by V. L. Locey
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dawn's Desire (Prairie Smoke Ranch, #1)
About the Author
LGBTQ Releases | Standalones
Colors of Love Series
The Campo Royale Series
According to Liam Series
Prairie Smoke Ranch Trilogy
Overtime—The Trilogy
The Laurel Holidays Series
Tales of Bryant Series
Cayuga Cougars Series
Arizona Raptors
Boston Rebels Series
Harrisburg Railers Series
Owatonna U. Hockey Trilogy
M/F Rereleases – Coming in October
Dawn’s Desire
Prairie Smoke Ranch #1
By
V.L. Locey
Amid fossils, yarrow, and cattle, two men are about to discover a love bigger than the Wyoming sky.
When Nate Pearson left heartache behind in the big city, he never looked back, he couldn’t bear to. Suffering and loss propelled him westward, but once he laid eyes on the Tetons, he knew he’d found a place where he could hide and heal. For over twenty years, the Prairie Smoke Ranch has been his refuge and his salvation. Working under the pale blue sky, he’s been able to keep the pain buried. Then one day while digging a cattle watering system, Nate and his hands unearth a mound of dinosaur bones that will change his life forever.
Once news of the discovery reaches the local university, paleontology professor Bishop Haney arrives with several undergrads to spend the summer excavating and cataloging the find. At first, Nate is unimpressed with the laid-back, surfer dude with the ocean blue eyes. But as the two opposites get to know each other, Nate discovers Bishop might be the balm his aching soul needs.
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MM Contemporary Western
Dawn’s Desire (Prairie Smoke Ranch #1)
Copyright © 2020 V.L. Locey
First E-book Publication: August 14, 2021
Cover design: Meredith Russell
Editor: Kathy Krick
All cover art and logo copyright © Meredith Russell
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER: V.L. Locey
~~*~~
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Acknowledgments
To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.
To my alphas, betas, editors, and proofers who work incredibly hard to help me make my books the shiniest we can make them.
To Rachel who helps keep me on time, in line, and reasonably sane.
To Kathy L. Sutter, my wonderful sensitivity/diversity reader, for all her help and advice on indigenous American cultures
Chapter One
There are ways to start a day off on the right foot and then there are wrong foot days.
Today had been predestined to be a wrong foot day from the moment I put my bare feet to the floor of my cabin and felt a wet squish between my toes. Living with a cat, that squish could have been anything from a hairball to dead mouse remains.
It had been a hairball. Bane, the old ginger barn cat who had moved in without consent four years ago, had merely twitched his crooked tail when I had filled the air with profanity. I should have booted him off the bed for the cold mess between my toes.
Looking back on the start of my morning, it would have been wise to call off this project until a right foot day rolled around. Several of the young men who worked under me would have agreed. The hands who hailed from the Shoshone-Arapaho reservation had an innate sense—or probably simply more common sense—when it came to pushing back against the gods. Not that I had any firm belief in any deity. My faith had withered up and died twenty-one years ago.
“So, are they really bones?” Landon asked, his voice pulling me out of the mental pit I had fallen into. I sighed, tipped my old black Stetson off my sweaty brow, and shrugged. The owner of the Prairie Smoke Ranch gave me a flat look. “That wasn’t helpful at all.”
I glanced from the wealthy ex-hockey player to the now idle Bobcat parked right where we’d wanted to install a windmill watering system for the Angus cattle we raised.
“I’m not sure. Perry seems to think so,” I replied then took a step closer to the layers of hard sandstone that now lay exposed to the warming May sun.
“But you’re the ranch foreman,” Landon argued. He was worried. I could tell by the set of his firm jaw and the unease in his gray eyes. “You’re supposed to know everything.”
That made me chuckle. Sure, I knew a lot. About ranching and money and anguish. About dinosaur bones? Not so much.
“They could be bones from cattle,” I offered. The small circle of men in worn denim, tank tops, and dusty cowboy hats grew tighter around the unexpected find. Perry shook his head, rising from where he’d been kneeling beside the hole in the ground.
“Nope, don’t think so, boss.” Perry wiped his hands on the seat of his Wranglers and turned his hazel eyes my way. “They’re too old, I think. They’re too weathered. And this one here,” he waved a gloved hand at the big bone we’d snapped in half with the bucket of the excavator, “that’s just too big for anything that’s roaming around here now.”
“Well shit,” I huffed and gave Landon a long look. “This is your call. It’s your land. What do you want to do here?” I motioned to the mess we’d made.
“Uhm...”
I sniggered. Ah Lord there was nothing like a city boy who came west. Since I’d done the same thing a lifetime ago, I had more patience with the city slickers who spent their time here fishing and hunting than most. Landon Reece was a good man who had been touched by the spirit of the Tetons just as I had and still was. Every time I looked at the mountains, I felt a calm move over me. And since Landon was one of a few gay men within a few hundred miles, his husband Montrell Pittman, the bandleader for late night talk show personality Oliver Reed Doyle, being the other, I tended to give them both plenty of slack. It wasn’t easy being an old queer cowboy. Although Montrell had no interest in ranching at all and Landon...well, Landon did. Bless his eager heart.
