Ride a Stud

Ride a Stud By J.D. Walker “Shit.” There was a hole in my favorite canary-yellow shirt. Must have happened while I repaired the fence last week. Guess I’d have to order another one. I chose something in robin’s egg-blue instead—I wouldn’t be caught dead or alive in plaid—then dragged on a pair of jeans and well-polished boots. I may work in s**t and mud all day, but that didn’t mean I had to look like it. A man had his standards. After checking my face in the mirror for wrinkles—aside from the crow’s feet that had taken up residence years ago—I frowned at the silver currently encroaching on my dirty blond strands. Traitors. My light gray eyes seemed to say, “Get over yourself,” in the mirror. I sprayed on a little of my favorite citrus-scented cologne and sauntered to the kitchen to find coffee already brewed in my favorite pink mug. I grabbed it before strolling out on the porch to watch the Saturday sunrise. It was a cool morning, though it promised to warm up a bit on this spring day. I was always up with the birds, even on weekends. The foreman’s cottage had served me well over the years. It was small and just the right size for a bachelor such as myself. I sighed as I spied the ranch house across the way, and the town sheriff, Nicholas “Bulldog” McMurtry’s pickup truck parked out front. He was the reason for my staid bachelorhood, though that didn’t mean I’d sworn off s*x. I wasn’t that crazy. The sheriff was having another one of his infamous barbecues this afternoon, meaning an orgy was imminent. Buddies from his old unit and others he’d hooked up with over the years would drop by once in a while, and their antics were not for the faint of heart. I usually cooked since I was around and made a decent burger, unlike some people. And the sight of hot men in tight jeans was invigorating for the libido. A Bulldog man-sandwich was inevitable. It happened every time, and though I knew he didn’t do it on purpose, it always broke my heart. He knew my feelings, and had even tried to set me up with guys in the past, usually with disastrous results. Normally I wouldn’t mind doing the burgers and chicken for the “touchy feely” crowd, but lately, I’d grown tired of the whole charade, tired of pining for something that wasn’t ever gonna happen with a man who treated love like some kind of game, and s*x, a party favor. Bulldog would never, ever change, and maybe it was time I accepted that. I decided to take extra-long this afternoon getting supplies in town for the small horse ranch and groceries for my empty refrigerator. Melvin, my right-hand guy, would be able to manage just fine. There wasn’t anyone on the schedule to pick up horses today. He had my cell phone number in case of an emergency. Yup, that sounded good to me. Bulldog would just have to cook his own damn burgers for a change, though he tended to burn things. That thought pleased me mightily as I finished my coffee, then headed out to the barn to say hello to my babies, and get to work. * * * * “Hey, Bo,” my longtime friend Lanice Boudreaux said as he approached me in the freezer aisle. I was on the hunt for the orange sherbet I wanted for dessert. I figured I owed it to myself after a morning of backbreaking work, as well as coaxing Possum to give me back my hat, which had taken twenty minutes out of my day. Silly horse. “Hey, sweetie,” I replied and gave Lanice a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. “Ernie send you out for groceries?” Ernie Trevine was Lanice’s boyfriend, as well as the foreman for the dude ranch they ran together. He grinned. “Yeah, said something about special sauce and whatnot. Could end up in hard-to-clean places.” I laughed, but inside I was lonely. Why couldn’t I have had that with Bulldog? Stop it. I needed to quit bellyaching. I was a grown man, after all. Lanice grabbed a tub of vanilla. “Things okay over at the ranch?” “Fine as ever. The sheriff has his buddies over for the weekend.” “I see.” Lanice knew my feelings for the sheriff. Hell, the whole town did. “You’re not cooking like usual?” he asked as we moved to another aisle. “Nope. Man can burn his own beef for a change.” I glimpsed a pleased smile on Lanice’s face out of the corner of my eye, which strengthened my resolve. “Need to head over to the supply store for some other stuff. Give Ernie my love, okay?” I squeezed his shoulder and headed to the nearest register. * * * * By the time I returned to the ranch, it was late afternoon. The horses were out in the paddock, enjoying the sunshine. Melvin and a few of the hands were working with some of the new additions to the herd. I passed a bunch of vehicles in front of the house and heard music and laughter through my open window. I could smell meat cooking, so I guess Bulldog had either done it himself or promised one of his houseguests a spectacular blowjob as p*****t. Anyway, I had my own meal to make before I relieved Melvin and bedded the horses down for the night. When I was halfway through my dinner, I heard a knock on the door. Fork still in hand, I went to see who it was. A frowning Bulldog stood on my doorstep. “I had to grill my own damn burgers, you ass. Where the hell were you?” I laughed because this was funny. “Is there anything in my job description that says I have to cook for you, boss man? I only ever did it out of the kindness of my heart and sympathy for the stomachs you’d be feeding. But it seems you made out just fine, so I think I might be occupied from now on. Better get used to it.” I waved my fork at him. “That all? My food’s gettin’ cold.” The expression on Bulldog’s too-handsome face was priceless. “Well, uh, yeah, I guess.” “All right then, enjoy your party.” And get drunk and f****d by men other than me. I shut the door and leaned back against it, hardly daring to breathe as I waited to hear his footsteps fade away. That had hurt my heart, a lot. But weirdly enough, it had felt good, too. I was forty-one years old, goddamn it. If I wanted to find a “forever relationship,” then I needed to put Nicholas “Bulldog” McMurtry out of my mind and move on before I became decrepit.