Fairgrounds

by Matthew Angelo

  A small-town cop realizes that love can’t be hidden, especially on a campaign of honesty.

  It’s midsummer in Cheyenne and things are heating up due to it being an election year. Kurtis ‘Ricky’ Thornton is running for election for Laramie County Sheriff. The only thing separating him from the others is the fact he’s gay and in a long-term relationship with his partner Garrett. Both were born and raised in Cheyenne, so they know what kind of problems to expect. As the week-long rodeo and carnival fill the city with citizens and tourists alike with cowboys everywhere you look, Kurtis realizes some things can’t stay hidden, especially at the fairgrounds. They both realize that love can be just as open as the prairie, and theirs may be just what the town needs to move forward.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Fairgrounds

  Copyright © 2017 Matthew Angelo

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-1121-3

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

  Look for us online at:

  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Fairgrounds

  By

  Matthew Angelo

  Dedication

  For all those in Wyoming who have the courage to be yourselves. Greg, thanks for putting up with my writing and my inner geek.

  Fairgrounds

  “Garrett, if those jeans were any tighter, I could see Lincoln smiling on the penny in your pocket.”

  He turned around and shot me one of his brilliant smiles that had a way of melting my heart like butter in a frying pan. “Ricky, all my jeans are tight. You didn’t seem to mind earlier when you slapped me on the ass while I washed the pickup.”

  I could only shrug since he was right. “I can’t tell a lie. You look good in jeans, baby. Now get your ass back here and walk beside me.”

  Garrett strutted back and matched my speed. He looked great tonight wearing slick dark cowboy boots, tight jeans, red plaid button up shirt with rolled up sleeves topped off with a dirty white cowboy hat. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and the scruff on his face sent shivers through my body when he rubbed it against me.

  His smile won me over. He had an athletic body and a handsome face, but his grin made my heart flutter more than anything. Garrett had a mind on him. His parents made sure he kept his grades up, and after many years at the University of Wyoming, he graduated with a degree in Veterinary Medicine.

  “I’d hold your hand but considering where we are, it may not be a good idea,” Garrett said. He sounded disappointed. I couldn’t blame him.

  “Cheyenne isn’t the most open of cities,” I replied. “In time, we’ll catch up to the rest of the nation.”

  “That’s just a part of it, Ricky. I know we talked about it, but sometimes I wish we could be more open about us,” Garrett replied.

  “I want to but the campaign. I’m running for Laramie County Sheriff. People here couldn’t handle if one of their own were gay and wanted to be the big cop in town.” I stopped and stared at the large fence filled with campaign signs and local advertising banners.

  “People here are more open than you think they are. Many will handle it well and others won’t, but we’ll have to tell them sometime,” Garrett said, stopping beside me.

  I heard him sigh and wanted to pull him against me. Garrett was right as usual. I’d have to out myself at some point. Many of the force already knew and didn’t care. They’d met Garrett and loved him as much as me, but with the campaign, it made things harder.

  Growing up gay in the small-town Midwest could be dangerous. With stories in the news of LGBT kids getting killed proved hard enough to understand. When it happened in my backyard with the murder of Matthew Shepard, I almost ran back into the closet.

  Refusing to let fear ruin my life, I joined the force. It was the best thing I could do to help others like me. I would help them in my hometown. The fear was there and so was the courage. Behind all of them fighting for equality was Garrett. Sometimes his bravery surpassed mine.

  “You’re right. I’m not helping myself or others with one foot still in the closet,” I said.

  “I’m not saying to issue a damn press release. This is the beautiful state of Wyoming, and we can take it slow. Remember why you’re doing this.” Garrett pointed at my campaign sign. “The citizens of this town look up to you. Hell, Ricky, it’s one of the main reasons I fell so hard for you.”

  “They do need me here. Our community most of all. I wonder if I’ve lost my way in all these politics,” I muttered. “You look up to me?”

  “You know I do. That first time I saw you in college, giving the speech on equality for the Day of Silence, you had a fire in you. You were the only person I’d met where I could feel the integrity in your voice, not to mention you looked great in uniform,” Garrett replied. “Don’t worry about whether or not you lost your way. It’s there in your pretty blue eyes. I see in your grit and determination when you help people.”

  “I don’t deserve you, Garrett, but I do love you,” I replied, trying to choke back my emotions. Damn, I hate getting sappy and misty-eyed.

  “Ah, don’t be getting emotional, Ricky. If your start crying, then I’ll start, and before you know it, we’ll be at the Outlaw Saloon sobbing into bottles of cheap beer,” Garrett said.

  I could never hide anything from him. “It’s my allergies,” I replied.

  Garrett slapped me on my back. “Kurtis Ricky Thornton, you haven’t ever been allergic to anything.”

  “We should get our tickets to the fairgrounds,” I said.

  Garrett wrapped an arm around my neck and pointed at my sign with his other. “Yep, but let’s just admire this rugged and manly campaign sign. After this is over, I want to hang this in the garage.”

