“I’m going to check on the tamales. Come inside soon, and I’ll show you embarrassing photos of Rosi when she was little,” Mr. Morales said to them as he walked toward the house.
Toby cracked a smile and glanced sidelong at Rose, who was shaking her head and rolling her eyes with amusement.
“Refresco de fresa or naranja, Sage?” her father called over his shoulder.
Sage’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“Abuelito asked you something, munchkin,” Rose nudged him.
“Owange.”
Toby shook his head, chuckling. “The boy can’t eat an orange but will down an orange drink.”
Rose laughed, and they glanced to each other over Sage in the middle.
“Are we going to the lake soon?” Sage asked to no one in particular as he pulled them both onward toward the back gate toward the barn.
Rose grinned, and dang, but Toby couldn’t quell the happiness burgeoning in his chest. As she turned back to look out at the desert hills, Toby gripped Sage beneath his arms and hoisted him up, over his head, to prop him on his shoulders, feeling Sage’s hands hold on to his forehead for leverage while bracing the boy’s ankles. He scooped up Rose’s hand in his, spying the flower dangling in her other grip, and brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss. He’d finally found his purpose. He’d been given his ranch as his legacy and his inheritance. He’d never understood the reason why until he’d met this archaeologist who could fill the empty places in his life with what he’d been missing. With his Rose out here in the Texas desert, he’d finally found home, and he looked forward to a lifetime of movie quotes, fajita nights, hiking, and a helluva lot of peanut butter.
The End