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  Cowboys’ Christmas

  From MEN: On Holiday

  Copyright©2008 Carol McKenzie

  ISBN 978-1-60054-316-6

  Cover Art by Anastasia Rabiyah

  His and His Kisses Edition

  All rights reserved. Except for review

  purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

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  loveyoudivine 2008

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  Chapter One

  Blake Kingsley pulled his truck and fifth wheel into a vacant island of Huck's Gas Mart in downtown Longview, Washington, and stopped the engine. He climbed out and put his gray Stetson on his head. Heavy, cold rain beat down on the overhang and the air smelled of gasoline. He lifted the nozzle, pressed the mid-grade button and pumped forty dollars worth of gas into his tank, mumbling his displeasure the whole time. When he finished, he put handle back and ambled toward the pay station, the soles of his boots smacking in puddles.

  A sleepy-eyed, brunette attendant behind a counter looked at him over her gold-rimmed glasses and blinked long, curling lashes.

  Tipping onto his toes, he drew a couple of wadded bills from his tight jeans’ pocket and placed them on the steel counter.

  The attendant took them without a word.

  "Thank you, Ma'am," he said and returned to his truck.

  He climbed into the cab, closed the door and within the minute, drove toward Kalama, Washington, taking the interstate north. Pangs of loneliness entered his system again. He thought about his family; those alive and dead. I need to make a call. He retrieved his cell phone from the center console. Without swerving off the road, he dialed his sister in Rufus, Oregon.

  "Katy, this season's done. Thank God."

  "I hope you come home." Her voice sounded creaky. He imagined her soft, freckled face and auburn, curly hair. “It’s been quiet here since mom and dad's died.”

  A picture of their parent’s crumpled automobile, with blood on the seats the day after their head on collision in Medford played in his mind. The horrible call from the emergency room had come announcing their demise. He gulped air in his sadness.

  His sister sighed, bringing him back to the here and now. “Things are fallin' apart around this ol’ place. Frank's not into ranchin’. He can't even ride a horse."

  Blake wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and the remembrance ended. He clucked his tongue, recalling her tenderfoot boyfriend, Frank. "I'll bet." A misplaced smile quirked at the corners of his lips. It's best I change the subject, or she'll cry. "What do you want for Christmas, sis?"

  "Just get here safely. We'll have a nice holiday, if you come. I'm invitin' you, you know."

  "I'll spring for the turkey, if I was to come," Blake said and placed his Stetson on the passenger seat.

  "So, how are you doin' otherwise, little brother?'"

  "It's best you not ask, 'cause right now, I'm in a piss poor mood."

  "Why's that?"

  "These friggin’ gas prices suck. They're high as hell. It costs too much drivin' the circuit anymore. I'm twenty-eight and gettin' too old for bustin' broncs."

  "Get a different job, then. Stay home, settle down. Maybe get a job as, I dunno, be a cop."

  "I've done ruint my back."

  "Maybe it's time to quit."

  "I've got to think about it. See you."

  "Tell your buddy hi. Oh, and call when you get close."

  "Will do."

  Once he put the cell phone back in the case and closed the console lid, he took a left onto a different highway and began thinking about what Katy didn't know—his ideas on sexual preferences. It’d shock her to death. He thought about his job situation, too. Maybe I'll work the farm. Or become a cop. At a stoplight he lit a cigarette and slid the Bic back into the pocket of his blue western shirt. Right now, all I do is get out there and risk life and limb...for what? To give the audience thrills, and all I get is a few measly dollars. Shit. I must have rocks in my fuckin' head. What the hell am I goin' to do? Should I rodeo another year, or quit? Cops’ lives are always in danger. Maybe my back ain't in good enough shape to do that kind of work.

  He coughed, took another drag off his Benson & Hedges and glanced at the speedometer. The dial read he was going five miles per hour over the speed limit. He raised his foot a bit on the gas pedal until the needle stopped just over sixty-five. An elongated sigh left his lips.

