Page 20 of Cowboy Dreams

Having Sylvester there in the passenger seat was strange. Part of that was just having anyone next to me at all. But part was how wrong itdidn’tseem to have him there, making comments about his fence as we drove along his property, and then asking about feed stores and who he might hire for general chores around the place. I answered, best as I could.

“Henderson’s is cheapest for feed,” I told him, “But if you go a bit farther to Nate’s Tractor Supply, you won’t get the feeling brown skin or a Spanish accent is a reason to jack up the price.”

“What about being gay?”

I shrugged. “Boss usually sends Jordy to get our orders from Henderson’s.” I had nothing to back up that feeling of a target on the back of my neck around Bob Henderson and his boys, but I didn’t think the way my boss never sent me there was accidental. He never sent Carlos either. Mr. Ford was no fool.

Sylvester nodded. “Nate’s Tractor Supply it is. Does your boss know you’re gay? Or bi, whatever?”

“Gay,” I told him. Wanted to make that clear. “And yeah, hell, most folks around here do. Word gets about, hard to keep things secret.” Especially after Deputy Morse made it a practice to come around Max’s, looking for “underage drinkers” and eyeing everyone that hadn’t run to hide in the back room with his beady eyes. Not that you couldn’t be straight and drink at Max’s, but, well, being a regular there meant you either were queer or you were fine with us. Same thing, in Morse’s eyes.

“Is that okay?”

I had to think back a bit. “My boss knowing? Sure, Mr. Ford’s a standup guy. As long as you get the work done and don’t fuck the sheep, he don’t care.”

“As long aswhat?”

My chuckle made him stare, then snort.

He grunted, “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, see,thathe don’t care about.”

Sylvester gave me his full-on laugh where he threw his head back and the creases beside his eyes deepened. I liked that look a lot. He said, “Okay, talk to me about the horses.”

I spent some time talking about horses for dudes, how he wanted mounts with easy temperaments and a good handle, nothing too challenging. “Are you thinking about hosting kids, families?” I asked.

“I thought about it.” He picked at a thread on his artfully distressed jeans. Mine were thin at the knees from work, his worn on the thighs where the fashion designers figured the denim wouldn’t rip so quickly. “Dude ranches do well with family packages. But I thought maybe not the first year. Especially if I’m promoting it to the queer community. Not that there aren’t queer families, and maybe that’s even a niche we could go for, but I don’t want to have any gays-around-kids pearl clutching, while we figure out what this business looks like.”

I purely hated that he had to consider that, but he wasn’t wrong. “No need for ponies then,” was all I said. “Starting slow is smart.”

Kel Browning was getting on in years, his legs bowed from the saddle or maybe just arthritis, but he came out to meet us as we pulled up by the big, red barn. He had a nice spread, well kept-up with the trim bright white and the weeds cut down. He held out his hand as I got out of the truck. “McNeil, what can I do for you?”

“This is Sylvester—” I paused mid-word, realizing I’d never heard Sylvester’s last name.I’m so smart. Looking to go all in on a man I can’t even introduce.

“Georgiadis,” Sylvester said, giving the sound a little European flair. “Good to meet you. I’m looking for some horses, and Joe tells me you’re the man to come to.”

“Kel Browning.” They shook, Browning giving Sylvester a thorough once-over. I tried to see what he’d see— a tall, fit, middle-aged man in boots and jeans, but with that indescribable polish that said city and money. Might seem like a good thing to a man looking to sell horses. Sure not what Browning saw when he looked at me.

“What are you in the market for?” Browning asked.

“I’ll let Joe tell you.” Sylvester nodded my way. “For now, a riding horse up to my weight and legs.”

“You are a tall one,” Browning agreed. “How well do you ride?”

“I’m a bit rusty. Was on a horse every day as a kid, but only now and then since.”

“Something middling, then. That kind of childhood skill sticks with you.” He gestured with his chin. “Come on. Some of the choices I can think of right off are in the barn, and I’ll have my son bring in a couple more from pasture. Let’s see what suits.”

Sylvester grinned at me, his eyes bright as he followed Browning and I brought up the rear.

The next hour was me in a kind of Heaven. Browning brought out the horses he had that were over 15.2 and I got to give them each a spin. Man, he bred some fine stock. There was a bay mare who was quick off her feet like she was pure Quarter but sized for me. Too responsive for Sylvester, though. They’d confuse the hell out of each other. Same with the black gelding with one white sock and a star. God, I coveted that horse. Maybe rode him a bit extra, pretending I couldn’t make up my mind, just to feel how smooth he changed gears from jog to lope and back down, and how neat he turned on his haunches.

In the end, I had three good choices— a dapple-gray gelding with a roman nose and solid character, a chestnut mare with great conformation, and a palomino. I saw Sylvester’s face when that palomino was brought out, sun glinting off her gold coat, white mane tossing in the breeze. That man clearly liked pretty things. She had a real easy handle too, and her slow jog was a thing of beauty, smooth to sit as a rocking chair.

I had Sylvester try those three and watched real close as he mounted and rode. I could tell he wasn’t a beginner, but he bounced around some at a jog, even on the palomino. He did some basic reining and backing, then loped them around the corral we were working in and plowed to a stop.

“What do you think?” I asked when he’d given those three a good try. Browning leaned on the fence and let us talk.

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