoved. There had been a ragged hole next to Guillermo’s sternum. Words kept leaking out of it, spilling out onto Nandor’s bed and dripping down onto the old floorboards. 

“I’m never going to mean anything to you. Am I? Good enough to fuck, but then afterwards, it’s back to acting like you don’t give a shit!” Guillermo had shouted. “Is this all there is? Me, dangling on the end of your fishing line?” Shove. “Say something!”

Nandor wouldn’t shove back, and that had made red spill across Guillermo’s vision and fury bubble inside him. Nandor’s indifference felt a million times more painful than his fist would have felt connecting with Guillermo’s jaw, making him spit teeth out onto the floor. 

When Nandor had finally leveled his gaze at Guillermo, it was frosty. “What would you have me say?”

“Something! Anything! Anything would be better than this…this limbo. Every time I think you’re starting to let me in, you push me away ten times harder,” Guillermo had hissed.

Nandor’s white-knuckled fingers had tightened in the sheets. To Guillermo, it had always registered as anger. Through the refraction of his memories, though, it looks like something else. 

Fear.

Colin’s voice rings through Guillermo’s mind, out of place and time. “What if when he sees me, what if he doesn't like it? What if he runs the other way and I can't hide from it?”

“Stop.” Nandor’s voice had sounded as ragged as Guillermo felt. “Stop it. Right now. I am not having this conversation.” He’d scrambled out of bed, backing away toward the window.

“If not now, then when? You keep saying we’ll talk about it but we never do. I’m so fucking tired, Nandor. You’re completely hot and cold. Every second I spend with you makes me feel like I’m going crazy.”

Nandor looked like Guillermo had open-palm slapped him. “If I am so terrible, Guillermo, then why are you here?”

“In your bed?” Guillermo had challenged.

“In my life,” Nandor had growled back.

“If when he knows me, he's only disappointed? What if I give myself away, to only get it given back? I couldn’t live with that,” Colin sings.

“You were the one who pried into it, and now you are finding it unsuitable. Perhaps you’ve made a grave mistake. That is not my fault, it’s yours,” Nandor had said.

When Guillermo had swallowed, it felt like eating broken glass. “I take it back. I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I want to get the fuck out of here and never come back,” he’d whispered.

Nandor had turned to stare out the window. His face was shadowed, expression unreadable. He’d flicked a hand toward the stairs. “Then you should.”

The memory abruptly shatters as heavy bootsteps thud down the hall.

Guillermo turns just in time to see Nandor poke his head into the room.

Nandor meets Guillermo’s eye for half a second, then looks away. He tries shuffling in as nonchalantly as possible — but trips over Laszlo’s boombox and sends it flying across the room. “Fucking! Shit.”

The music cuts out. Colin, ever the professional, doesn’t skip a beat. He takes a knee, throwing his hands up in the air in a tight V for a dramatic finish. “Someone who when he sees me, wants to again!”

Laszlo falls over himself to applaud. “Bravo, lad! You nailed it, even with that distraction,” he says, throwing a side eye in Nandor’s direction. “There best not be any damage to my boombox.”

Nandor’s lips pull back in a sheepish grimace. “Sorry.”

Guillermo ignores him, turning back to give Colin a big hug. “That was awesome, buddy! You did such a great job. Thank you.”

“Did you like it? It’s basically the hardest choreography I’ve ever done!”

“I loved it,” Guillermo says. “Promise you’ll show me the steps sometime?”

Downstairs, Guillermo helps Nadja with the dishes. Laszlo puts Colin to bed, returning to join Nandor at the kitchen table to pack up leftover food under the warm glow of the ceiling light.

As Guillermo sets a plate down on the drying rack, Nandor clears his throat. “I have some news to share with everyone,” he says. His expression is guarded.

An uneasy prickle scampers across the back of Guillermo’s neck.

Nadja crosses her arms. “Oh, so no household meeting then? I thought that was the proper protocols, Mr. Protocols.”

Nandor gestures around the room. “Clearly we are all here. So it is already a house meeting. I am merely adding an item to the agenda.”

“Very well. Proceed, old chap,” Laszlo says. He delicately places leftover noon khamei in a tupperware container and slides it over to Nandor.

Nandor catches the tupperware before it can slide off the table. He plays absently with the lid for a moment, nodding to himself. “Okay then. Everyone — I am going on a trip.”

Guillermo lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A trip. That’s not so bad.

Nadja narrows her eyes, but her posture is playful. “I don’t recall approving time off for your vacations. But I’ll allow it, because I am a very generous boss. Where are you traveling?”

“A variety of places,” Nandor says. “I have never been to Delaware. So I am planning to be starting there. I will be backpacking across the United States of America, and then on through Canada. From there I will travel through Europe and into Asia.”

Nadja’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is sounding like quite the itinerary, Nandor. You do realize you only have three weeks of paid vacations?”

Nandor avoids making direct eye contact with her. He’s worrying his thumbnail so hard that Guillermo’s afraid he’ll draw blood. “There is a part two to my news. I will not be returning to Wildflower Creek.”

Guillermo’s stomach completely bottoms out. He grabs onto the counter to keep himself steady. “Wh-what?”

Nandor says something in reply, but Guillermo can’t hear him over the sudden roar of his own pulse in his ears.

Laszlo’s jaw hangs open. “What the fuck are you talking about, silly twat? You can’t leave.”

“Exactly! You’re talking absolutely stupid shitting nonsense right now, Nandor,” Nadja says, gesturing wildly. “And you plan to do this all alone? Are you fucking mad?”

“Not alone. Gail will be joining me on my travels.”

All of the color drains from Nadja’s face. She collapses into one of the kitchen chairs, catching her forehead in one of her hands. “Ise delia gharos. You cannot do this. And especially not with Gail!”

Nandor quickly shifts from defensive to downright indignant. “Why fucking not? This is a family business, and I am not family. I am free to do whatever I wish, whenever I wish! Is that not my right as an employee?”

Nadja levels with him. “Nandor. My little pebble brained man. What the fuck are you saying to me? You are family. What makes you think you aren’t family?”

In an instant, Nandor’s face goes stony. “Fuck it. I do not know why I am even entertaining this conversation. Whether I go or stay, what difference does it make to you all?”

“It makes all the bloody difference,” Laszlo insists. Guillermo has never witnessed him speak so passionately in his life.

“Especially if you’re planning on running off with Gail.” Nadja spits out her name like it’s poison. “That woman is using you! I’ve been trying so fucking hard for months to keep you from getting hurt. Why do you think I keep trying to pull her aside for a talk? So we can braid our bloody hair?”

Nandor’s jaw clenches hard. “You are wrong. And even if you weren’t, at least with Gail I am never the odd one out. Never the extra little dangly bit hanging off of the group like I am with you all.”

Laszlo slowly shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“You know it is true. Who am I here?” Nandor says. “Let’s see, Nadja: there’s you, your husband, his son, your brother. And who? Me, the ranch hand? That’s not a family, it is a family and their staff. I’ve been fooling myself into thinking it was more. But I won’t be left holding the bag this time like some sort of loser.”

