Chapter 1

Riding Ranch

Sometimes a cowboy has to have secrets to live in Brady Creek, Oklahoma, if the truth be told. One of those secrets just happens to be when a masculine young cowboy likes other cowboys—or one in particular. There I was on Riding Ranch, working as Pax Raulton’s on-site veterinarian for four years and…I liked the guy a little too much. Frankly, I couldn’t help my feelings for the blond cowboy because I was born queer, made to enjoy my own gender. But I didn’t expose my feelings, either, for fear of Pax throwing my ass off his ranch in the blink of an eye. A cowboy has to do what a cowboy has to do to survive on a ranch in Stockton County, Oklahoma. That’s what I was doing with my lies and secret crush on Pax: surviving.

Rumors had it that the men over at the Arched Q Ranch near Tulsa were openly queer—that millionaire businessman named Cord Darringer and his city-boy lover called Bradley Hull. It sounded like a gay utopia over there, some fifteen miles from Brady Creek and Riding Ranch. A few arrogant and socially-challenged cowboys called it the Fairy Ranch, which upset me—and probably Cord and Bradley as well. You learned a terrible lesson if you came out of the closet as a gay cowboy in the Midwest, which Cord and Bradley seemed to have suffered. The guys over at the Arched Q had paid a pretty steep price for their survival because they were disliked, thought of as abnormal, and called pansies.

My life as a cowboy at Brady Creek wasn’t anything like that. For four years, I played a masculine role as a straight Palomino caretaker. In fact, I was often complimented as one of the best vets in the tri-state area. After graduating from Oklahoma University and doing an internship under Mel Track on a farm outside of Norman, Pax discovered me through one of his cowboy friends. He wanted me to care for his Palominos and hired me on a six-month trial basis. After that, he took me—Cal Hoke—on as a full-time employee, and I’ve stayed with him since.

Pax took pretty good care of me those four years, I admit. He gave me my own cabin two years ago, which sits about three hundred yards away from the main house. The place is two rooms built from extra barn wood. It has a small bedroom and bathroom. Whenever I was hungry I’d cook on a hotplate or use the microwave. And when I didn’t drive my dirty threads into the Brady Creek Suds-O-Life, seventeen miles north on Indian Red Road, I washed them in the bathroom sink like an old-time settler, happy as a clam. My living conditions were minimal, but that was exactly how I liked them. I had a ranch to live on, food in my belly, and a good man paying me for my veterinarian services. Some men wanted to do more with their lives, which I understood, but I was happy with what I had at Pax’s side.

My job was pretty ordinary, but I loved it nonetheless: feeding and caring for the sixteen Palominos as if they were my own. I monitored their health, exercised them daily, gave them their vitamins and their shots, and simply loved them. And when there was a medical emergency, I was right there. Sometimes Gerdy’s left leg would cramp or Rampolli’s teeth would hurt. Tulip suffered a sprain once and Napoleon cut his shoulder open on some loose barbed wire along a fence. If Netty got dehydrated, I helped her out. If Gomorrah’s leg got weak again, I wrapped it up and walked him gently. If Pollyanna had a cough, I fixed her up. My love for the horses was limitless, and Pax knew that. In truth, most of my job was just to love Gerdy and her fifteen horsey friends. I knew each one, adored them to the fullest, and became their best friend, unconditionally.

* * * *

Along with the horses, Pax’s Riding Ranch is my passion. I love Pax’s main ranch house and its buildings, the two silos that reach for the Oklahoma heavens, and its 972 acres of grass where the Palominos roam. There’s a rambling and brightly-painted red barn where the sixteen thoroughbred Palominos are housed. The barn sits on the south end of the property, near the main house. Pax has a staff of four. There’s Blake Keller who cooks and keeps up the house. Paul Wall and Jet Starr are hands, and do just about everything on the ranch. And there’s me, the on-site vet responsible for the horses’ excellent health.

Like me, Blake Keller lives with Pax on the ranch. He’s been with Pax for the last eight years and has his own room on the second floor in the main house. He looks like Clint Eastwood and was around sixty-six years old. Blake was like an uncle to Pax, and the two hit it off fairly well. Neither got into each other’s business. Men are like that on a ranch. Dramas don’t occur and, when they do, they’re quite minimal.