Riding Cowboys by R.W. Clinger

Author:R.W. Clinger [Clinger, R.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2013-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15: Tracy Exposed

October 6. It was warm on the ranch at seventy-two degrees with a bright golden-white sun that hung rather romantically overhead. Many of the Palominos were in the grasslands, enjoying playing with each other, grazing, or simply staring off into the Oklahoma day. Blake was in the main house, carrying out his daily chores, which entailed laundry, cooking, and cleaning. The two ranch hands, Paul and Jet, were in one of the fields, repairing a fence.

Honestly, I didn’t know where Pax was, but I needed to find him so we could discuss Fernando, a seven-year-old Palomino with a hoof problem. My search carried me to the barn, but he wasn’t inside. Once I couldn’t find him there, I made my way to my cabin. Pax sometimes lay in wait for me there, naked in my bed, ready for a quickie, or for a long afternoon of heated sex between two chiseled cowboys. To no avail—he wasn’t in my cabin, so I headed off for the main house.

Once inside, I studied its well-kept interior of rustic niceness. The downstairs rooms—a small dining room with walnut chairs and a hand-carved table; a kitchen stocked with Fiesta dinnerware and three windows overlooking the western horizon; a reading room with two recliners and a fireplace; and a rarely-used living room with a Sioux-made sofa, two end tables, and a high-backed chair that looked uncomfortable—were always dust-free, always smelled of walnut and pine, and had been decorated with Blake’s masculine touch, sporting Pueblo-style black-and-white vases, wall-size dreamcatchers, and Blackfoot paintings in oil. Pax wasn’t on the first floor, though I did discover Blake dozing the afternoon away in a thick nap on the living room’s comfortable couch. Leaving the man to his nap, still on my mission to find Pax, I quietly made my way upstairs.

There were three bedrooms and a bathroom off the narrow hall at the top of the stairs. I assumed Pax was in his bedroom at the opposite end of the hall, and I was at its door in just a few strides. I consumed his meticulously tidy room with interest: queen-size bed with too many pillows; three double-paned windows overlooking the barnyard; a stack of battered paperback westerns by Ben Bridges, Chad Cull, and Neil Hunter on the hickory night stand; a waist-high, six-drawer dresser; but no Pax . I thought he must be with his two hands, helping them mend the broken fence in one of the distant fields, supervising their tedious but accurate work.

I know that I shouldn’t have gone into Pax’s room, invading my boyfriend’s privacy. Why did I do such a dirty deed when I had better morals? Why was I sneaking into his domain when—

Something that was somehow out of place on the top of the dresser caught my eye: messy piles of papers and photos. Like a magnet drawn to metal, I was being pulled over. Once I reached the dresser, my mouth hung open, my hands began to shake, and my heart felt as if it were going to drop into my feet.

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