Nadja’s hands have started to tremble. “Begging is beneath me. But I am asking you as someone who very much gives a lot of shits about you: do not do this.”

“I have already made up my mind, thank you.”

“Guillermo! Say something, please!” Nadja cries.

All eyes fall on him.

Guillermo swallows thickly. Any hope he’s had of leaving a happy and thriving Wildflower Creek behind is teetering on the edge of collapse. “Nandor, don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty? I mean, this is your home. You can’t just leave forever.”

Nandor glares at Guillermo with such ferocity that he almost takes a step back. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Guillermo.”

Hurt flares in Guillermo’s chest, like Nandor just jabbed a finger into a deep, purplish bruise. “Is that what this is about? An insane attempt to give me a taste of my own medicine or something?”

“No! Not everything is about you, you know. And if I was doing that, you would most certainly deserve it.”

Guillermo grits his teeth. “You're so fucking selfish. Fuck everyone else's feelings, right? Yours are the only feelings that matter, right? Right?” 

Nandor’s mouth snaps closed. His eyes dart away, then back. “If you have a problem with me prioritizing my mental health, then —”

“Well, maybe it fucks with our mental health when you treat us like your little playthings!” Guillermo snarls.

“Be a little more dramatic, why don’t you?” Nandor says, rolling his eyes.

Guillermo sees red. “Dramatic? How’s this for dramatic: I'm flying back to London on Saturday. For good. Two can play at your dumb little game.”

A heartbeat passes. 

Two heartbeats.

No one breathes.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Nandor’s face has gone pale. “You…I thought…”

Guillermo pulse throbs. He’s either going to pass out or throw up. Either would be preferable than spending even one more second in this room. “This was always temporary,” Guillermo says flatly.

“Enough!”

Nadja slams her hands on the table, crashing to her feet.

“My darling —” Laszlo says.

Before he can finish, she’s already fled the room.

Blinking away the sting of tears, Guillermo takes off in the opposite direction. He barges out the front door. Stumbles down the porch steps. Nearly slips on the dewy grass.

He yanks his cell phone out of his pocket.

Ring. Ring.

The night’s humid air sticks to Guillermo’s lungs. He tries in vain to regulate his breathing. 

In.

Out. 

Come on. Please pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up —

Click.  

“Hello?”

“...Hey. It’s me,” Guillermo says.

“Guillermo? Hey, dude. What’s up?” Derek’s voice is groggy on the other end of the line. “Kinda late to be calling. Everything ok?”

“Um.” Guillermo hates how watery his own voice sounds. “Meet me somewhere? Something happened.”

Chapter Text

HORSE SENSE

Column by: Toby Daltry

Hey there, friends. This week, I’d like for us to cover what can be a somewhat sensitive topic: rehoming a horse.

Sometimes, despite our best intentions, a positive relationship with our horses is just not going to pan out. You’ve tried everything; you’ve given them lots of attention, made sure they had the best food and shelter money can buy, and still, you just aren’t clicking.

I’m gonna be blunt. At this stage, it’s time to cut our losses. The more attached you get, the more it’s gonna hurt when you have to let go.

[Continued on page 8]

The Sassy Cat is uncharacteristically empty, even for a weekday night. 

The only other soul in the room apart from Derek and Guillermo appears to be The Guide, who is bent over the counter with her nose buried in an old and yellowing paperback novel. 

Despite the late hour, she’d taken one look at Guillermo’s sorry state and fired up the coffee machine.

Guillermo brings the chipped mug to his lips and sips deeply. It’s slightly sour, but at least it’s hot.

Country music — old stuff, the kind he remembers hearing on the radio growing up — crackles over the speakers above. All the better to drown out his own thoughts with.

Pleather creaks as Derek leans back in the booth seat. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, warming his hands on the mug. It may be the dead of summer, but there’s a chill in the air that’s impossible to shake. “So, she just ran off? Did she say anything else?’

Guillermo shakes his head. “I left as soon as she did, and then I called you. I haven’t said a word to any of them since then. Not Laszlo. Definitely not Nandor.”

“Damn. I hope Nadja’s ok,” Derek says, sipping his drink.

Guillermo frowns. “Why wouldn’t she be? She’s just mad that Nandor wasn’t doing what she wanted. It’s Nadja’s way or the highway, after all.”

Derek studies him.

Guillermo can’t help but squirm a little. 

It’s a weird feeling to be on the receiving end of that look. People often mistake Derek’s good naturedness for naivety. But the truth is, he’s always had the uncanny ability to see through bullshit.

Guillermo swirls his coffee, watching the sludgy liquid form a little steaming vortex. It’s a reprieve from Derek’s relentless eye contact.

“Is that what you think she’s upset about?” Derek asks. His tone is easy. Patient.

Something bitter rises in Guillermo’s throat. He swallows it down. “I know it is.”

Derek leans back, crossing his arms. “Huh. Ok.”

Guillermo narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What’s with the school counselor routine?”

Derek laughs. “Relax, man. I’m just trying to get the full picture. Maybe we need to back up, so I can understand better?

The coffee’s astringent aftertaste clings to Guillermo’s mouth. It makes him want to gag.

“So. About last year,” Derek ventures.

“What about it?” Guillermo snaps.

“Jeez, can you chill? You don’t have to jump down my throat.”

Guillermo presses his lips together.

“Based on what you told me, your decision to move away was mostly because of Nandor,” Derek says. “But your decision to stay away had more to do with Nadja.”

Guillermo glowers down at his coffee. “She made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t value or appreciate me. If she did, she would’ve asked me to come home a long time ago. But when her business is on the line and she’s drowning, oh sure, suddenly now I’m important?” A humorless chuckle rises out of Guillermo’s chest. “At least Nandor was direct about how little I matter.”

Derek’s face softens. “You matter, dude. You’re important.”

Guillermo wants to let his friend’s words thaw his heart. But he’s just not sure if he can. He shakes his head. “No. You aren’t getting it. You’re on the outside, Derek. You don’t know what it’s been like for me. You don’t know what it feels like to be made to feel like you don’t matter.”

“Yes I do!”

Derek says it like a thunderclap, making Guillermo jump.

The Guide looks up from her book.

Grimacing, Derek leans in and lowers his voice. “Yes, I do.”

“What are you talking about?” Guillermo says, frowning.

“Look, I’m gonna be super honest. It’s not like you show me a lot of respect, Guillermo.”

Shock lurches in the pit of Guillermo’s stomach. 

“Derek —”

Derek holds up a hand. “Let me finish. Sometimes you really make me feel undervalued. Like that one night a few weeks ago, when you just ran out of the bar? I get it, it was surprising to see Nandor after all this time, but you literally left me to pick up the check. That sucked.”

Guillermo grapples with the urge to cover his face with his hands. He opts to stare down at his feet instead.

“And like! When I was over at your place to play Charmin’ Farmin’, you literally left in the middle of our game to go confront Nandor or whatever. You ended up having a freaking fistfight on the front lawn, and I had to just awkwardly leave. What the hell was that?”

