Stockton Cowboys Book 5: Saddling Cowboys

Chapter 1: Cowboy Interest-2

Fargo watched Chip pick up a basket tooled roper saddle, checked its detail out, and asked, “Tell me about this one.”

“It has a Bowman tree, a three-inch horn, a four-inch cantle, a five-year warranty, waffle tooling, and stainless steel rigging. It’s a nice saddle. Some call it a beauty. You won’t be disappointed.”

“What’s the price?” Chip asked, attentive.

Fargo told him, and then added, “It’s a good investment for your business. Plus, it’s dependable, sturdy, and not at all cheaply made. I think one of its better features is the wear that it will give.” Fargo winked at the guy. “Your ride will just keep getting better and better after use.”

Chip placed the saddle back where he found it and asked, “Why get that one compared to a Flex tree trail saddle?”

It was a valid question. Both saddles were different, but the Bowman was more practical, which he told Chip. “Some riders think that the Flex tree gives the horse too much room. The saddle rocks sideways and forward, which is uncomfortable, both for the horse and its rider.”

“So I should get the Bowman?”

“I would,” Fargo answered. “Both are nice, though.”

“But the Bowman is cheaper, right?”

“Not by much. Cost shouldn’t be an issue regarding a professional like you, Chip. I don’t want to be rude, but you’re in here for a good saddle and one that you can rely on. I’m not going to sell you something cheap. These are all high-grade and high-quality saddles.”

“Understood,” Chip said. “I just wanted to see how you would react when I asked that.”

Damn, Fargo thought. He’s a sexy cowboy from head to toe. I can’t stop looking at him. He melts me and shouldn’t. I should have more composure.

Chip admired the saddle again and changed the topic. He asked over his left shoulder, “You and Brent Trigger ride together anymore?”

Brent William Trigger was Fargo’s last boyfriend. Fargo and Trigger were no longer a couple. After a three-year stint, what Fargo sometimes referred to as the most difficult tri-rodeo (three years of pure hell) he was challenged with. Trigger enjoyed his men a little too much, and alcohol, which instigated his anger. Fargo couldn’t recall how many bruises he had obtained on his chest while being Brent’s boyfriend. When Trigger got drunk his fists flew, and he didn’t care where they landed. Plus, he liked to throw other things, too. One time he was drunk inside Saddling Cowboys and started tossing saddles around, one after the next. That was the day Fargo decided to break up with the guy. As far as he knew, Trigger had moved on, enjoying the single life, just as Fargo was.

Fargo had been single for the last four months and had dated a few guys from Nosser County. Two were rodeo boys and the third was a corn farmer. The dates were short, sweet, and romantic. Although he thought the corn farmer adorable with his suntanned cheeks and cleft in the center of his chin, Fargo didn’t sleep with him. Truth was Fargo had only slept with three men in his thirty-three years. The first was on his twenty-first birthday. Chad Black, a friend of a friend, invited himself to Fargo’s birthday bash at Dingo, a country boy’s bar on the east side of Blue Coyote. Chad had a few birthday drinks with Fargo and whispered in his ear, “I have your present right here if you want it.” Fargo, because he was young and drunk, took the offered present, lost his virginity to the guy, and had the time of his life. His second affair was with a stranger that went by the name of Carter Daye. Fargo was in Nebraska at the time, some ten years ago. He was there on a business trip to critique a new saddle pad to sell in his store. Carter wooed Fargo, wined and dined him, and ended up with the man in his bed, not that Fargo complained. The two men dated for almost a year, until Carter sniffed out a new cowboy and tossed Fargo away.

To answer Chip’s question, Fargo said, “Trigger and I thought it was best to end things. He went his way and I went mine.”

Chip respected that. “The guy has a drinking problem, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” Fargo answered. “Some cowboys can’t control their alcohol. Trigger falls into that category. He needs to get some help.”

“Life’s a b***h, isn’t it? Just when you think it’s going fine there’s a surprise bump.”