  He passed several dense, vast forested areas. The dark green fir trees alongside the road forked upward toward a gloomy, cloudy sky. Rain splattered on the windshield as the wipers thump-thump-thumped. When he stopped at a sign, he flicked his cigarette out the window into a mud puddle. He turned the satellite's radio knob to a country-western station and hummed along with George Strait who sang Easy Come, Easy Go.

  As he started driving, his thoughts turned to a better subject. Yeah, I'll park this thing and take a rest. Gettin' a mess of Riley will make me feel better. The U-Shine Car Wash caught Blake's eye. Maybe I should unhook this thing and wash the road dust off my pickup. He decided to keep on trucking, wanting to get to his destination before dark and get a space rented. I'll wash it tomorrow.

  Mid-afternoon, driving along on I-5, he gazed out upon the sparkling Columbia River near his exit. Slow barges made their way north and west; a breathtaking sight.

  Once off the interstate and in town, he drove down the main drag looking for the old, peeling sign that read Campground--Marty's Trailer Spaces--Weekly and Monthly Rates. Blake passed the launderette and the post office. He traveled two blocks past the totem pole, the Lone Pine Cafe and made a right just like he had at previous season's end.

  I'll rest. Maybe spend part of the winter with my ol' buddy.

  He pictured his pal, Riley S. Campbell, when he last saw him over a year earlier. He stood five ten and had a slim, strong build. Blake never thought to ask his exact age, but he guessed it to be around twenty-eight. He’d worn hand-tooled boots and a belt that sported a silver Texas longhorn buckle. Riley's onyx gaze seemed to penetrate his soul and mind. Worn jeans, most of the time faded, encased a well-shaped ass. Blake began to feel the slide of him coming inside his body. Damn, I’ve missed him. He’ll be a sight for sore eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Riley shaved, showered and changed into a clean pair of boxers and a gray tee-shirt that read Calgary Stampede '07 across the back. He hitched his Wrangler jeans up strong, hair-dappled legs, buttoned and zipped them closed. Using a light touch, he patted Obsession cologne on his cheeks while he peered into the mirror. Using long strokes, he combed his short, raven hair. He left the ivory, well-lighted room, padded across the carpeting and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Harsh, morning sunlight peeked through the east window and dotted the bed, giving his sister’s spare bedroom an artistic, Impressionistic appearance. He’d begun pulling a boot with its rounded toe and horseman heel onto his stockinged foot, when he heard footsteps coming up the hallway.

  Marla. He glanced at his suitcases standing in the corner of the room and pulled on his second boot. I need to tell her something I've been meaning to say for years. Maybe I'
ll do it today.

  "You up, Riley?" she asked in her unique, musical tone from the hallway. It reminded him of Texas and his childhood. "I've got breakfast waitin' for you on the table."

  Throughout his early years, her voice cheered him out of his gloomiest moods. For a second or two, he gazed at the partially opened door, having a light flashback of his father spanking him with his belt and his sister coming to talk him out of the depression that followed. "Okay, Marla."

  "Did I hear you groanin' a minute ago?" She peered in and drew a few strands of dark hair behind her ear.

  "Yeah." He shoved his belt through all the loops on the waistband of his jeans and fastened the steer head silver buckle in front.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Ahhh. My back's actin' up."

  "Damn, li'l brother. You're only thirty."

  "Hold on." He left his Stetson on the bed and traipsed to the door, grasped the knob and pulled it open. Marla smiled up at him batting her curling, dark brown lashes.

  "You want to come down and eat? Jeff''s gone to work earlier. They were havin' trouble and needed him. I thought you and I could finally have a heart to heart. The sun's a shinin' and the boys can play outside."

  "Sounds good." He'd been here three days already and hadn't had a chance to sit down with his sister Marla and have a meaningful conversation. Their friends came over occasionally, and Jeff constantly needed her attention. "Sure. Lead the way, Marla."