“But I —”

“And yeah, I was happy for you when you moved to England. I was proud of you for taking charge of your own destiny and putting yourself first,” Derek says. “But dude. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Oh, god.

Derek’s right.

He’s right, isn’t he?

Guillermo looks up to meet Derek’s accusatory gaze. Derek, who definitely thinks Guillermo would leave him in a burning building if there was something more interesting going on outside.

“So yeah, I do know what it’s like to feel chronically unappreciated,” Derek says. “And that’s why, in my opinion, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here with your family. At least not anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” Guillermo whispers.

Derek stares him down. “Do you want my honest assessment? Like really, really honest?”

Ignoring the fear that flickers in his gut, Guillermo nods jerkily.

“Ok, well, here goes,” Derek says. “For starters, there’s the fact that Nadja has given you a ton of new, permanent authority and responsibilities on the ranch with your new position. She’s put you in charge of a case that’ll decide the future of Wildflower Creek, for crying out loud. That’s just not something she would do if she didn’t value your skills.”

Derek pauses. When he’s apparently satisfied that Guillermo isn’t going to sprint out of the Sassy Cat for the second time that month, he continues.

“And, you literally just finished telling me how Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin planned you a surprise birthday party, made you all your favorite foods, and even performed a freaking song and dance number in your honor,” Derek says. “If they saw you as nothing more than a tool to get Nadja’s business out of the hole, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be doing any of that.”

Guillermo hesitates, before nodding his agreement.

“Don’t get me wrong, dude. All of the reasons you spent the past year in London? Complete freaking valid,” Derek says, his severe expression shifting into something more tender. “Nandor’s a way bigger guy than me, but if I was there that night I’d have given him a piece of my mind.”

A shocked laugh bubbles out of Guillermo. “Please don’t try it. I like you non-pretzel shaped.”

Derek smiles. “No faith in me, I see,” he teases.

“Oh, I have immense faith in you,” Guillermo says. “Just maybe not your ability to win fights against guys twice your size.”

“Seriously, though. You were completely correct to leave, and in my opinion, completely correct to stay away for as long as you did,” Derek says.

Guillermo nods. “Something had to change in that situation.”

Derek reaches across the table to take Guillermo by the shoulders. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying. Look around you, Guillermo. Look at the domino effect you had by taking things into your own hands. Everything’s different now. You did that.”

“I…did?” Guillermo asks.

“Yes. Like you said. Something had to change in that situation — and you did, dude. You changed everything,” Derek says.

With Derek’s hands burning into his skin, Guillermo considers that.

All this time. All this fucking time. He’s been so sure — so positively certain — that the one thing about Wildflower Creek he can count on is that nothing ever fucking changes. That the people he thought he’d left behind were static. Totally frozen in their ways, forever. That the life he craves will never come to pass so long as he’s stuck here with them in their wet concrete lives.

But Derek’s right. Things are nothing like the way he left them 14 months ago. 

Guillermo has changed.

“You don’t have to leave, Guillermo. You already have what you’re looking for. I promise,” Derek says.

Guillermo thinks about his shitty little apartment in London. About his shitty little job cleaning up strange fluids from the gallery bathroom floor. About Mr. Evans and his shitty little friends, quizzing him on art history factoids he’s never heard of and has no desire to think twice about.

He thinks about Nadja, and the stricken look on her face when he’d declared he was leaving again. A missile intended for Nandor that had landed wildly off target.

Guillermo’s mouth opens and closes as he tamps down excuses, deflections, everything that would protect him from this feeling. “I think I really fucked up. On a lot of levels, actually,” he admits. 

He beats all of it back, and lets honesty rise in its place. 

“I’m sorry, Derek. Truly,” Guillermo says. “Wow. Um. It definitely shouldn’t have taken you pointing it out for me to clue in that I need to be a much better friend to you. I will be, starting right now.”

Derek smiles softly. “Thanks for saying that, dude. I forgive you. We’re still pals.”

Guillermo is quickly pulled into a clumsy hug over the table. He buries his fingers in Derek’s baggy shirt, tugging him close. “I missed you, you know. While I was gone.”

“Me too. And I’m really psyched not to be on a seven-hour time difference anymore.”

Guillermo snorts. 

They pull away, each sitting back down in the booth.

A grimace pulls at Guillermo’s face. “I really, really, need to apologize to Nadja. I was so dead set on throwing Nandor’s little stunt back in his face, I didn’t even think about whether it would hurt her or not.”

Derek nods, but he looks far away. Gullermo can see the wheels turning in his brain.

“What are you thinking about?” Guillermo asks.

Derek scratches his jaw absently. “Ok, hear me out. It might be easy to go, hey, Nandor’s an emotionally stunted ass who gets a kick out of causing problems. But I think there’s got to be more to it this time.”

An uneasy feeling prods at the back of Guillermo’s brain. “What makes you say that?”

“It just doesn’t make sense. Nobody randomly drops their entire life to backpack around the world. It seems like a pretty obvious cry for help. Don’t you think?”

“What? You mean, like, you think Nandor’s in crisis?” Guillermo says. 

There isn’t a single part of Guillermo that wants to believe what Derek is saying. But honestly, who the fuck is he to ignore his friend’s intuition when it had just been proven so totally and completely correct?

Derek nods. “I could be wrong. But this is one of those things where erring on the side of caution is probably the best thing to do.”

Guillermo’s heart begins to pound as he stares out the window. Orange street lights illuminate the dark parking lot, but everything beyond it is cloaked in shadow. 

“You’re probably right,” Guillermo says. “First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna go check on him.”

Nandor’s cowboy boots are missing from their usual spot when Guillermo arrives home.

Guillermo isn’t particularly concerned about that; it’s not unusual for Nandor to get a head start on turning out the horses. He is, however, annoyed by it. This isn’t a conversation he feels like having in a barn.

The towering mountains to the east guard the property from the rising sun, casting indigo shadows across the yard. Morning dew soaks the hem of Guillermo’s jeans as he walks across the grass to the stables.

Guillermo swings open the door. “Nandor?”

Four equine heads poke over their half-doors to greet him. Kalamáta and Sergeant Frisky both swivel their ears toward him curiously, tails swishing. Magic Lamp shakes out her mane, nickering at Neptune.

Gullermo frowns. 

Glitterfoot’s stall is empty.

Did Nandor take her out for a ride?

Guillermo peeks around the corner to survey the tack room for a missing saddle. 

The room looks like the aftermath of a hurricane. Bridles and reins are scattered haphazardly across the floor. Glitterfoot’s usual saddle is gone, and Sergeant Frisky’s has been knocked to the ground. Whoever was in here was in a rush.

The prickling at the back of Guillermo’s neck has returned.

A cry for help, Derek had said.

Guillermo wastes no further time. He tacks up Kalamáta, pulling the girth on her saddle tight as she nudges his pocket for a peppermint. “Sorry, girl. We don’t have time,” he says.

He steps into the saddle and swings onto Kalamata’s back. They trot out of the stables and into the yard, pausing when Guillermo pulls on the reins.

