Gay Cowboys

By Dick Powers

Colt rode into Old Bank Town looking for work and didn't expect to find a man as handsome and as openminded to his interests as the mayor's son, Seth Horn. Life is out west is rough and Colt gets involved with some tricky business that ends with him having to make a choice: Run like he always does or fight for what he cares most about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lunatic Ink Publishing
• Release date: Jan 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005609658

Dick Powers

Dick Powers writes gay erotic fiction. He writes heterosexual erotica under Sophie Sin.

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GAY COWBOYS

Dick Powers

Copyright 2021 Lunatic Ink Publishing

More gay erotica at Dick Powers. His heterosexual erotica at Sophie's Book List.

All characters consent and are over 18yrs.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Riding Into Town

Gainful Employment

Dirty Business

Those Sweet Green Eyes

A Really Bad Decision

A Few Weeks Later

RIDING INTO TOWN

Wyoming was about as beautiful and as rough as he had heard. It was beautiful because of the fact of how the trees here were green and ripe with leaves that lightly tickled their neighbors when the wind blew just right. These trees were spaced nice and clean by his estimation of things (him being more used to the great green plains of Texas than these less habituated parts) with lots of spring grass for his horse - an old knob kneed thing that couldn’t trot no more and would only carry any kind of load if given a good whack over the nostrils - and soft places for him to sleep rough near the plentiful watering spots the state seemed to have every few miles or so.

That said, for all the green there was the rough. That came in the form of the people around these parts. Some fella had shot a deer just 5 mile back and left it there for the critters to chew on. Sure, Texas boys did their spot of shooting for fun, but not like that. The bastard hadn’t even cut a slice from the thing - just left it there to bleed out from a gut shot from what looked to be a double barrel by the size and violence of the wound. What man didn’t want to chew on an animal he’d killed? It disturbed him some, but he wasn’t willing to entertain the feeling long because there were other things on his mind.

Town was where he was going. The clop-clop-clop of his equine follower made for harsh listening on the stone they were crossing as they pounded the path to a place named Old Bank Town were an oldster in a wagon had told him that work might be found.

The big man walked on. He was six foot by the count of the day and big like a bull is big around a sow. His clothes were untidy and mostly of black or dark blue because that hid the stain and wear of the road well enough and he wore a long coat because it was colder than he was used to this far north. His black eyes were ‘soulful’ people would say, but he didn’t believe in matters of God or the devil and certainly didn’t believe that there was some fancy thing called a ‘soul’ in him that would live on after the sins he’d done in this life or the ones before - if such lives existed too. The man had a temper on him, but that was not strange considering the home life he had survived. He had knuckles that could rend a man’s skin and bulged with muscles here and there from the labor that seemed there would be no break from given the current state of affairs. That was not to say, though, that he was one of those big lads without some softness to him. He had a plate of fat on him or two, but mostly he was hard and that was most clearly represented in the face of the man. His eyes were rarely anything other than squinted - even when his hat supplied shade - and the space between his eyebrows had thick creases even when he smiled. Smiling wasn’t something that he did often, but it always surprised those that saw it that he had straight white teeth that his constant cigarette smoking and whiskey swilling ways hadn’t been able to taint. Today he was clean shaven, but he’d grow one when things got cold and that would bristle the skin of anyone he dared kiss.

Old Bank Town came into view after several fine miles of country. The signs leading up to it were fresh wood and banged in recent. The paint on them might as well have been fresh with how wet they seemed from the light rain that the man waited out under the tree he slept under just this morning. When he got into sight of the place, he stopped and looked it over long and hard. It felt just as fresh as the signs. There were a half dozen buildings and everything seemed more compact that it should have been. This place stood next to a rock wall of about 12 foot in height and a lot of the buildings were backed by the stone that someone had cleared flat at a point in