Page 18 of Cowboy Dreams

“You’ve got this ranch.” I gestured toward the window where the back meadows of the Circle K lay in the midmorning sunshine. “How many acres?”

“About eight thousand.”

“Yeah. And all of it’s been lying fallow for years, fences coming down, trees growing up. That track I drove on last night was grown up to hell. I was lucky I made it through.” Stupid, really, because a couple of times I came near to ripping the bottom out of my truck. I’d been worked-up trying to beat Sylvester, beyond the bounds of common sense. “You need to see what you’ve got. You could buy a four-wheeler, but a horse can go places a four-wheeler can’t. Besides.”

I waited long enough, trying to put my thoughts into words, that he prompted, “What?”

“You’ve got this dream, right? A ranch, the horses, some beefs to play around with for the guests’ entertainment. Hell, a dog and cats in the barn, I bet. Right?”

“Ye-es?” He dragged out the word, like he wasn’t sure if I was making fun of him.

“It could be a good dream, but it’s one you left behind when you were ten. You been on a horse since then?”

“A few times.”

“Owned one?”

“No.”

“Ranch life can heal your soul, or break it. Horses die, bad storms come through, fences break, cows get hit on the road, hands turn out crooked or drunk or careless.”

“Running a big hotel isn’t that different. Roofs leak, power goes out, employees turn out drunk or careless.”

“I guess.” I wasn’t sure why I felt there was a difference, but I did. “Anyhow, buy a horse. Check out the land, see how much repair the place needs. See if you like the Circle K as much as you remember.” I forced a laugh. “See what your hips think about a day in the saddle.” Mine ached something fierce these days, if I pushed too hard.

“I figured I’d hire some cowboys for the long days in the saddle.”

“Sure, but… you’re selling the ranch life, the experience, right? Bringing guests out here for a taste of a way of life that’s different than theirs. More real. More simple, maybe, but not easier.”

“Yes.”

“So you gotta make sure you want that life. You can’t sell it if it’s a childhood dream you find out you’ve outgrown. If you’re gonna drag a bunch of city folk out here to the boonies, where Max’s is the only queer-friendly entertainment for miles, you gotta believe it’s worth their time. Sotheybelieve it. Can’t run a dude ranch without dudes.”

Sylvester eyed me like I’d said something interesting. “True, although I think you underestimate how well people can sell things from a totally cynical position. But, sure, all right. I should buy a horse, ride the ranch, make plans when I see what I have to work with?”

“Yeah.” Put like that, it sounded pretty basic, but he’d asked. If he didn’t want basic, he could ask someone smarter.

“I’d need a fixed-up barn first though, to keep the horse in, right?”

“Pasture would do, this time of year. We won’t get snow for a few weeks yet.” Although I rapped the wooden table to ward off bad luck. “I can check the fences for you, fix what needs fixing. A barn, yes, soon.”

“I have a bunch of outbuildings. We’ll have to check them all.”

“How long have you been living on the ranch this time around?” I figured exploring the place would’ve been top of his to-do list.

“The night I met you in Max’s? I’d been here almost two weeks.”

“Couldn’t wait two weeks to dip your wick?” I teased.

“Feeling alone, frustrated with the damned consultant, testing the queer waters. Then I saw this long, cool drink of cowboy at the bar, and going to the only bar with a rainbow in the corner of the window suddenly seemed like a great idea.”

“Pity he refused to go home with you.” I eyed him over my coffee mug.

“Pity I didn’t ask him.” Sylvester got up and cleared our plates into the dishwasher. “It sounds like the order of business is pasture, barn, and buying a horse.” He kept his back to me, rinsing something in the sink as he asked, “Are you willing to stick around and help with that?” The set of his shoulders seemed less confident than his tone.

“Said I would.” I liked Sylvester cocky and sure. I added, “We’ll need a good-sized horse for someone your height. Quarter horses run on the small side but Kel Browning has some Fresian-Quarter crosses that run sixteen-plus hands and still have good cow sense.” I’d seen Kel’s son roping with a super talented bay gelding last county fair and man, I’d coveted that horse.

“What do you ride?”

---