3. Chapter 3
Milo
Rowan explained how he traveled this route often, at least twice a year, so he knew the best places to stop.
There was no inn between Silver Banks and Northgate, just these small hamlets that didn’t boast enough of a populace to even have a tavern.
By necessity, they had to camp the first night.
Rowan said he knew a good spot, one with a small creek nearby, and he directed Milo there without hesitation.
This stretch of the highway had sparsely populated forest, so really the spot was a clearing next to the road and little else. There were signs this place saw consistent use, likely from other travelers, which didn’t surprise Milo any.
Now, the man he traveled with? Full of surprises.
When Milo had taken the assignment, the woman issuing it had given him a brief physical description so he could find Rowan. Her description didn’t do him a lick of justice.
The man was built. Even through the layers of clothes, Milo could detect the raw strength Rowan possessed.
He looked like he could crush lesser beings with nothing more than a pointed stare.
It didn’t help that most of his expressions were obscured by long golden-red locks and a full beard.
Milo wasn’t blind to his intimidating physique, but throughout the day, he’d seen glimpses of Rowan’s heart as well.
The way he’d circled back to chastise the matron for blaming Andrew’s mistakes on him had been quite telling, but Milo chattering the entire day and not being told to shut up even once was most telling of all.
Rowan had a heart of gold. He was the definition of the exterior not matching the contents.
Although the exterior was yummy. If Milo thought he had even half a chance, he’d jump that man, not going to lie.
Once at the campsite, they automatically took the chores they were comfortable doing. Fortunately, Rowan assured him he could handle dinner.
Milo, sadly, could not be trusted with the cooking. He did try, he earnestly did, but things tended to come out very wrong. His most recent attempt at baking had turned out perfect-looking pretzels…that tasted like shit.
So, no. No cooking for him.
Rowan didn’t seem to mind cooking. He set right to it, peeling veggies. He’d tied his hair back to keep it out of the food, sat down on a log, paring knife in hand, and carefully peeled and diced up vegetables.
Watching a man cook should not be mouthwatering, right?
Yet here was Milo, pulling at his shirt for a little ventilation, feeling a bit hot and bothered.
It was somehow completely in line with the man he’d traveled with all day that he would quietly and competently go about tasks.
Rowan was clearly the type to be methodical and patient.
And to think people had told this sweet man he was cold and emotionally unavailable. The absolute gall. Milo felt like hexing a few idiots on Rowan’s behalf.
Oops, he was starting to stare. Couldn’t have that.
Milo deliberately turned his back on Rowan, letting him cook.
While he did that, Milo noted the fading sunlight and decided to first set up a barrier around their campsite for the night.
Then he wandered into the tree line and gathered up more firewood because he didn’t think they had enough in the cart.
When he returned, Rowan accepted the offering with a grunt and nod of thanks.
The man seriously didn’t talk much. He also didn’t seem to know how to react to Milo half the time, an opinion shared by most of humanity. Milo could be a lot, even he admitted that, but he also couldn’t help thinking aloud. About everything.
Rowan at least didn’t seem to mind the chatter.
Even responded sincerely to all of the crazy shit Milo said.
He couldn’t find the words to explain how much it meant that Rowan engaged with him and didn’t outright ignore him.
So many people got tired of listening and tuned him out.
Milo would shut up, he really would, people just had to give him an idea they were tired.
He liked to talk. Favorite pastime, really.
He didn’t mean to wear people out though.
Milo was also well aware he didn’t always think ahead and made snap decisions—like the idea of leaving Goldguard and coming up north for a year.
And yeah, Ethel and Ray had cautioned him against making impulsive decisions, but half the time they worked out well, so why stop?
Like right now, this impulse was already paying off in spades.
Not only did he not have an Andrew to worry about, but he also had this wonderful, scrumptious man cooking for him.
Impulsivity rocked.
Milo got the horses fed and settled in for the night before going back and rolling out his bedroll. He observed Rowan putting the cast-iron Dutch oven into the fire’s coals, layering a handful on top. “Whatcha making?”
“Rice goulash.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Travel food. Rice, vegetables, bacon with seasoned salt.”
