1. Chapter One

Chapter One

After getting the gig at the very new resort, Rowan McDuffy read over the itinerary for the second time after pouring himself a glass of wine and sitting on the deck of the beach house he’d purchased three years before and so rarely saw.

A nice long gig and a free cabin for a short vacation sounded great, sure, but was it popular enough to sustain his reputation? A reputation he’d worked hard for. After all, he couldn’t head to places with three old guys that would shakily try to stuff a dollar bill down his jock.

No one thought being an exotic dancer was work, but the travel and hours of working out to keep his body in shape were wearing thin. He’d worked hard to make a reputation as one of the best male dancers in the country.

He’d been hired by all the biggest companies and danced in the biggest shows. Rowan McDuffy was now his brand and his name.

Rowan was handsome, hairless as a twink, but his body was worked into being incredibly ripped while still lean. His blond hair and light blue eyes were also coveted, as was his wide smile, showing the naturally perfect teeth he was lucky to have. He’d used them all to achieve something few had the opportunity to do.

After looking up the resort on his phone, he smiled as he saw the reviews. Scrolling down Yelp and Trip Advisor, I saw that every review of the three hundred was five stars. The guests couldn’t get enough of the resort, which had been made to look like an old West town.

Montana. Well, that was a new one. He’d never danced there before, so it would be a first, and he was damn short on firsts. His phone began to ring, and he saw from the screen that it was his agent. He took the call on speaker so he could lounge on the beach chair a little longer.

“Hey, Sarah.”

“Rowan, did you get a chance to look it over?”

She meant the itinerary. “I did. It looks good, and the place is popular. I thought you said it just opened.”

“It opened this last summer, but, yes, it’s very popular. Half the place is family-friendly, and the other is all…well, for those who want a little naughtier fun. I’ll confirm with their manager…what the hell was his name…?”

Rowan changed screens and saw the name right away on the itinerary. “Jace Conroy. Damn, if that’s not an old-west kinda name.”

“Isn’t it? Speaking to him on the phone, though, I expected some hillbilly twang, and there was none. He sounds capable and very businesslike.”

“Hot?”

Sarah sighed, “This isn’t for you to run around, looking for a hookup, babe, but the place is always full of guys. Try not to screw the managers and workers.”

“The workers don’t tip when I suck them off, Sarah.”

“Do I have to keep reminding you, you’re not a hooker anymore, Rowan? Stop tricking.”

He laughed as he thought about why he started dancing in the first place. “Sarah, some hookers dance, some do porn, but it’s all to become more desirable for the johns. If I have to suck a rich dick now and then still, I at least can charge a fuck-load for that blowjob.”

“You do you, babe. Just ensure you’re at the airport on the nineteenth, and they’ll take you to the private plane.”

After the call ended, he looked at the seagulls diving over the sea as the sun warmed him through. He was light skinned, light everything, so he couldn’t sit in the sun long, but for that little while, it was nice, even if he did freckle badly.

Five years ago, he’d tricked to pay the rent and buy his food while he got through school. His parents were poor as hell, and he lived on ramen noodles and tap water for so long he didn’t remember what real food had tasted like.

A good friend introduced him to hooking, helping him avoid working long nights waiting tables or behind some counter in a convenience store. It made him a little money, but for more, he was told to either do porn or start to dance.

Porn didn’t sit well with him, so he tried dancing at clubs, working his way up to the more popular clubs in LA. He gained a small following, and his johns suddenly were falling over themselves to pay him a lot more than a hundred for a blow job and two hundred for a fuck. Suddenly, he was getting a thousand, then two thousand, and he found his true calling.

The more popular he became at the clubs, however, he found he no longer needed to hook. He still did it when he wanted extra money or to remember his roots.

School was a distant memory, and his old life was also fading in his mind. He was famous on the dance circuit—famous, almost rich, and…tired.

To keep up with the demand that was as high as it was, he had to work almost constantly. A month off would make room for other young guys with bubble butts and nice pecs to take his place. Rowan figured he could work as long as he could, then retire from it, head back to school and his career in marine biology.