Which trail?

It’s possible that Nandor and Glitterfoot could have taken any of the several paths leading out of the yard. There’s the river trail, which Nandor is definitely familiar with, but something in Guillermo’s gut says that’s not it. If only he could remember which one was Nandor’s favorite.

“Kalamáta, where do you think Glitterfoot went?” he murmurs to the horse.

Kalamáta’s ears swivel toward his voice. 

Guillermo eases on the reins and nudges her forward. She seems to be pulling toward a break in the treeline behind the house. 

The woods trail. 

“Ok, I’m trusting you. Take me to Nandor, ok?” Guillermo says.

They take off at a quick trot.

Kalamáta weaves through the trees, kicking up pine needles as she skirts rocks and fallen logs. Apart from the occasional glimpse of golden sun through the leaves, morning light hasn’t penetrated through the forest yet. 

Even through the gloom, Guillermo can make out fresh hoofprints in the soft earth of the trail.

Twigs snap under Kalamáta’s feet. Guillermo listens for the sound of another rider on the trail. All he hears are the alarm calls of birds, crying out from treetops as they approach.

A family of squirrels watches them with interest, scampering out onto a low-hanging pine bough as they pass.

They’ve been following Glitterfoot’s hoofprints for some time now. Guillermo squints down from Kalamáta’s back, trying to assess how fast Nandor was going or what he might have been thinking. 

If he’s ok. 

The horseshoe marks in the earth are smeared, like Glitterfoot was moving very fast. Some even look smudged beyond recognition.

Wait.

Guillermo pulls the reins. Kalamáta slows to a stop. That hoofprint. It doesn’t look…

Guillermo’s stomach plummets. 

Fuck. Nonono. That's a paw print. A huge fucking paw print.

A frightened whinny splits the air. Ahead, Glitterfoot careens around the corner toward them.

Riderless.

Glitterfoot’s ears are pinned back flat, the whites of her eyes showing. She flies past Guillermo and Kalamáta.

Kalamáta squeals in fear, rearing up. 

Guillermo holds onto the reins for dear life. He’s inches from being flung off of the horse’s back, but he doesn’t have a spare neuron to care about his own safety.

Nandor’s in trouble. 

Nandor needs help.

Right fucking now.

The instant that Kalamáta’s front hooves touch the ground, Guillermo drives his heel urgently against her flank.

Kalamáta takes off like a shot. 

It’s impossible to tell where her hoofbeats begin and Guillermo’s pulse ends. His hands tremble around the reins. With ears straining, he catches a sound echoing through the trees. 

A voice. 

It’s shouting, but Guillermo can’t make it out. 

Every atom in his body is screaming at him to hurry. “Please, please, please.”

Kalamáta thunders up an incline in the path ahead, cresting the small hill. 

Guillermo looks down into the clearing. He zeroes in on the two figures below. Goosebumps erupt across his body before his brain even registers what he’s seeing.

Nandor is backed up against the treeline. He’s holding his hand out protectively. Guillermo can see his fingers shaking from several feet away.

Something’s crouched in front of Nandor.

A mountain lion.

“Nandor!” Guillermo screams. 

The predator startles. It snaps its head around, snarling at Guillermo.

Nandor’s gaze flashes to Guillermo for a split second, then back. “Guillermo, stay away,” Nandor warns.

Guillermo jumps off of Kalamáta back. She snorts in fear, backing away down the trail a safe distance away.

The lion’s ears fold flat against its head. Its hackles rise.

From what Guillermo can tell, it’s a juvenile. And on the skinnier side, too.

Sinewy muscles ripple under tawny fur. The animal growls low in its throat.

Young. Malnourished. But terribly, terribly dangerous.

All higher thought disappears from Guillermo’s mind. There’s only him, seven and a half feet of distance, and a creature that thinks it can hurt Nandor.

Guillermo’s hand snakes out. Fingers wrap around a sharp rock. He pulls his arm back. Cocks his wrist. Hurls the stone at the lion with every ounce of strength in his body.

The rock connects with the lion’s shoulder. It yowls, whirling on its attacker. 

“That’s right! Focus on me,” Guillermo yells. 

Bright yellow eyes lock on Guillermo. Its pupils dilate.

Guillermo takes a half step back. His heel catches on a tree root. An instant later, his ass hits the cold ground.

Something jabs into his hip. He reaches down, feeling for it. He touches something sharp. A splintered branch.

The lion snarls. It explodes forward, claws outstretched.

“Guillermo!” Nandor shouts.

Guillermo doesn’t think. His body moves on its own accord. He kicks out, driving up into the lion’s stomach.

The lion lands a few feet away. It leans on its side, temporarily winded. 

Guillermo grabs the splintered branch and scrambles to his feet. He wields it like a dagger, pointing the sharp end directly at the lion. He circles the animal as it scrambles into a crouch. “Nandor, get behind me,” he orders.

The lion isn’t watching Guillermo, he realizes. Its eyes are tracking Nandor’s movements. 

The predator’s gaze darts to the side, like it’s thinking about skirting Guillermo to get to its prey. 

It presses itself low to the ground. 

Its muscles coil.

Guillermo lunges forward in a fakeout, jabbing with his makeshift spear. “Get the fuck back! You can’t have him!” he shouts.

The lion shrinks back. It hisses, baring its gleaming white fangs. 

“Leave him the fuck alone! Get out of here! NOW!” Guillermo screams. He lunges again, swiping at the animal like a berserker.

The animal takes several retreating steps backward. It flattens its ears, looking back and forth between the treeline and Guillermo’s weapon.

Guillermo raises the stick, as if to strike.

In a flash of tawny fur, the lion turns tail and flees through the undergrowth.

Thump-thump. 

Thump-thump.

Guillermo’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

He gasps for breath, fingers squeezing tight around the stick. There’s a ringing sound in his ears. His hip aches; he’s definitely going to have a tree branch-shaped bruise there tomorrow.

But there’s no time to think about any of that right now.

Guillermo whirls around. “Are you hurt?” he presses.

Nandor shakes his head. He’s still trying to catch his own breath. “Not hurt,” he pants. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m ok.” Guillermo doesn’t tell Nandor about the bruise budding just below his hip bone. It feels completely trivial.

But then again, so does everything else right now. 

Something’s flooding through Gullermo’s veins that’s making everything around him seem insignificant, save for the man standing — safe, thank Jesus — before him.

A whinny rings out. Kalamáta steps into view from behind the hill, ears pricked. A moment later, Glitterfoot joins her. 

Guillermo breathes a shaky sigh of relief. They’re ok. Thank fucking god. He turns back to Nandor, prepared to make a comment to that effect.

It dies in his throat.

Nandor is shaking like a leaf. His skin is deathly pale, and his arms are wrapped tightly around himself like he’s afraid he might fall to pieces.

When he notices Guillermo’s eyes on him, he covers his face with one big hand. The other thrusts out in front of him, palm out, a barrier between their bodies. “Get out of here,” he hisses. “I came to be left alone. That is still my wish.”