“As I see it, we have two options,” I said then leaned on the bucket of the excavator that we’d rented. Our little skid steer wasn’t able to dig as deep as we’d have to go. And now the cost of the excavator and the man runni
ng it had to be written off as losses. Like I’d said wrong foot day. I was blaming this all on Bane. A warm wind blew over us, rustling the tall grasses that had shot up. “We either call someone who buys and sells bones to come dig the site, or we call the college. I know they have a couple of paleontologists at UWW who will come out to assess any uncovered fossils.”
“Sir,” Perry spoke up. Landon smiled and reminded him to call him by his first name. It would take time for my men to become his men as well, but we’d get there. “Right, Landon. Well, sir, as I see it, the better option I think would be to call the college. They’ll send out a professor to poke around and see what we have here.”
“How do you know so much about fossils?” Landon asked, and our young Native American employees laughed. It was well known among the men how much Perry loved all things dinosaur.
“Oh well.” Perry rubbed the back of his deeply tanned neck. “I’m kind of an amateur fossilist.”
“He also watches that dinosaur hunter show on Discovery Channel,” Kyle Abbott tossed out. “All the time. Like porn only...dino bones and not human boners.”
That got a laugh from the men idling in the sun.
“Fuck you all,” Perry mumbled, a rich red blush creeping up his neck to his ears. Kyle, our “irrigator,” the man who was in charge of water and irrigation for the ranch, slapped Perry soundly on the back. “Assholes aside,” Perry quickly got us back on track. “I’d give the scholars the first dibs, sir. This way if there’s something important buried there the whole scientific community will benefit from it.”
Landon nodded. “Okay then, I’ll ride back to the big house and call the college.” With that, our new boss swung a leg over his four-wheeler and headed back home, bouncing along a rough dirt path that we politely called the Elk Creek Path. The land that made up the Prairie Smoke Ranch—all ten thousand acres—was crisscrossed with manmade and nature made paths. Some we’d made into roads, others, like this one that ran along a now dry creek, had been created by the elk, bison, and moose that shared the land with our six hundred plus cow/calf pairs.
I looked around at the eight workers who were enjoying this setback far too much.
“Since we’re on hold on this water tank and windmill, why don’t you all head back to the ranch. There’s a feed order waiting for pick up in Copper Falls and the steer pens need mucked out. We’ll be moving the cows and heifers to pasture in a few weeks, so all the calves will need to be tagged tomorrow.”
The younger men jumped to it. Perry, who was twenty-two, and Kyle, at thirty-five, hung back as the hands climbed into one of two beater Ford pickups we had for ranch use. Dust rolled behind them as they followed along in Landon’s path.
“Can you get your grandfather back here to dowse another site?” I asked Perry.
“Yeah, probably. I’ll call him when we’re back home.” He looked skyward. “Should I tell Joe to head back?” He cocked a thumb at the man napping in his excavator. I nodded. It irked me to no end to lose this watering spot. Now we’d have to move down the old creek bed, hoping that Aaron Yellow Horse could locate the creek that had mysteriously started running underground two years ago. This was prime grazing land for the cattle. Having water easily accessible to them and the wildlife that would use the watering tank would have been a great asset.
“Okay, do that. I’m heading home for lunch then I’ll be up at the big house to explain to the owner about insemination techniques.”
They both had a chuckle at my expense then went about their duties. Kyle would get Joe and the digger taken care of. He’d already been paid for the job and now would get a second call. Perry would make sure the hands were following orders, which they did for the most part. Young men tended to get easily distracted, but overall they were a good, hard-working group. And I got to spend the next hour with two gay men and an Asian woman from Manhattan to explain standing heat cycles. It was all Bane’s fault.
***
“So no bull?”
I smiled at Montrell over my mug of coffee. “No bull.”
Montrell glanced at his husband. “Do I want to know how they get the bulls to put their stuff into a tiny plastic cup?”
Landon snorted in amusement but questioningly stared at me.
“You don’t need to know the specifics, just that we’ll be using artificial insemination for the cows and two-year-old heifers who are now coming into heat.” I took a sip of coffee, my sight darting from Black man to White man to Asian woman. All of them looked to be lost, or disgusted, or possibly a combination of both.
Mona Ito, a petite Asian woman with wire frame glasses, blinked. Landon’s PA was a smart cookie and had a knack for numbers that almost rivaled mine. She was also a whiz at getting Landon to do what Landon didn’t wish to do. Which was leave the ranch. He was fully enamored with life here in Wyoming, but he still had things to do off the ranch. His fame as a premier ice hockey goalie back in New York couldn’t be fully ignored. Nor could his husband who was about to set off on a tour for a newly released jazz album.