And…maybe, one day, he’d find a guy that would want him for more than a night.

That was a pipe dream. Once a guy found out what he did, even if he rarely did it anymore, either he wanted a trophy or didn’t want him at all.

He packed three bags, packing warm clothes, his sexy clothes, hair, and skin products, and then took a break back on the chair outside, lounging with a new glass of wine. A couple walked by, waving at him as they strolled on the beach, and he waved back but, under his breath, told them, “Go fuck yourselves with your happy love life. I hope she cheats on you with your dad. Or better yet, your sister.”

Bitter? Sure. Petty? Definitely, but they didn’t hear him. He was hurting no one.

After a dinner of spinach and roasted chicken breast, he ran three miles on the beach as the sunset. It was his favorite time of day. It was the only time of day that he had to himself most of the time. Running from one gig to another, dancing until three most mornings, that early evening was all his.

After the run, he drank twenty ounces of water and got started on his weights. He hit the gym sometimes to use the better equipment, but mostly he worked out at home when he was there. The beach house was his sanctuary. It was sparsely furnished, with a sofa in the living room across from the sleek white fireplace that matched the plain white walls. Then there was the giant California king bed in the bedroom, and his huge closet was filled with regular clothes as well as his costumes.

It was a lonely life by the beach, but it was quiet, and after all the nights with the blaring music and loud voices, the quiet was nice.

Rowan worked his arms that day, watching the definition closely. Those muscles, his perfect flesh, were his money.

He did two shows in town over the next couple of nights, then got up much too early to head to the airport on the nineteenth. Eight in the morning was like the middle of the night for him. But he dragged his luggage to the door, and the driver the resort had hired for him took them down to the limo.

Riding in style, he got driven to the airport, watching the city fly by from the highway.

The private plane was parked on the tarmac, and he was led up the stairs by a dark-headed man wearing a thousand-dollar suit. Rowan briefly wondered if he’d be expected to fuck the guy.

Like the other couple of private planes he’d flown in, it was paneled in rich wood, oak, by the looks of it. The seats were plentiful, wide and comfortable, dark tan and fine leather.

The attendant offered him a drink and snack, and he took a vodka and soda, but no food.

Rowan sat across from the man in one of the revolving chairs and asked, “What was your name again?”

“Barry Monarco. I’m the personal attorney to the owner of the resort. I had business here in LA, so it was perfect that I escorted you to the resort. I can answer any questions and get you to sign the paperwork.”

“Paperwork, right. Sarah told me I needed to sign an NDA.”

Barry was gorgeous. He was olive-skinned, with dark hair and eyes, and he had that swarthy smile he had seen all over Italy when he’d danced there numerous times. Yes, Rowan loved Italians.

“It’s not so insidious, I assure you. It’s just your payment for services; we may not offer that to another dancer, so we don’t want anyone to feel bad. Also, we would prefer the owners and staff have a bit of privacy, so it also asks that you don’t speak about them to anyone.”

“Normal stuff. I’ve signed a few before, so it’s not a big deal.”

Barry Monarco handed him the tablet, and he signed with a stylus before handing it back. “Thank you, Mr. McDuffy.”

“I’m Rowan, please,” he said as Barry held up the table to close the case, and Rowan saw the wedding ring. “You’re married.”

“Recently, yes. She’s wonderful.”

“She?” He didn’t mean to ask that so abruptly, but it was a shock.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re confused, this being a gay resort and all, but there is a working cattle ranch on the property as well, and she worked there until, oh, about ten months ago.”

“She was a…”

“Cowgirl,” Barry said with a chuckle.

Rowan scanned his eyes over Barry again. The expensive dark navy pinstripe suit paired perfectly with the light lavender shirt and cream-colored tie. He wore cufflinks and a tie clip that was understated but obviously expensive. “I’m…I’m sorry, but…”

Barry chuckled more, blushing a little. “She’s beautiful, intelligent, strong, self-assured. She has no idea about Gucci or Prada, lives for the outdoors, riding horses and caring for her family. We have more in common than you might think, except, of course, the designer labels, and I really hate the outdoors.”

