Max nibbled affectionately on Michael’s chin, and being nobody’s fool, snuffed at his pockets. “True love is never enough. Want one?”

“A kiss from your horse or a carrot?”

“Whichever.”

“I’ll pass on both, thanks.” But he stroked Max’s mane as the horse crunched the carrot. “You got some fine-looking stock here.”

“You in the market?”

“I told myself I wasn’t, especially with the baby coming.” He looked longingly at the mare nursing her foal. “Shit, this takes me back.”

Michael picked up a dandy brush and began to groom Zip. “What are you, about two-ten?”

“Twelve,” Byron said absently. “Two-twelve.”

“That bay gelding with the two front socks? He’d carry you.”

Byron studied the bay, noted the lines, the flashy white blaze. “Handsome bastard, isn’t he?”

“Good saddle horse, well mannered but no pussy. Needs a firm hand. The right hand.” Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek as he continued to work. “Make you a good deal, seeing as you’re related to Josh and married to one of my favorite people.”

“I didn’t come by to horse-trade.”

“No?” Placidly, Michael leaned against Zip, lifted a hoof to pick it out. “Why, then?”

“I was in the neighborhood, more or less, and thought you might want to come by on Saturday night. Poker.”

“I’m usually up for a game.” Then he paused, narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t going to be one of those enlightened evenings with women asking if a straight beats a flush.”

“Kate would knock you on your ass for that comment.” But Byron grinned. “No, it’s purely sexist, men only.”

“Then I’m in, thanks.”

“Maybe I’ll win that bay from you.”

“Keep dreaming, De Witt.”

“Good heart room,” he murmured. “About sixteen hands, isn’t he?”

Michael smothered a grin, continued to clean his mount’s hooves. “About. Just turned four. His sire was a walker, his dam a dark-eyed floozy from Baton Rouge.”

“Shit.” He was sunk. “You stable?”

“Yep. Here, for now. Then at my place when it’s finished. Should be ready to start construction in a couple weeks.”

“Let’s take a closer look.” In his Saville Row suit and Magli shoes, Byron climbed into the paddock.

“I’ve heard you Southern boys are cardsharps and horse thieves,” Michael commented as they strolled companionably toward the bay.

“You heard right.”

How long was she going to make him wait? Michael paced the floor, contemplated the bottle of wine on the counter. It made him scratch his head. He’d actually gone out and bought wine. Not his usual style, but he’d figured sex in a horse stall wasn’t Laura’s usual either. The least he could do was offer her a civilized drink. Before he jumped her again.

Which was just what he wanted to do.

If she ever got there.