“Is this method cheaper?” Mona asked.
I nodded. “Yes, I believe it to be. If we look at things such as genetic improvement, increased weaning weight, increased calf crop uniformity, increased reproductive performance, I find it far outweighs the cost of buying and keeping a bull. A top Angus bull would probably cost us anywhere from seven thousand up to and exceeding a million dollars.”
All three gaped. “Oh bullshit,” Montrell finally quipped. “Sorry. Someone had to say it.”
“Yeah, I don’t see myself spending a million dollars on a cow,” Landon said when the sticker shock wore off.
“Bull, and no, I don’t either. AI is much simpler and cost effective. Also, it takes away the worry of the bull breeding heifers who are too young.” I set down my mug on the new oval dining room table and pushed a folder to Landon. “You can read over the cost analysis for the past ten years.” I tapped the neat pile of papers in the white folder. “But if you wish to invest in a bull, we can certainly do it that way.”
“No, I have no interest in having some rampaging bull chasing my ass around this farm,” Montrell spoke up with speed. “Let’s just do the AI thing. Are the calves doing well?”
I nodded. Montrell had been lured into the herd by the new calves that had been born this year. Generally, he always made sure there was a fence between him and the livestock. It was obvious he was uneasy around the cattle and horses, so we were all shocked when he stepped in to bottle feed a calf that had been rejected by its mother.
“Yes, they are,” I was happy to report.
“And Simon?” he asked. I nodded. He grinned. “Good. I like him. I’m off to practice.” He kissed Landon on the lips and left us to talk. Within minutes, the sound of cool jazz floated through the open doors of the timber-framed house. I enjoyed the way Montrell played the piano even though I wasn’t a big jazz fan. My tastes ran more to endless hours of Gordon Lightfoot.
“He does know that Simon is a now a steer and that steer calves—”
Landon cut me off. “No, he doesn’t know that. Can’t we just keep Simon as a pet?”
My eyes flared. “Do you realize how big a castrated Angus steer will get?”
Landon looked at Mona. “Don’t look at me,” she replied then gathered up the folder I’d shoved at Landon and pattered off.
“Well, we can’t just slaughter Simon. Montrell would be heartbroken,” Landon whispered although Montrell was pounding away on the keys in the music room and certainly wasn’t able to hear a word of our conversation here in the kitchen. “Can he be a pet? I mean...he’s friendly. Will he stay friendly?”
I sat back in my chair. “Probably but that steer will eat a lot of hay and grain over its lifetime.”
Landon sighed. “Okay well, we’ll think on that later. He’s going out with the other cows soon, right? That’s why we’re weaning him now.” I bobbed my head. “Good. Then we’ll worry about it in the fall when they come back off
pasture. Montrell can have time to cut the cord.”
“Sure,” I said because...sure. I’d not go into calf sales in the fall and how important that check was to the ranch. I did make a note to look into where we could keep Simon when winter set in just in case.
“Excellent. So I say go ahead with the inseminations like you’ve been doing. Oh, I got in touch with Professor Angela Twitch at UWW. She said she’d be thrilled to have one of her associates come check out our find. She said he’ll be here tomorrow bright and early. I gave her directions to your place so Montrell and I can have the morning to get around. We’re leaving for Europe in the afternoon.”
“I remember. Of course. I’ll be happy to show whoever he is around.” Such a blatant lie. I was already behind on my work and escorting some stodgy old academic around was only going to set me back further.
“Excellent! Let me know what the old fuddy-duddy says after he leaves, will you?”
Sensing the meeting was over, I tossed back the dregs of my coffee and got to my boots. “I’ll ring you as soon as I get close enough to find our two bars of service.”
“Good man!” Landon slapped his palm over mine then walked me to the front door. “We should cordon off the area to keep the fishermen who are renting the guest cabins away. If there’s something important in the ground, we don’t want people riding all over the site. We did enough damage there.”
“I’ll get on that myself.”
He smiled warmly. I made my way to my truck, which was actually his truck as it belonged to the ranch. It was a newer model Dodge, hunter green, with the Prairie Smoke Ranch logo on the doors. I used it for picking up guests at the airport as well as plowing during the winter. Giving the sprawling home one final look, I climbed into the pickup and made my way to the equipment shed for stakes and fencing supplies. A foreman’s work was never done, I mused.
While tossing fiberglass stakes and electric tape into the back of my truck, I mulled over making a trip to the lone oak pasture but decided against it. It wasn’t Sunday, and I didn’t want to ruin the natural innocence of the spot with tire tracks. I’d have to wait to go. It was a nicer ride on horseback anyway, more time to prepare for the visit. Over the past year, the urge to go to the oak had been growing stronger. The need to see that mighty tree touching the sky and rest under its thick canopy more than weekly was probably not a good thing. But the oak and the memories were all I had in my life, aside from my job, so perhaps I should cut myself some slack.