Guillermo takes a step closer. “What if I don’t want to leave you alone? What if —” He swallows. Chuckles breathlessly. Maybe a little deliriously. “Ok, I don’t know if you saw me fight a wild animal just now? You can’t stop me if I want to be here.”

Another step. 

“I mean it. I’m too strong,” Guillermo says.

Nandor’s palm is now pressed flat to Guillermo’s sternum. 

The splintered stick falls to the ground, forgotten.

“Guillermo,” Nandor croaks.

Guillermo’s hair stands on end as he pulls Nandor’s trembling body close. His arms loop around the other man’s broad back. 

For a moment, it feels like Nandor is going to pull away.

But he doesn’t.

Tentatively, a bearded chin comes to rest in the crook of Guillermo’s shoulder.

“Why did you come looking for me?” Nandor mutters into Guillermo’s neck, breath ghosting against his skin. Nandor’s arms lock tighter around Guillermo’s middle.

Guillermo lets Nandor lean his full weight against him. “You needed me,” he says simply.

Nandor nods, curling even further into Guillermo. His words are so faint they’re nearly carried away by the wind. “I do.”

Nandor slams the front door to the bunkhouse behind them. Shoves Guillermo up against it. Smashes their lips together, together, together.

The doorknob pokes uncomfortably against Guillermo’s kidney, but he can’t even begin to care. A soft, warm, decadent mouth is slotted up against his and there’s nothing in this world that could distract him from that.

Nandor’s hand finds Guillermo’s hip as his head tilts at a heavenly angle. Their lips find resonance, sliding hot and sweet into deeper and deeper territory. Nandor’s fingers curl around Guillermo’s hipbone. He squeezes.

Guillermo gasps into his mouth. It’s part pleasure, part dull ache of a bruise yet to surface.

Nandor greedily swallows the sound. His tongue licks an electric stripe across the back of Guillermo’s teeth, chasing the taste. The scratch of his beard is a divine reminder that this is no dream, no fleeting nighttime fantasy conjured up in a dingy London flat at 3AM. This is real.

Guillermo buries both hands in the back of Nandor’s hair and crushes their faces together. Hard. The kiss goes clumsy, their noses mashing into each others’ cheeks and spit smearing down their chins.

It’s fucking beautiful.

Nandor’s fingers hook under the hem of Guillermo’s t-shirt and swiftly peel it off, abandoning it somewhere that neither of them care to make note of. He instantly returns to attacking Guillermo’s mouth like a starving man.

The old wooden door groans under the relentless force of Nandor’s body against his. It almost feels like he’s trying to put Guillermo directly through it. 

Guillermo imagines the wood splintering, coming apart under the intensity of emotion that is pouring through Nandor’s lips and into Guillermo’s very core.

The softest and sharpest parts of Nandor press against Guillermo all at once. The curve of his stomach. The edge of his teeth. The caress of his hand on Guillermo’s ass, while his knee is pushing between Guillermo’s legs, rigid and insistent. 

Nandor is the blade, and Guillermo is the grindstone, and together they’re sending a shower of sparks skittering across the floor of their tiny cabin.

Guillermo separates their mouths again to trail his lips, wet and swollen, across Nandor’s face to his ear. “Bed,” he whispers, luxuriating in the shudder that rips through Nandor’s body.

The world spins, and Guillermo is suddenly moving up the stairs to the loft. He doesn’t understand how he’s doing it while his feet aren’t touching the floor. That is, until he realizes the truth: he’s being carried. Guillermo couldn’t have held back the quivering gasp that spills from his lips if he wanted to.

When Guillermo’s back hits the mattress, he immediately pushes himself up on his elbows. The thought of missing even a millisecond of what’s happening in front of his eyes is enough to make him weep.

Nandor trails his fingers from the collar of his shirt down to his stomach. His eyes don’t leave Guillermo’s as he flicks open the buttons one by one. 

It would be embarrassing to moan at this, but that doesn’t make it any less of a struggle for Guillermo to bite it back.

Nandor shrugs out of the shirt, fabric caressing his chest as he lets it slide off of him onto the floor. He pauses at the end of the bed. His bronze skin is flushed and gleams with the faintest hint of sweat. 

The window is open, and the darkening sky outside promises a downpour of summer rain any second now.

Nandor’s Adam’s apple bobs. Guillermo still recalls how it feels against his tongue. He’s never wanted anything more in his life than to refresh his memory.

A cool, damp gust of air licks up Guillermo’s bare torso. He shivers. “C’mere,” Guillermo breathes. He reaches out, fingers brushing against the hair on Nandor’s arm. “Aren’t you cold?”

Nandor exhales through his nose. He nods. And then he’s crawling, crawling up the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He moves up Guillermo’s still-clothed legs, dragging a hand along his jeans. His fingers settle just above the waistband. 

Each point of contact is a spark of electricity. Guillermo’s lips ache spill the nonsense dripping steadily from his brain like a coffee machine. This is. It’s so. Nandor you’re just. It’s. You’re so. How do you —

A flash of lightning flickers from the window. A rumble of thunder joins it seconds later. The sound reverberates through the bunkhouse. Up the bed frame. Through their bones. 

Nandor squeezes Guillermo’s side. “It is close,” he murmurs into Guillermo’s neck.

Guillermo pushes Nandor up to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “What’s close?”

“The lightning. Only two Mississippis,” Nandor says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

A heartbeat passes. And then Guillermo’s laughing, real laughter, the kind that makes his stomach clench and the bed creak and tears spring to his eyes.

“What is so funny, Guillermo?” Nandor says. But he’s shaking with laughter too, color rushing to his cheeks. His crooked smile makes his eyes crinkle.

As the laughing fit passes, Guillermo presses a grin to Nandor’s collarbone that turns into a kiss. It’s feather-light, nothing more than the beat of butterfly wings against his skin.

The rain has started. It drums against the tin roof, the kind of rustic backdrop that seeps into your brain and makes you think crazy things like running away with people to live in the woods with your horses and your chessboard and a mechanical bull that you only fire up on special occasions —

Nandor’s mouth seals over Guillermo’s nipple with zero warning.

Guillermo yelps. Nandor’s firm, restraining hand on his side is the only thing keeping him from leaping off of the bed entirely.

An expert tongue swirls over that sensitive bud and coaxes it to attention.

Other parts of Guillermo are making it clear, however, that they don’t need nearly so much encouragement. His previously half-hard erection is now straining against the zipper of his jeans, the pressure making him a little lightheaded. “Ngh. Nandor,” Guillermo mewls.

Nandor releases his nipple, tugging on it a little with his teeth for good measure. His hand slides over Guillermo’s shoulder up to his neck. He lays his cheek on Guillermo’s chest, thumb stroking along the column of Guillermo’s throat. Amusement dances in the warm brown pools of his eyes. “Yes? What is it?”

Guillermo swallows, savoring the pad of Nandor’s thumb pressing deliciously against the muscles of his throat. “T-touch me?” It comes out like a question, despite his best efforts to bring the I’m-in-charge-here tone back to his voice.