“Sounds delicious.” And very filling. Since they’d skipped a lunch stop, Milo had snacked most of the afternoon but was still rather hungry. The smell wafting from the pot got his stomach talking. He may have licked his lips and prayed the food would cook fast.
Rowan’s lips twitched beneath his beard. “I like it. There’s a light beer to go with it. You’re not a lightweight?”
“I can, and have, drunk people under the table.”
There may have been a glint of challenge in Rowan’s eye. “We’ll test that when we reach Gravegarde.”
Milo cackled, grinning back, totally willing to pick up the verbal gauntlet.
Really, it was tragic Rowan didn’t think of himself as a nice person, or likable. Milo liked him already. Only a man who was patient and kind at heart would have taken Milo in stride like Rowan had.
Clearly protective by nature, Rowan had already looked out for Milo and come to his defense.
Another rare thing in his world. Milo was used to fending for himself, so Rowan moving to protect him back in Silver Banks had thrown him for a serious loop.
He’d wanted to hug the man afterward. It wasn’t even just his steadfast presence, but what he’d said.
Milo had heard quite a few rumors about Andrew floundering with work since they’d broken up.
Milo used to help him frequently, knew the magical cases an Advocate was called on meant something had already gone wrong.
A prestigious position, an Advocate had a duty to find a solution for the people of Ascos when called upon.
Instead, these poor people had asked for help, only to get someone who’d made situations worse.
Sometimes Milo felt guilty, wondering if he should’ve sucked it up and kept working with Andrew even after they’d broken up, just so these poor people didn’t have to suffer the consequences.
Rowan’s statement that Andrew’s screwup wasn’t Milo’s doing, therefore not Milo’s fault, had been like a breath of fresh air sweeping through him.
Maybe it was because for a straight year, Milo had shouldered all the professional responsibility and the habit lingered.
But Rowan was entirely correct—what Andrew did was no longer Milo’s responsibility or problem. He needed to let go of the guilt.
Milo made up his mind right then. Rowan Rangecroft was his cup of tea to the max. The fact no one else around him seemed to realize it was a travesty.
Now, Milo would be the first to admit he was easy.
Throw an attractive man in his direction and he’d absolutely try something.
Throw someone like Rowan at him, who wasn’t just sexy, but also attentive and sweet natured, and he was ready to strip on command.
Damn shame Milo’s teasing earlier had gotten nothing more than a deadpan response, so Rowan likely wasn’t attracted.
Ah well, friends would be brilliant too.
Hmm, that line failed to have the right emotional weight behind it. Try again.
Friends Would Be Brilliant Too.
Nope, still failed to be convincing.
Dammit. All right, maybe Milo should try seduction. If Rowan shut him down, that would be the end of it, but Milo felt driven to try. Mostly because he never seemed to know when to stop, but also because letting this man pass by him seemed like such a fucking waste.
An errant shiver raced over his skin. It was steadily growing chillier as the sun set.
Goldguard was much warmer in climate, and even a day northward, the air had noticeably grown cooler.
Milo had no meat on his bones, so he felt the cold right down to the quick.
He’d packed his warmest clothes, although that wasn’t saying much.
They were geared more toward the mild winters of the south.
Maybe he should have bought a heavy coat, too.
Seemed his current jacket wasn’t really up to the task.
“Hey, Rowan?” Milo took a seat next to him on the log, intending to sit near the fire, but quickly realized the larger man radiated heat, so he tried to scootch in closer.
Right now, in this cool night air, his body heat felt delicious.
Milo felt like a homing pigeon spying a good roost and trying to figure out how to get into it. “How cold does Gravegarde get?”
The man considered him from the corner of one eye. “Cold,” he answered bluntly. “The snowdrifts can reach the second-story windows.”
“Yikes! Uh, but is that normal? Like, happens during an average year?”
“Fairly normal. We had a warm winter last year and the snows didn’t get that bad.” Rowan turned his head fully, taking in Milo’s hunched posture, his hands tucked inside his jacket. “You’re cold?”
“Look at you, learning how to interpret me. I’m getting there, yeah.”
Without a word, Rowan stood and crossed to the other side of the fire, where the cart sat. Milo pouted at him leaving. So no snuggles? Dammit.