  "Okay." In the hallway, his sister began walking ahead of him past the boys' bedroom. "Now tell me about what happened."

  "About what?"

  "How you injured yourself."

  "Ohhhh." He gazed at the straight, raven hair tumbling down her back as they walked. "A mare at a Sheridan rodeo fell on me one night." He grasped the banister and smiled down at her cute boys playing cowboys and Indians, shooting at one another between the large, overstuffed sofas and matching chair. Their Irish setter loped to the opposite side of the room and disappeared out the doggie door.

  "Is that when the pain started?"

  "Ever since that one ride, it’s given me fits. I guess my backache is caused from a whole slew of misfortune, really. Some days are worse than others and there are days it doesn't hurt. Maybe it'll feel good today," he said as he peered down at the living and dining rooms.

  "God, I hope so."

  "It's not hurting now."

  "Why don't you stop at the chiropractor's office today? I've heard he can work wonders on backs."

  He followed her toward the stairs of their luxurious log home, which smelled of bacon, eggs and cinnamon rolls. Spurred on by the delicious scents, he snapped the sleeves at his wrists, thinking it was about time he told her. In his family, she was the only one left alive he dearly loved. "I would, but I'm leavin.'"

  "For where?"

  "Kalama."

  She stopped for a moment. The skin between her brows rumpling as she peered at him. "You just got here."

  He shrugged. "I'm meetin' someone." He made a gesture for her to go down first.

  "Uh...you are?" she asked a quarter of the way down. "A friend, eh?"

  "Yep."

  The four year old twins, Matt and Mark, dropped their plastic six shooters and scurried across the hardwood floor and grabbed onto their uncle's legs the moment he set foot on the living room carpeting.

  Their house was the lightest, airiest home he'd ever remembered seeing. If he lived in a house instead of the fifth wheel, he would want one just like theirs.

  Matt ran across the room, his hands spread. He wore a red cowboy hat and carried a toy gun. "Less pway horsies, unca Wylie."

  "Ohhh."

  "Honey, Uncle Riley is going to drink some coffee and talk to mommy for a little while."

  The suggestion made him wince at the pain two bouncing, mischievous boys could cause.

  "Yay!" Mark yelled.

  "Horsie ride, horsie ride."

  "Boys, I can't play that this morning."

  "Why not?" asked the brown-haired, pouting Mark.

  "This horsie's got a busted back, boys."

  "What happened?" Matt asked.

  "If you promise to eat your Fruit Loops, I’ll tell you all about it."

  "I'd like to hear this," Marla said as she poured him a large, green mug of coffee.

  They sipped coffees and watched, smiling as the boys settled in their chairs and began eating spoonfuls of various colored loops that floated in bowls of milk. "Okay, Uncle. We're eating. See? Tell us."

  "'Bout rodeos," Matt said as he fingered a cherry red piece of cereal and popped it into his mouth.

  "Okay. Are you eating?"

  "We are. See?"

  "Men who busts broncs are good riders. At least, they should be."

  "Are you good, Unca?"

  "I'm among the best. I take pride in my work."

  Marla turned her head and smiled back at Riley.

  "Once I get in the saddle, I try to keep the horse's head up."

  "Why?"

  "That's important to do. Then, if I'm thrown, I have to get back on the horse quick. I can't ever let the horse think he's won. I've had my foot hung up in the stirrup, and found myself under a man-killer's hoofs. That's bad too."

  "I wanna be what you are, Unca Wylie. A bwronc wider," Matt said with a mouth full of cereal and milk dripping down his cheek.

  "I think you should go to college first, then decide. Okay?"

  "Nooo!" Mark jumped in place. "I wanna ride in a rodeo."

  Blake ruffled the boys’ hair and coaxed them to finish their breakfast. After the kids ate, they dressed, jabbered some more and finally went outside and played on the swing set while Riley sipped another coffee in the bright and warm dining room overlooking the back yard. Marla took a seat across the table and sipped from a brown cup.