  “That’s not going in the garage. If I lose, I don’t want a banner advertising my failure as a daily reminder,” I replied.

  “You haven’t lost yet. It’s only summer, and the election isn’t for a few months,” Garrett said.

  I ducked from under Garrett’s arm and almost lost my hat in the process. “Yeah, I know. Let’s get going, and it’s awkward staring at my face so much.”

  “Who are you kidding? I could stare at your face all day,” Garrett replied.

  I shuffled away so he could catch up. “Another reason why it’s not going in our garage.”

  “You paying?” Garrett folded his jeans pockets inside out.

  “I thought you were. Cops don’t get paid enough,” I answered. “You’re the doctor.”

  “Doctor? I’m a vet, and I’m still in an internship. Baristas get paid more than me,” Garrett replied.

  I shook my head and handed the Ticketmaster the money for two tickets to get in. The man just stared from Garrett to me then
raised an eyebrow. I nodded yes to affirm the fact we were together. The man glanced at the badge on my shirt with a look of surprise.

  “Yes, we can be cops. I’m hoping I can count on your vote this November.” I handed him a small campaign flyer. “Vote Kurtis ‘Ricky’ Thornton for Laramie County Sheriff. Integrity and duty.”

  Garrett pushed me through the gate. “If there aren’t any more speeches to give? Have a good evening, sir.”

  * * * *

  After pushing Kurtis through the front gate, the midway opened up to us. Vendors sold their wares to tourists and locals alike. The smell of funnel cakes and other concessions filled the air mixed with the aromas of grease and sweat. I wrinkled my nose and smiled.

  The shops by the front gate sold mainly cowboys hat, boots, and belts. This one was the one time of the year when everyone could be a cowboy or cowgirl. I believe a person needed more than a pickup truck and hat, Cheyenne’s Frontier Days proved it was a country western version of comic con. It didn’t matter if the majority weren’t legitimate cowboys, it was all in good fun.

  I nudged Kurtis toward a concession stand. “I hear a funnel cake calling my name.”

  “You don’t want to walk around first before we get some?” Kurtis asked.

  “Nope. I have a feeling I’ll need some sugary fried carbs to keep me going tonight. A beer won’t hurt either,” I replied. My stomach grumbled at the thought and smell of food.

  “I’ll go grab us some food,” Kurtis said.

  I watched him walk toward the stand and grinned. He is so good to me. I’m honestly the luckiest man on Earth right now. Scanning the crowd of people and the stalls of vendors, I watched as a man with a t-shirt saying I Love New York buy a cowboy hat. I doubted he ever sat on a horse outside of those kiddie rides you see at a mall or retail store for twenty-five cents for a few minutes’ ride.

  “What has country music done to people these days,” I muttered.

  “Done to who?” Kurtis handed me a beer and hot plate full of fried doughy goodness.

  I took a deep inhale of powder sugar and cherry pie topping. “If heaven has a smell, this is it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome... I think. What do you want to hit first? I’m thinking some carnie swag,” Kurtis said.

  “I like the sound of that. Most of these games are rigged, though,” I replied, as we started walking away from the vendor area and hit the main midway.

  “True, but it’s about having fun. Sometimes we get lucky.” Kurtis pulled a piece of funnel cake from my plate and stuffed his mouth with it.

  Nodding in agreement, we shuffled as a number of people kept us from moving any faster. The sound of Native American windpipes and the soft beat of drums filled the air and mixed with cries and shouts from the midway. Kurtis stopped and dropped money into the jar. The musicians, all of indigenous descent, nodded in thanks and continued playing.

  The music was amazing, and I knew before the night ended, I’d leave the fairgrounds with a few CDs in my possession. A cry stole my attention and witnessed a carnie haggled a few passersby to take part in his game of chance.

  Kurtis pointed at the man. “I think it’s time for us to partake of our first round of carnie swag.”

  “Looks pretty easy to win something. Popping balloons with darts shouldn’t be overly difficult. You’re good with a gun, so you could put that academy training to use and make us a killing in bad pop art,” I said.

  “I’m going after the small stuffed animals. A picture of the latest pop stars doesn’t do it for me,” Kurtis replied.

  Grinning as Kurtis sauntered up to the booth like John Wayne in a western, I heard the whoosh of the Kamikaze and the screams of its riders behind me. Glancing at it, I saw its two large hammer-like arms swing back and forth. A cold day in hell before I get on that. Well, maybe later, after a few more beers.

  I caught up with Kurtis who held a handful of darts. “What prize are you wanting?”

  Kurtis threw a dart. “I’m thinking I’ll be taking home the stuffed donkey.” It popped a balloon.

  “Damn right!” I exclaimed. “Donkey? I guess you’ll take some ass home with you after all.”

  The carnie snickered, and Kurtis shot me an eye roll as he shook his head. Kurtis tossed another dart, and it rewarded him with a popping sound. Just one more, Ricky. He looked quite excited with the possibility of winning the game. Most people won at this game, but far be it from me to take his joy.