“Aren’t I already touching you?”

“Nandor.” There’s the tone.

Nandor plants a wet, sucking kiss on Guillermo's sternum. “Of course I will touch you, my Guillermo. But there’s something I must do first,” he says.

The warm press of Nandor’s body is gone in an instant, leaving Guillermo shivering. Guillermo sits up to watch his shirtless companion walk across the room. 

An antique dresser takes up most of the far wall, covering what little real estate isn’t already taken up by equestrian ribbons and a faded Bob Seger poster. Nandor cocks his hip against the dresser. He flicks through his record collection, finger lingering on a couple before pulling one out.

“This record is called Nashville Skyline. It is by Robert Dylan,” Nandor says. He lays the record on the player with careful hands, daintily dropping the needle.

The sounds of two acoustic guitars, each plucking softly at their strings, fills the room.

“Robert Dylan traveled to Europe back in the 1960’s,” Nandor says. “Some people believe that he went there to find a woman, someone he had loved in America but who had left him. He wrote this song about her. Or some shit like that.”

“Oh,” is all Guillermo can say, so long as this lump remains lodged in his throat.

“This is the duet version. With John Cash. It is…” He pauses. “It is my favorite version.” It comes out fast and awkward, like he’s spitting out a secret.

“It’s nice. I like it.” Guillermo opens his arms, accepting Nandor back into bed with a warm embrace. 

Nandor buries his face in Guillermo’s chest and inhales. 

When the man in his arms swallows, tense and thick, Guillermo feels every ripple of muscle against his skin.

Nandor’s next words are nothing more than a muffled whisper. “I missed you.”

It feels like a fist to the diaphragm. Guillermo’s lungs spasm, forcing air out of his chest all at once. He tries to drag another gulp of oxygen in, but he can’t. He can only stare up at the wood slats of the ceiling. Breathless. Stunned.

Nandor raises his face from his hiding place. His lashes are glistening. There’s something reflected in his eyes that reminds Guillermo of a cornered animal. 

With shaking hands, Guillermo cups both of Nandor’s cheeks. He bends his neck to place firm, undeniable kisses along the line of Nandor’s beard. Their noses slide softly against each other. “Of course I missed you, Nandor. Of course I did,” Guillermo says. Then adds, cheekily, “I just don’t know how to quit you.”

“It is ‘I wish I knew how to quit you’, Guillermo.”

“Yeah. But I don’t.”

Nandor hums. “You remember when we watched that film together? On that rainy Sunday. It was really pouring. Kind of like today, actually.”

Thunder rumbles, as if echoing his words.

Guillermo pulls him in closer. He tucks his leg between Nandor’s, pressing their bodies fully together. Nandor’s bare, hairy chest is like a furnace against Guillermo’s own. Heat seems to seep out of his every pore. A personal fireplace, just for Guillermo.

Nandor tenses.

Guillermo pulls back, frowning. Fucking seriously? After all that, he’s seriously going to shy away and —

“Stay,” Nandor says in a sandpaper voice. He’s gone completely rigid in Guillermo’s arms. “Just. Do not go.”

“...Oh.”

The floodgates are open. Nandor speaks like he can’t hold the words back. “Do not go back to England. Please. Don’t leave, just stay here. Or. Or. We will go together. We can do all of the figuring out and arranging later just. Please, Guillermo. Please just say you will be staying with me.”

Guillermo crushes their lips together so forcefully he’s afraid he’ll come away bloody. Even still, it feels like a woefully inadequate way of expressing how he wants to unzip Nandor, pull out the man’s heart, and tuck it safely inside Guillermo’s own body. 

“Y-yes. Yes. I’m staying. You don’t have to worry,” Guillermo says. “But…”

“But?”

“But what about you? Your trip?” 

Gail?

Nandor’s gaze goes painfully soft. “As you said, this is my home. How could I leave?”

And then his lips and hands are everywhere. 

Guillermo gasps. His flagging erection returns with full force, straining against Nandor’s cupped palm. He wedges his own hands under Nandor’s to frantically undo his own fly.

Nandor makes quick work of Guillermo’s jeans. He pulls them all the way off, tossing them somewhere behind him. His lips descend on Guillermo’s ankle. He kisses his way up his calf, mouthing at a sensitive spot behind Guillermo’s knee that makes him whine.

A tremor runs through Guillermo’s body as Nandor nips playfully at the soft flesh of his inner thighs. “Nandor,” he breathes, skirting the edge of a moan.

Nandor pulls back. His pupils are blown wide and dark. He kneads handfuls of Guillermo’s ass, clearly reveling in its abundance. “Sit up for me?” Nandor says.

Guillermo wastes no time doing what he’s told. He leans ahead, shivering as Nandor moves to squeeze between him and the headboard. 

A steady hand guides Guillermo to rest his back against Nandor’s chest. Nandor’s legs, still clothed, bracket Guillermo’s body. The denim-covered swell of his cock presses insistently against Guillermo’s lower back.

Nandor runs greedy hands down Guillermo’s sides. Over his hips. Down the outsides of his thighs. He skims up, up, up to spread his fingers over Guillermo’s chest, letting the flesh spill out where his hands can’t cover. “I want all of this to be mine,” he murmurs in Guillermo’s ear.

Goosebumps shoot up across Guillermo’s entire body. “It already is,” he says.

Nandor noses at Guillermo’s ear. He swipes his tongue over the shell, smirking when Guillermo lets out a sharp whine. “Then allow me to rephrase, hm?” Nandor says. His hands settle on Guillermo’s inner thighs.

Guillermo erection jumps at the proximity. Nandor’s touch feels like it’s a million degrees, branding his skin wherever he goes.

“I want the world to know that all of this is mine,” Nandor says. He curls those scalding, diabolical fingers around Guillermo’s straining cock.

Guillermo’s moan borders on a scream. It feels like it’s ripped from somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere made of heat and lust and aching need.

Taking care to not let go of Guillermo’s cock, Nandor grabs one of Guillermo’s legs under the knee. He hoists it up, hooking it over his own denim-clad thigh. He does the same to Guillermo’s other leg. Cold air nips at Guillermo’s most sensitive areas as he’s spread wide in Nandor’s lap.

Nandor’s thumb flicks over the head of Guillermo’s cock, spreading the wetness around. He keeps the pressure just on this side of not enough as he starts to pump.

“Ah!” Guillermo’s thighs tremble, strung up on Nandor’s frame like laundry on a clotheshorse.

Nandor’s other hand dances over Guillermo’s balls. Cups them. Rolls them in his palm. Lets them drop. “Is this how you like it, my Guillermo?” he asks innocently.

Guillermo’s moan mingles with a breathy laugh. “Y-you know how I like it, you dick,” he retorts.

“I don’t know if that is true. Perhaps I have forgotten. It has been a lot minute.”

“A lot —” Guillermo fights through the quicksand in his brain to try and decipher that one. “A hot minute, you mean?

“No, Guillermo. A lot minute. Obviously, because there have been a lot of them.” Nandor punctuates by spitting on his own hand and twisting it over Guillermo’s cock on the downstroke.