  "What I didn't tell them is that I have to kick free of the stirrups. I have to go limp and hit the ground rolling. Just to make a long story short, Marla, I'm over the hill now at thirty. I hope to hell they don't get into that occupation."

  "I don't think Jeff or I would allow it."

  "When they get to a certain age, you can't tell 'em a damn thing. If you remember way back when, Mom couldn't talk me out of it, either."

  "I know. If you had to do it over, would you have busted that first bronc?"

  He took a sip of coffee and put the mug down on the table. "I believe I would have. I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess."

  After a short pause, Marla directed her gaze to his and stayed. "So, who is this mysterious friend you're meeting in Kalama?"

  He tried to shrug off his nervousness and discomfort, but failed. "I don't think—"

  The boys squealed while swinging, drawing their attention outside.

  Once they determined the two boys were safe, Marla said, "Look. This is me. Just say it."

  Another long pause stretched between. He cleared his throat, knowing he owed his sister some honesty, because she had always been above board with him. I can't. I don't want her to think...

  "All I do is talk about Jeff, the kids and me. Tell me about you. There's a big chunk of stuff you're not telling me. I know you well enough to know that."

  He frowned and shook his head. "The first thing I'm going to do is quit the circuit."

  She nodded. "I can't say I'm sorry. You should've quit it years ago. What else did you want to tell me?"

  "This person I'm meeting...is...." He took a long sip of coffee, knowing she waited for the rest of the story. He peered at the valance of the sunshine yellow sheer curtains swaying from the heated air breezing up from the floor vent. "He's a he that I'm meeting."

  She batted dark lashes a few times and wedged her elbow on the tabletop with her chin. "Riley? Are you gay?"

  She's finally asked. Now, I can't lie. ’Specially not to her. He gazed at the swaying lodgepole pines at the far edge of the yard, seeing but not seeing. "I don't know what "gay" means. I do know that have feelings for him." I haven't seen him for a year. He may
not show up or care about me anymore.

  "Is that all?" she asked with a shrug.

  "Aren't you shocked?" He didn't understand her nonchalant attitude. "What'll Jeff say?"

  "Who cares what he thinks? If that's who you are, so be it."

  Their lines of vision caught and held. "Really?"

  "Yeah. Jeff's little brother...is gay. He announced it last year."

  "Oh?" Relief swept through his system.

  "Yep. So, don't give it another thought. Besides, I always thought you were. Your relationships were good with women, but not your thing."

  "How could you tell?"

  "I guess I know you better than anyone alive—inside and out. Is there anything else I need to know? I'll worry about HIV and other things...just your safety in general. "

  They leaned toward each other and hugged. It feels good to lay it all on the table to her. "I'll be fine. You're my favorite sister, you know?"

  "You silly," she said and smiled with tears welling in her eyes. "I'm your only sister."

  "If I had a dozen sisters, you'd still be my pick."

  "Bring him by some time. Is he a bronc buster too?"

  "Yeah. He's with a different circuit. Sometimes I get to see him a few times through the year. Sometimes not."

  Her arched eyebrow rose. "How serious is it?"

  "I'd like to settle down and maybe retire with him."

  "From the rodeo. I see."

  "Yeah." He shrugged and swallowed hard. "But I'm not sure that's what he wants." I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

  Chapter Three

  Riley drove his truck north on a wet Interstate 5 from California through Oregon, with his trailer in tow, toward the rendezvous point with Blake in southern Washington. A few miles short of his destination, he exited the highway, gassed up outside Portland, trying to curb his excitement. Within ten minutes, he climbed back into the cab to drive the last few miles. His need resurfaced. How long has it been? Eight months? They had planned to meet at the same campground they'd met at every December for the past several years. They had no family or friends in town, and it was merely a clean, interesting place to park for several days. The area boasted dense, dark forests, deer and an occasional elk. Tourists were gone for the winter.