“I must confess to a love of designer labels, but outdoors, well, I love being outside. My skin doesn’t.”

“I noticed the freckles. And the name, of course. Irish and…I’m guessing something a little north of that along with it.”

“Good eye,” Rowan said to him. “My folks are Irish, but my mother is also half Finnish. I’m a second-generation American born. I’ve returned to the mother country a few times for shows.”

“I’m completely from around the Mediterranean Sea. Italian, Sicilian, and Greek. My wife is much the same, all her roots are from this part of the world. Indigenous Mexican and Creek Nation.”

“Your kids will be beautiful.”

“Yes, they will,” he said, shining.

Rowan felt the plane moving and watched out the window as it taxied to take off and take him to Montana. Maybe he was stereotyping the people from that state, but he’d been shocked to see that someone like Barry would live there.

Coming from a very poor upbringing, he never thought he’d be a snob in any way, but he was learning that his snobbery was growing almost by the day. A small home in the city that was overrun with cockroaches and mice, and he’d moved up to a beach house that he’d pay off over thirty years. The downpayment alone had been more than his parents likely ever made in five years of their working lives.

He sent them money and called once a month, but they were always busy, always working. They hated that he sent them money, and his mother confessed once she put it in a box for him, for when he needed it. She was proud, sweet, and…well, stubborn.

“I looked at some of the pictures online. Is it really as beautiful as the ads show?”

“More. Pictures don’t do this place justice. I’m a city guy, born and raised, but this place, it’s…addicting. Fresh air, peace, and beauty that just…well, you’ll see.”

“So, you fell for the girl and the place.”

“Guess I did,” he laughed.

When the pilot announced they were ready to land, Rowan’s nose was almost pressed to the window. Barry and the online photos were not lying in the least. The place was breathtaking. He’d heard it said before about wilderness like that, God’s country, and he was an atheist, but if there were a God, Montana would be his pride and joy.

Just the mountains alone in long lines from south to north, valleys that were split with rivers and streams, like some incredible claw had slashed the earth and it bled blue, clean water.

The peaks were covered with snow, the whiteness of the caps stark against the gorgeous blue sky. Everything was just…beautiful.

The airport wasn’t big. It had two landing strips, a couple of small hangers, and a building for the air traffic controller.

Once the small private plane touched down, Rowan found himself excited for the gig for the first time since Sarah had mentioned it to him.

Jace Conroy met them, and he saw that the man was almost how he pictured him. Big, brawny, with a cowboy hat settled over his black hair. He shook Rowan’s hand as he said, “It’s really a pleasure, Mr. McDuffy. We have a few fans of yours around here who insisted that you do our special holiday shows.”

“Happy to be here. This place is beautiful.”

“It is. We’re pretty proud of it. Let me take you to the cabin where you’ll be staying. It’s stocked with food, drinks, and anything you might need, but if we missed something, just holler.”

Barry and Rowan got into the black SUV, Barry in front, and Jace happily explained the place to Rowan. “The resort has been open for about six months, but we’ve been packed since the first weekend. Guys bring their families here, and the town has plenty for the little kids and the older kids, too, even riding lessons and things like that. At night, the main town closes, and the other side gets going, for adults only. We’ve got a hotel there that’s open all day, of course, and the stores, but no one’s allowed in there under eighteen.

“The club where you’ll be dancing is called Cowpokes, and it looks like a big barn. You’ll dance on the stage in the main part of the club, and a few more private dances up in the VIP too unless you don’t want to. Everything is negotiated for your comfort.”

“I’m fine with whatever.”

“Well, the VIP does pay better in tips, for sure. You don’t get the volume, but you get much bigger bills, and hell, some of the dancers have gotten gold watches, necklaces, and all kinds of things.”

Since he’d begun dancing, he’d gotten every kind of expensive gift he could think of, including trips and jewelry. Not much surprised him.

The drive to the cabin was peaceful. Barry watched out the window like he was, and it was hard not to. Every half mile, the scenery changed from driving by a hill to crossing a bridge over a stream. Trees lined their path in some places, and in others, a clear valley allowed him to see what felt like miles.