Guillermo groans, nails scratching at Nandor’s forearms. He doesn’t have the spare brain cells available to argue at the moment.

Nandor’s lips are at his ear again. “Could you reach something for me, please? On the nightstand.” 

Guillermo spies the object Nandor’s referring to sitting on a stack of Ranch N’ Rider magazines. He leans over, grabbing it and handing it back over his shoulder. “Hurry,” he says.

Click. Squelch. Click.

Nandor sucks a kiss just below Guillermo’s ear as his trails newly-slick fingers down to his target. He circles Guillermo’s hole with a fingertip, teasing the rim and massaging just below his balls. “You’re spread open so nicely for me, aren’t you? My dear little thing.”

A ragged gasp escapes Guillermo, legs clenching around Nandor’s thighs. His hole twitches. “Ngh. Yes.”

Nandor nibbles at Guillermo’s neck. “I cannot wait to be inside of you again,” he whispers.

With a whimper, Guillermo throws his head back onto Nandor’s shoulder. “Then hurry the fuck up, oh my god,” he hisses.

“Yeesh. So impatient,” Nandor says. But he complies. He slips one lubed finger into Guillermo, and then two. He slowly pumps them into his tight channel, scissoring and twisting and making Guillermo writhe.

Guillermo grabs Nandor’s wrist. If he lets Nandor finger him for even a second longer, he’s going to turn into a pile of goo. “I don’t want to come like this. Roll over?” he says.

Nandor does that thing where he manhandles Guillermo and makes his head spin. Guillermo finds himself with his back pressed to the sheets, with Nandor hovering above him as he finally loses his jeans and underwear.

Released from its confines, Nandor’s unreasonably huge cock bobs in the air. Nandor pumps it lazily while Guillermo figures out how to manage the drool pooling in his mouth.

“H-hang on. Lemme just. Can I —” Guillermo scoots down the bed.

“Hey! What are you doing, Guillermo?”

Guillermo tugs on hairy thighs, pulling them forward until they’re straddling Guillermo’s shoulders. Nandor’s cock hangs directly in front of his face, heavy and hard. The head is glistening and flushed. 

“Is this ok?” Guillermo asks, letting his breath ghost over Nandor’s flesh.

Nandor shivers. “It is.”

Guillermo hooks an arm around one of Nandor’s thighs for leverage. With his other hand, he grips the base of Nandor’s erection and guides it to his lips. He plants a sultry kiss on the tip. 

A long moan, heady and sweet, drips from Nandor’s lips.

Flicking out his tongue, he tastes the salty fluid beading there. It’s like licking a live wire. A breathless shudder rips through Guillermo’s body. “You taste the same,” he says.

Nandor whines. His hips twitch forward, thrusting into Guillermo’s hand.

Guillermo smirks before swallowing as much as he can take. Plush, wet lips massage the achingly hard flesh, leaving a trail of spit on Nandor’s skin when his mouth pulls away.

Nandor tosses his head back, unleashing a broken groan. He shakes with the effort of holding back from bucking his hips. His cock twitches, resting heavy on Guillermo’s tongue. 

Reducing Nandor to a panting, quivering mess injects just enough courage into Guillermo’s bloodstream to sharpen his confidence. 

“Fuck me?” Guillermo asks.

The weight on his chest is gone in an instant. Nandor lubes up before settling between Guillermo’s legs. He bends one of Guillermo’s knees back.

And then he’s pushing in, in, in.

Guillermo arches his back against the bed and moans. Oh god. Oh god. That’s the stretch he remembers. Fuck this man and his massive fucking dick. “Nandor,” Guillermo whimpers. 

Nandor bottoms out. Curling forward, he mouths at Guillermo’s neck, sucking kisses along his jugular. “It’s okay. Breathe,” Nandor reminds him.

The pressure inside of Guillermo makes him want to pop like a balloon. He inhales. Exhales. Inhales. Exhales again. Finally, he nods. “Ok. You can move.”

Nandor’s hips snap forward. He drives into Guillermo’s body, sealing their lips together to trap his gasps and moans inside. 

The slapping sound of skin on skin fills the room. It drowns out the record player and the rain and Guillermo’s thoughts and every possible thing in the universe that could conceivably disturb them.

Nandor’s cock strikes exquisitely against a divine spot inside of Guillermo, over and over, making him cry out and dig his nails into a sweat-slick back. 

Nandor’s low groan vibrates throughout Guillermo’s body. “You feel glorious. Indescribably so,” Nandor purrs.

Guillermo’s lungs are filled with gunpowder. His blood is straight gasoline. With every thrust, Nandor is dangling a lit match just out of reach.

Just when Guillermo thinks he can’t take it anymore, Nandor wraps long fingers around his cock. Guillermo wails as that hand pumps him in time with each thrust.

Nandor’s pace shifts into something that borders on desperation. His breath shakes as he leans in close. His lips press to Guillermo’s neck in a kiss that feels almost…nervous? “Guillermo,” he whispers. “I…I have to tell you something.”

Guillermo whines in frustration. “Ngh. N-Now? Please, I’m so —”

“Just! Listen,” Nandor grunts. 

Lips brush against Guillermo’s ear. 

“I…I am in love with you.”

All of the oxygen goes out of the room.

Nandor’s hips stutter and stop. He raises his head, eyes wide with alarm. “What is wrong? Did I —”

Guillermo surges up. He captures Nandor’s lips in an all-consuming kiss. It’s tender and searing and sinful and everything. He pulls back, drinking in every micron of Nandor’s face. 

Sunlight streaks through the rain-soaked window, scattering drops of shadow across Nandor’s skin. Guillermo wants to trace them like constellations. He cups Nandor’s jaw, stroking a thumb over his beard like he’s the most cherished thing on this earth. 

“I love you. So fucking much.” Guillermo utters the words with so much force he feels the recoil push him into the mattress. 

A choked sound bubbles out of Nandor’s chest. He presses his lips almost timidly to Guillermo’s. At the same time, he starts up a deep, filthy grind of his hips. 

The contrast makes Guillermo’s head spin. Seconds later he’s seizing, gasping, as his orgasm swamps him in a blanket of brilliant white. He hears Nandor shout his name, following him into that blissful fourth dimension.

When Guillermo reaches the front door to the ranch house, he has the strangest urge to knock first.

A clammy chill has settled over his palms. He wipes them on his pants. 

Ok. Time to do this. Just grab the handle and open the door.

Creak.

Guillermo doesn’t know what he was expecting to find, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Nadja?”

His sister is slumped over at the kitchen table, fast asleep. Her long, black curls spill over her arms and pool on the tablecloth. A cup of coffee sits in front of her, forgotten, but still steaming.

Guillermo gently prods at her shoulder. “Um. Nadja?”

Nadja jolts upright with a shriek. She flails, striking the mug and sending it flying across the table. Hot coffee sprays everywhere. “Fuck off! I’ll fucking kill you!” she cries out.

“Ah! Hey! Hey, it’s just me!” Guillermo says. He quickly steps out of clawing range.