“Sort of like a rodeo. You never know what’s going to happen next.”

Fargo slid past Chip to get back to the register area, which was a safety zone for him; a place where he felt comfortable. Without any thought, his right palm brushed against Chip’s left shoulder. Fingers met soft cotton and muscle hidden underneath the shirt. A bolt of excitement raced through Fargo’s private parts, which was then followed by a sensual tingle. He said, “Excuse me,” but it really didn’t matter since Chip knew that Fargo was flirting with him.

Once positioned behind the counter, hiding his mid-section behind the register, feeling a semi-erection come to life between his legs, attracted to the cowboy in his store, Fargo said, “I’ll give you ten percent off the Bowman saddle if you pay cash. What do you say?”

“I’d say it is a pretty damn nice saddle and deal.” Chip admired the item again from front to back. He palmed the horn, ran fingers down and over the seat, and added, “How quick can you get two of these in for me?”

Fargo wondered if that was the way Chip grazed his palm and fingers over a man’s naked body, slow motion with two twirling fingertips. “How soon do you need them?”

“The sooner, the better. Mine are falling apart. I don’t feel safe using them.”

Fargo could have felt safe in the cowboy’s arms, cuddled next to his strapping chest. He was pretty sure Chip knew how to treat a man, both with respect and in s****l play. Chip seemed like a sweetheart, Fargo scrutinized, and pegged him as a romantic kind of guy who enjoyed quiet evenings in front of a fire, surrounded by the harmony of crickets, and a full moon playing chase with the night’s clouds. Fargo imagined waking up next to the guy after a night of heated s*x with him. He was pretty sure Chip would smell sexy and rank at the same time, sweaty and with bad breath. Not that he would care, though. Fargo enjoyed waking up next to a man and learning every little detail about him, which included mussed hair and a sweat-slicked chest from fresh sleep. Damn, how he had missed that closeness to a cowboy, even with Brent Trigger. There wasn’t anything better than sharing breakfast with a guy, loading up on carbs and fruit, and planning to spend the day together.

Fargo escaped his enticing daydream and said, “I can probably have the saddles here in five business days. Does that work for you?”

It did. Chip nodded and said, “And I’ll pay cash today for that ten percent discount.” He sauntered up to counter area, pulled out his wallet, and chucked over some bills. “Any way I can have a receipt?”

“Absolutely. Not a problem.” Fargo counted out the money, pushed buttons on his register, and printed out a receipt.

“Just for the record, Fargo, you’re single, right?”

Fargo held the receipt for the two saddles in his left hand. His mouth hung open with surprise because of Chip’s question. Then he stammered, “Ye…ah,” sounding like the village i***t.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind,” Chip said, removed the paper receipt from Fargo’s shaking hand, and started his exit from the store. Over his right shoulder, he called out, “Call me when you get the saddles in. I’ll stop by and pick them up.”

“Sounds good, Chip. Thanks for coming in.”

Chip waved goodbye and was gone.

Fargo watched the cowboy leave, studying the man’s tight ass in its snug denim, attracted to its bulbous orbs and Chip’s muscular thighs. Chip Cutter’s ass was pretty hot, he deemed, and sexy as hell. Truth was Fargo wouldn’t have minded patting it with one of his hands, or maybe peeling the denim away from its concave structure.

Just as the naughty thoughts entered Fargo’s mind, they vanished. There was no way in hell Chip was interested in a ginger. Most men weren’t, Fargo had learned while dating cowboys in the Midwest. They were turned off by his freckles and deep green eyes, thinking him a leprechaun instead of a cowboy who sold saddles for a living. Rarely, if ever, did he get someone as smoking hot as Chip Cutter to glance his way, or to clarify if he were single. So maybe Chip was into him, or maybe not, Fargo wasn’t really wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was crystal clear in his head: he had to order two saddles for Chip from his supplier, who was located in Omaha, Nebraska, and was coincidentally from the same town where he had met Carter Daye.