  “You got this. It’ll be like shooting prairie dogs on the plains,” I said.

  I noticed a couple stopped next to us and watched as Kurtis let the last dart fly. Another popping sound filled the air, and everyone cheered, including the carnie. The two people, I assumed husband and wife, congratulated him as the carnie handed him the small stuffed animal.

  “Good shot, Ricky!” said the man, clapping Kurtis on the back. He seemed as excited as his wife.

  “Thanks. It’s good to see you two. I want you meet someone,” Kurtis motioned me over. “This is my partner, Garrett McIntyre. Garrett this is Wendy and Joe Davis. They were instrumental in getting my campaign off to a strong start.”

  I shook both their hands “Nice to meet both of you.”

  “Partner? You on the force as well, Garrett?” Joe asked.

  “Not exactly,” I replied.

  “Honey, he’s Kurtis life-partner,” Wendy answered with a pat on her husband’s shoulder.

  “Oh. Oooh I see,” Joe said. “This is the Garrett you spoke of?”

  “Yes, Joe. The boyfriend I mentioned over a dozen times,” Kurtis replied.

  “You talk about me that much?” I asked. Kurtis just shrugged and blushed a little.

  “And then some, Garrett. This man here won’t shut up at times. He’s quite proud of you, and I’ve been dying to meet you forever,” Wendy mentioned. “Wyoming needs strong men like you. Fresh blood for this old town.”

  “Wendy’s right. Cheyenne needs to move to the present. We can do this without sacrificing our way of life,” Joe said.

  “I agree, and it’s part of what I hope to accomplish here. At least from a law enforcement view. I’ll leave the rest of politics to someone else,” Kurtis replied.

  “We’ll let you boys have your fun.” Wendy tried pulling her husband away.

  I shook Joe’s hand after he did the same with Kurtis. “Nice to meet both of you.”

  I watched them walk away. Even in good old Cheyenne, getting validated felt great. Knowing I didn’t always have to hide who I was proved good for the soul. It seemed more people knew Kurtis was gay than he realized. I had little doubt him coming out would shock many people, but I could be wrong.

  * * * *

  I waved goodbye as Joe and Wendy walked away. Garrett and I walked around the midway at a snail’s pace. It didn’t matter to me. It felt great to have the love of my life enjoying it next to me. The icing on the cake was introducing Garrett as my partner. I hated hiding and made up my mind to open myself more to the public. I couldn’t run a campaign for Laramie County Sheriff on honesty and duty by hiding my sexuality.

  “You look way too serious, Kurtis. Do you have winner’s remorse?” Garrett asked.

  “No, just thinking,” I replied.

  “I’d ask, but you ain’t one to share feelings,” Garrett replied.

  I placed a hand on Garrett’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s all right and something I feel will help us in the future.”

  “Now I’m curious as a raccoon staring up at a trashcan,” Garrett replied.

  “I’ll tell you later. Now, let’s see what ride looks the safest,” I replied.

  “Safe is a relative term at these places. Maybe another beer or two. I’m not buzzed enough to risk my pretty face on these rides,” Garrett mentioned.

  Garrett pulled me to the beer tent. “Then a beer or two it is. Before this evening is over, you’ll be riding something.”

  “That’s a guaran
tee,” Garrett mumbled.

  It was loud enough for me to hear and carried enough innuendo all I could do was look at him and raise an eyebrow. He winked at me and squared up his shoulders. He knew exactly how much I loved him and liked how he looked. It drove me crazy at times, but it was madness I gladly suffered from.

  I stood in line with Garrett next to me. We weren’t the only ones in need of an adult beverage. Glancing around, a few men and women in military uniform talked among themselves. It made me smile. If I won the election, I’d have the honor of working alongside the military a little more. I never served in the armed forces myself, but I held a lot of respect for our men and women serving the country.

  “It’s a little quieter in here,” I said more as an observation.

  “Not by much, but I expect everyone is more focused on the beer than anything. Cheyenne is, after all, a drinking town,” Garrett observed.

  “Yeah, with a lot of cowboys. When in Rome, right?” I asked.

  “It’s Frontier Days. In a month, two tops, all the wannabe’s will dress like they always have,” Garrett said. “The tourists will also be gone.”

  “True. This week has made my job busier than usual. So far only a few scuffles and extra traffic tickets. Nothing too extreme,” I mentioned. “I’m glad that all those who open or conceal carry continue to show responsibility. It makes me worry at times.”

  Garrett pointed in front of me. “It’s our turn.”

  I turned back to the vendor. “Two please.”

  “That’ll be twelve dollars please,” replied the vendor.

  Handing him the money, I grabbed the beer in return. “Too bad I couldn’t arrest anyone on highway robbery.”

  Garrett grabbed one as we walked away. I stood in silence drinking my beer as I watched people walk past me on the midway. The whoosh and whir of the rides added to the ambiance of the fairgrounds. Lights from the rides lit up the night, and the laughter of children echoed in the air as flying elephants flew in a clockwise circle. It looks like everybody’s enjoying themselves.