Panting, Nadja stares at Guillermo. Then scowls. “You. Don’t you have better things to be doing than interrupting my sleep? Like packing your shit?”

Guillermo winces. “I, uh, came to steal your microwave, actually.” Not a complete lie. A naked man in his bed is craving chocolate mug cake this morning, and Guillermo intends to bring back the goods.

He grabs a roll of paper towel from the kitchen counter and gets to work mopping up the puddle of coffee.

Nadja holds out her hand expectantly. Guillermo rips off a sheet for her, which she snatches.

Nadja hastily begins wiping at the coffee splattered across her side of the table. “Why have you graced me with your presence this morning, your royal bloody highness?” she growls.

Guillermo can’t help but note the dark rings under Nadja’s eyes. They look too severe to be fresh. Had he really not noticed them until now?

He takes a deep breath, allowing courage to collect and settle in his chest before he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Nadja freezes.

When she doesn’t respond, Guillermo continues. “Not about the other night. I mean, ok, I’m sorry about that too. But I’ll get to that.”

Nadja resumes her silent cleaning. It’s plain to see that she’s wiping the same dry spot again and again.

“I was really hurt when you didn’t call. When I was away, I mean,” Guillermo says. “I’d just gone through something really painful with Nandor, and I didn’t know what to do, so I left. Deep down I guess I thought I’d get to London, you’d call and tell me I was being a stupid bloody idiot or something, and bring me home. But you didn’t.”

Nadja tries her best to rub the varnish right off the tabletop.

“It was like. Everything I was feeling from Nandor — being undervalued, unappreciated, unwanted , all of it — was confirmed. It felt like you didn’t think I was worth your time either,” Guillermo says. “It never crossed my mind that by running away without talking to you first, I’d made you feel the exact same way.”

A pained noise leaks out of Nadja. She hurls the dirty paper towel onto the table so she can rub at her eye sockets with both hands. “I am not crying,” she hisses.

“I never said you were crying?”

Nadja glares at him with red-rimmed eyes. There’s no real venom in it. “I will only be saying this once, Guillermo,” she says. “I should have called. Alright?”

It’s Guillermo’s turn to freeze.

“I’m a proud woman. Some people think pride is a bad thing, but it has served me well over a life that would have crushed those very people into dust. This time, pride fucked me over. I convinced myself I needed you to pick up the phone first, and I was wrong. I…apologize.”

Guillermo doesn't think about his life before Nadja that often. 

In all fairness, he was pretty young. Those memories feel evasive, like trying to scoop up a shell from the bottom of a lake, only to find you’ve grabbed a fistful of sand.

Guillermo has spent years collecting crumbs dropped by Nadja to fill in those gaps. Crumbs like, how Nadja and his mom, Silvia, had met while they were both stable hands at this very ranch. How they’d only known each other for a short few months, around the same time that his mom got sick. How it had been enough for Silvia to decide Nadja was the one she wanted to care for her son when she was gone. 

How Nadja once had a big family, but not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” Guillermo says, with a fierceness behind it that makes Nadja’s eyes widen. “And I never should have left in the first place.”

Nadja looks away, pretending to be interested in her crumpled, soggy paper towel. For a moment, Guillermo thinks he can picture what she looked like as a little girl.

“Um. So I know we’ve never been huggers. But can we — “

Nadja’s arms are wrapped around him before he can finish.

Guillermo settles into her embrace. He holds her tightly, even though she smells like coffee and her hair tickles his face and her poofy blouse is in the way.

Nadja pulls back. Something shifts in her expression. Her eyes rake over Guillermo with a level of scrutiny he hasn’t felt since that time she caught him smoking a cigarette in the 9th grade.

Sweat starts to bead on Guillermo’s brow. “What?”

Nadja’s eyes narrow. 

“You little shit! You got laid last night, didn’t you?”

Chapter Text

MOVE OVER, HORSE WHISPERER
Meet the fresh-faced family business rocking the equine world

By: Toby Daltry

Ranch N’ Rider is BACK with another dynamite featured story! In this special edition, we’re covering a Montana-based ranching family who the horse enthusiast community can’t seem to get enough of.

Nadja Antipaxos is the owner and operator of Wildflower Creek: Horse Boarding & Rehabilitation. From humble beginnings as a stable hand at the very ranch she now owns, Antipaxos has built a flourishing business nestled among the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

“It has been a b----y f-----g mess trying to whip this s------g place into shape, no thanks at all to those f-----g p-----g m-----------g a-------s in town who wished to see me fail. Well, who the f--k is laughing now you moronic p---y b----s!” says Antipaxos.

Despite once being fairly unknown, this year Wildflower Creek has rocketed to the top of everyone’s list of equine wellness centers, in large part due to rave Yelp reviews. Clients of Wildflower Creek, Marwa and Jinesh Fakhri, have become unofficial ambassadors of Antipaxos' business after an amazing experience of their own. 

“One year ago, we entrusted Wildflower Creek with our precious horses, Magic Lamp and Neptune. Four weeks later, our horses returned to us healthier and happier than we had ever seen them before. It was incredible,” says Marwa Fakhri.

“Yes,” says Jinesh Fakhri.

Antipaxos says she owes the success of Wildflower Creek’s therapy services to Guillermo de la Cruz, Director of Equine Rehabilitation and Antipaxos' younger brother. De la Cruz has become somewhat of a celebrity in recent months, with horse owners from all across the country falling over themselves to have him work with their animals. At present, the wait list is nearing 18 months long.

But thriving demand for their rehabilitation services is not all the Antipaxos family is looking forward to on the horizon. Under the creative direction of Nandor de la Cruz, Wildflower Creek has recently branched out into the event hosting world — beginning with his own wedding this past May.

“When Guillermo proposed, I was both ecstatic and concerned. I knew that many venues would struggle to accommodate a wedding on the grand scale I had always dreamed of,” says Nandor de la Cruz. “As such, I knew only Wildflower Creek could deliver on my expectations.”

(Pictured right: Owner/Operator Nadja Antipaxos and family pose for a photo at the de la Cruz wedding. Left to right — Laszlo Cravensworth, Colin Cravensworth, Nadja Antipaxos, Guillermo de la Cruz, Nandor de la Cruz.)

Putting together the de la Cruz wedding was no easy feat, but according to Nandor, the final results were showstopping. “I arrived at the ceremony escorted by a team of black draft stallions, serenaded by my nephew Colin and his father, Laszlo. My sweet Guillermo could barely contain his tears at the wondrous sight of my bridal chariot,” says Nandor. 

“Allergies,” Guillermo de la Cruz says. “Nandor insisted on plastering the property with red and black roses, even though they make me sneeze. I don’t think my eyes stopped watering for a month.”

Stay tuned in future issues for more of Wildflower Creek’s Nandor de la Cruz. Ranch N’ Rider wishes to thank him for choosing our publication to make his modeling debut.

When asked if he has any advice for up-and-coming ranchers who are aiming to break into the equine therapy scene, Guillermo de la Cruz had this to say: "Please don't put our article next to the porn.”