A few curves brought them to a row of cabins, each separated from the others by trees and small fences. His was at the end of the row, and once he got out of the SUV, he saw his view was spectacular.

The trees parted to show a river, and the sound of it was lulling him to relax more than he’d done in forever. Even the ocean didn’t make him feel so peaceful.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Barry asked him as he came to stand beside Rowan.

“It’s…incredible. This place is perfect.”

“My boss saw it and fell in love; they knew this was the place.”

“And you fell in love in more ways than one,” he laughed.

“Be careful. Bonita and I aren’t the only ones that found love here.”

As he walked away, Rowan looked after him, wondering what he meant.

He was dancing, stripping, basically, so sure, lots of men would want him, but few would even consider him as more than a fun night.

The cabin was rustic-looking, and Rowan pictured the inside as having a totally Western motif, a horseshoe over the door, cowboy boot lamps, and the like. However, he was pleasantly surprised when Jace opened the door to take in two of his suitcases and saw that it was quite modern and lovely.

There was a lovely linen-colored loveseat, twisted wood chairs on either side, and all three facing the stone fireplace.

Behind it was a table with two chairs, a basket of fruit, and snacks in the center with a card. The kitchenette had a counter, fridge, and microwave, and the two doors to the side, he presumed, were a bedroom and bathroom. “This is very nice.”

The art on the walls was drawn pictures of the ranch, or he assumed so, as he recognized the town from pictures on the internet, and the mountain range was too similar not to be the one running the landscape.

As Jace returned for the rest of my luggage, Barry opened the bedroom door for me. “Very comfortable mattresses, my bosses insisted on the best.”

The room was decorated in greens, browns, and a muted teal accent. The quilt on the bed was soft and heavy, and there was a desk with stationery. He chuckled a little, and Barry asked, “What?”

“My grandmother used to take stationery from motels. Not that she stayed at many, but she worked at a couple. She went on a whole rant one day that only the fancy places still had stationery.”

“It’s true. And we have a landline to each room too, but it does go out in the bad storms, but so does cell service,” he said, then went to the top desk and pulled out the bottom side drawer. “That’s why we have radios for each cabin.”

“Wow. It gets that bad?”

“It can.”

“Why don’t you close in the winter?”

Barry smiled like he’d heard the question asked a million times. “People need to get away in all seasons, and some don’t see snow. There’s a ski resort an hour from here, and we have winter activities. There are pamphlets in this top drawer, and goods can be delivered as well.”

“You all thought of everything.”

“We try. Now, I’ll leave you so I can finally get home to my wife. It’s been wonderful meeting you, Rowan.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Jace stepped into the house when Rowan left the bedroom. “Everything is in. I’ll let you get settled. Call for the stagecoach when you’re ready to see the club. Tell them who you are, though. They don’t take anyone to the club off-hours unless they are employees.”

“I will, thank you.”

Barry nodded to him, and he nodded back, then he was alone.

The quiet was insane. The moment the vehicle’s engine faded in the distance, the quiet closed around him like he was inside a recording studio. No ambient sounds, no cars, no wind, just…quiet.

Rowan hadn’t realized how much he needed that, but how very foreign it was to him. The thoughts in his own head even quieted, and the swirl of worry about how long his fame could last left him.

Fame and fortune are what all people are said to want until they possess it. Then it becomes a weight on their shoulders that no one can help them to carry.

Each time he stood on a stage and felt the music flowing through him, his body beginning to dance, he could block all of it for a moment. He could feel himself flying, soaring above the world and all those clutching at him, wanting to take him into their dreams.

The quiet of the cabin was like that. No one to come into his space and want a thing from him.

Maybe that was what bothered him the most. They all wanted him, or at least a piece of him. No one ever thought of giving a piece of themselves unless it was a dick.

After unpacking, he showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a fuchsia and white sweater. Calling for the stagecoach, he had to stifle his laughter twice just to order the thing.

A real, honest-to-God stagecoach. That was hilarious.

