ABOUT A quarter mile farther up the trail, Destin pulled up.
“Something wrong?” Tonio asked, reining Spot in behind him.
“No. It’s just getting steep, and I thought the horses could use a breather. Do you mind walking for a little bit?”
“No problem.” Tonio swung down from Spot’s saddle, and Destin dismounted from Butternut.
They set off hiking, leading the horses. Every now and then a tantalizing glimpse of open country and blue rolling hills appeared between the trees, but for the most part, they walked in muffled silence broken only by the harsh quarreling of jays, the occasional clack of a shod hoof hitting a stone, and the rustle of fleeing squirrels in the underbrush.
Eventually the trail leveled out, and Destin stopped. “Well, we’re here,” he announced.
Tonio pulled up beside him and looked around. “Here where?”
“Top of the first peak.”
“First peak! There’s a second one?”
“Yes, about a half mile north. We’ve done most of the hard climbing, though, and there’s a view once we get there.”
“Good, because if we’re on top of anything here, you sure can’t tell it.”
“There’s a bench at the overlook. That’s where the view is. It’s the traditional place to rest before you come back down, and a good place to eat.”
They mounted their horses and pushed on, still enveloped in forest. After a short while, the trail once again leveled off, and this time nothing rose before them. They had reached the true peak of Lost Mountain, and they pulled up to savor their victory.
The lookout stood just below the peak, an open space with a sturdy bench on one side and a view over patchwork fields and pastures and woodlands on the other. Destin and Tonio tied their horses to a tree and walked to the edge of the overlook, soaking in the God’s-eye perspective.
Bellmeade would look so small from here. Destin drew a breath, inhaling the damp, clean, bitter-leaf fragrance of the mountainside. Insignificant—that was the word. All his problems shrunk down to the size of the Christmas village his mother had set up every year.
If only it could be that easy.
A nudge on his arm broke Destin’s reverie.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Tonio asked.
“I’m wondering what you’ll do if Sam doesn’t jump and Bellmeade goes under,” Destin said. Blurted, rather. The thought had been gnawing away at the back of his brain all the way up the mountain. He hadn’t intended to give voice to it, but he needed an answer.
Tonio shrugged. “Same thing I always do when I lose a gig. Go down to Florida, check out the winter action, see who I can butter up for a ride. Believe it or not, people forgive, even fuckups like mine.”
Another question had also been nagging, and Destin chewed the inside of his cheek, willing his heart not to pound. “And if this thing works?” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “If it turns out you can stay?”
Tonio tipped Destin a sidelong look. “I’d still be your main rider. Right?”
“Yes.” The word came out a little croaky, and Destin cleared his throat. “Do you think you would also consider a, uh, managing partnership in the farm?”
Tonio glanced away, then looked back at Destin, a peculiar gleam dancing in his eyes. “I dunno,” he said. “Is the farm owner part of the package?”
Is the farm owner….
Destin turned his head and stared at Tonio, struggling with the words that had just left his mouth.
Part of the package?
“What did you say?”
Tonio’s sly smile turned into a full-on grin. “You want a written proposal? I meant it when I kissed you in the parking lot that time. You’re hiding behind the curtains all coy, playing it cool, but I’m pretty sure you’re interested in me, too. Am I in the ballpark?”
“Yes,” Destin said, the word coming out in in a laughing gust. “Yes. If you want him, the farm owner is absolutely part of the deal, and why in God’s name didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because this time it mattered,” Tonio said, moving closer to Destin. “I needed to be sure, ’cause for once in my life, I didn’t want to fuck it up.”