Page 89 of Where She Belongs
His smile is soft, tender. “Like us,” he confirms. “Though I should mention I have no intention of sharing you with any other stallions.”
I laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Good to know. I’m rather fond of the one I’ve got.”
“Mmm,” he agrees, though I’m not looking at the horses anymore. I’m looking at him—this man who forgave me so completely, who loves me despite my fears and flaws, who held me through the night like I was something precious.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I consider the question seriously. How am I feeling? Rested, for the first time in days. Peaceful in a way I haven’t been since before the divorce. Complete, as if a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing has finally clicked into place.
“Happy,” I say simply, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Genuinely, completely happy.”
His smile is radiant. “Good. Because we should probably get dressed soon. Gareth mentioned breakfast at eight, and I have a feeling he’s not the type to keep waiting.”
We shower together—something that feels both new and natural, our hands gentle as we wash away the remnants of last night’s passion. There’s an intimacy to it that goes beyond the physical, a quiet domesticity that makes me think of shared mornings and lazy weekends, of a future that suddenly seems within reach.
Gareth greets us at breakfast with knowing smiles and absolutely no subtlety. “You two look rested,” he observes, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he pours coffee. “Sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you,” I reply, heat rising to my cheeks despite my attempts at composure.
“The guest house has that effect,” he says with a perfectly straight face. “Something about the mountain air.”
Gabe chokes slightly on his coffee, and I kick him gently under the table.
“Before you head back to town,” Gareth continues, reaching for a small bag beside his chair, “I have something for your godchildren. Thought the twins might like these.”
He pulls out two action figures—clearly custom pieces featuring the superhero character he plays in his latest blockbuster.They’re beautifully crafted, the kind of collectible that would sell for hundreds of dollars if they ever made it to market.
“Gareth, these are incredible,” I say, examining the detailed figurines. “But are you sure? These must be worth?—”
“They’re worth whatever joy they bring to a couple of five-year-olds,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I’ve got boxes of the things. Marketing department goes overboard.”
An hour later, we’re back in Gabe’s SUV, winding down the mountain road toward Taos. The conversation flows easily—about the clinic, about my parents’ upcoming visit, about the logistics of spending more time together. It feels natural, settled, like we’ve been having these conversations for years.
“I was thinking,” Gabe says as we reach the main highway, “we should stop by Dax and Harlow’s place. Give the twins their presents and let everyone know we’ve worked things out.”
“They’ll want details,” I warn, though the thought of seeing our friends—of sharing our happiness—fills me with anticipation.
“We’ll give them the appropriate amount,” he says with a grin. “Nothing that’ll traumatize the children.”
The turnoff to Dax and Harlow’s sustainable home appears suddenly after miles of high desert—an unmarked dirt track that curves away from the main road and disappears behind a stand of weathered cottonwoods. We follow the winding path throughthe sparse landscape dotted with sagebrush and native grasses, dust swirling behind Gabe’s SUV. Then, set into the flat expanse of high desert, their home reveals itself like a well-kept secret.
The Pearl, as they’ve named it, seems to emerge organically from the red earth itself—its curved walls and south-facing windows designed to work with the elements rather than against them. Solar panels glint on the roof, and beyond the house, the dramatic peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains rise like ancient sentinels against the brilliant blue sky.As we pull up, the front door flies open and two small bodies come racing toward us.
“Tio Gabe! Ninang Andrea!” The twins launch themselves at us the moment we step out of the car, their enthusiasm infectious.
“Where did you sleep?” Anipea asks, always the more direct of the two. “Daddy said you got stuck in the storm.”
“At a friend’s house,” I reply diplomatically, catching Gabe’s amused expression over her head. “Very safe and dry.”
“Did you see any animals?” Dax Jr. wants to know. “Sometimes there are bears in storms.”
“No bears,” Gabe assures him. “But we did see wild horses this morning.”
Both children gasp with excitement, immediately launching into questions about the horses’ colors and whether they couldride them. Their enthusiasm is overwhelming and wonderful—a reminder of the joy that simple things can bring.
“Alright, you two, let them breathe,” Harlow says, appearing in the doorway with a knowing smile. “Coffee’s ready if you want to come inside.”
The house’s interior is as impressive as its exterior—soaring ceilings, natural materials, and windows that frame the surrounding landscape like living artwork. But what strikes me most is the warmth of it, the sense of family and love that permeates every corner.