He got his heavy coat on and watched for the stagecoach by the door. When it pulled up, he was a little disappointed to see horses didn’t pull it.

The driver was a grizzled older man wearing a scarf wrapped around his head to cover his ears and a felt cowboy hat pulled low on his head.

Rowan stepped outside to hurry to the coach, getting in to find two other men inside, bundled up to keep warm. They looked like brothers, their faces both pretty and lacking any resemblance of uniqueness from the other. “The heater works,” the blond said as he flashed his terribly white teeth at Rowan. “It just doesn’t seem to work well.”

They introduced themselves, and as Rowan was about to do the same, the brunet said, “We know. We’ve both seen you dance before, in Australia.”

“Oh! Really?”

“We love to travel,” the blond, whose name was Jared, said.

Jasmel, the brunet, nodded, “We do. We make a ton of money and what better way to spend it than to see the world?”

“Of course, you would know about that,” Jared said before he could get a word in. “You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he started to say, but Jasmel scolded his partner with a look.

“What?”

“We’re obviously overwhelming him.”

“I doubt that. He’s used to hundreds of fans.”

“Are we fans, though?” Jasmel asked. “We are connoisseurs of dance, of entertainment, but fans? I wouldn’t think we’re fans of anything or anyone in particular.”

“True,” Jared agreed. “I mean, we love Florence, but are we fans of the city?”

“I’d say you were a fan of the pasta,” Jasmel said, laughing as he patted his partner’s belly.

Rowan just sat there and watched them speaking to each other, happily quiet as they did, while he kept moving the thinner air in and out of his lungs. He’d never been great in higher altitudes, but they were almost on top of fucking mountains.

They were in their late forties but trying not to let anyone know. Both were still-faced by Botox, and each had lips that were obviously filled, but they were handsome, their clothing impeccable, and what mattered most was that they seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

“Are we fans of this resort?” Jared asked. “We’ve been here twice, and it only opened six months ago.”

“We came for Pride, darling, and now for Christmas. It’s not like we’d be invited to your parents.”

“Or yours!”

They laughed together, then kissed, and rubbed their noses together. As he watched their affection, he felt a pang of jealousy. They’d found one another, and they were, by all signs, the perfect couple.

“We’re dominating the conversation,” Jasmel said to his partner.

“Lovely choice of words, given where we are, darling,” Jared quipped. “Tell me, Rowan, have you been here previously?”

“No, this is my first time.”

“You’ll love it. The town is quaint, with its old west motif, and the staff are in on it with their old-style clothing. The food at the restaurant is impeccable,” Jared explained.

Jasmel, not to be outdone, started the gossip. “I hear the chef had no formal training. He cooked only for his…dare I say it? Doms?”

“I’m shocked he never attended culinary school,” Jared agreed. “His butterscotch mousse is utterly to die for.”

“Oh, you’re so right! I’m gagged about it.”

Rowan kept himself entertained by the men all the way to town, where they got off at the restaurant. “You must try it,” Jared said. “Tell them we sent you.”

“Darling, I don’t think that will carry any weight.”

“Unlike us when we leave here?”

Rowan was glad for the quiet again as they left the town and traveled on a road above it to the kinky town that lay just north of it.

That part of town was mostly empty, save for a couple coming out of the apparel store near the huge barn at the end of the road. When they took the curve, and it was there in front of him, he could barely believe it was real.

He’d read the pamphlet, so he knew it to be three floors above ground, but seeing a barn so big was still a shock. He got out of the stagecoach and waved the driver on before stepping to the doors. He was immediately stopped by a muscled giant with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “No entrance this early.”

“I was hired to entertain. I’m Rowan McDuffy.”

Immediately, the man’s brows lifted to his crewcut. “Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. McDuffy. I was told you’d be here. I didn’t recognize you with…you’re coat, and…”

“With my clothes on?”

Such a bruising man blushing was terribly sweet. “Yes, well…”

As he opened the door to the place for Rowan, Rowan stepped inside, stopping just inside the door to take it all in.

A man called from across the room to him, coming out of the shadows. “Rowan McDuffy. Welcome to Cowpokes.”