by Tara Lain
Cowboys Don’t Come Out
Cowboys Don’t, book 1
Tara Lain
Tara Lain Books
Published by
Tara Lain Books
www.taralain.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cowboys Don’t Come Out © 2020 Tara Lain
Cover Art by Cate Ashwood
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
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Contents
Cowboys Don’t Come Out
Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Meet Tara Lain
Books by Tara Lain
Keep Reading
Chapter 1
Cowboys Don’t Come Out
Cowboys Don’t, Book one
Is the closet big enough to hold two cowboys?
Rand McIntyre stays in the closet to protect what he’s built – his small California horse ranch and the privilege of teaching kids to ride.
Kai Kealoha, a genuine Hawaiian cowboy, stays closeted to protect his “kids”, the siblings he raises with no official approval.
Add in one detested holiday with parents at Hana Ranch on Maui and the two cowboys bond over a love of dancing, a nude beach, and each other’s beautiful butts.
But vacation sex doesn’t count, and nobody gives up real life for a few hot minutes in a bamboo forest.
Unless they do.
When Rand braves his paralyzing fear of flying, his relationship with his parents, and his beloved business to respond to a call for help from Kai’s brother and sister, both men have to re-revaluate what it means to be family – and who’d make it worth it to come out.
COWBOYS DON’T COME OUT is a coming out, single dad, must-love-kids, custody battle, fear-of-flying, cowboy-sexy, two-step dancing, Hawaii-for-the-holidays, MM romance.
To BA Tortuga, a friend and inspiration, whose work convinced me that writing cowboys was a great idea!
Note to Readers
Thank you for reading COWBOYS DON’T COME OUT. Funny that I should decide to launch into writing contemporary cowboys by setting my first cowboy romance in – Hawaii! But I’ve been fortunate to get to have a couple of vacations at the amazing Hana Ranch on the island of Maui. Knowing that the area was originally ranchland inspired me to learn more about the Hawaiian cowboy tradition, which actually precedes the mainland cowboy life by 75 or more years. As with the mainland, the Hawaiian cowboy world was derived from Mexico and the Hawaiian name for cowboy, paniolo, is taken from a version of the word espanol.
I happened to write my first cowboy story to publish at the holidays and, since Hana is a great place for a vacation, I decided to take my mainland cowboy on a trip to Hawaii. All the places I write about on Maui are real including the nude beach. I had to set a love scene in the amazing bamboo forest my honey and I walked through on one of our visits, listening to the click, click, click of the wind through the towering bamboo stalks.
I hope you enjoy your trip to Maui for the holidays and that you love COWBOYS DON’T COME OUT.
Chapter One
Rand tossed a baseball cap into the bag on top of his shorts, then pulled some lube out of the bedside table. Shit. Wishful thinking. He stared at the giant pink vibrating dildo he’d used about five times last night. The prospect of a fucking—or more accurately, no fucking—week with his parents in their idea of tropical paradise drove a man to masturbation. He grabbed the dildo, closed the drawer, and stashed it in the pocket of his winter coat in the closet. Letting the maid see it? Not happening. Still, he tossed the lube in the bag. Might need it for emergency jerkoffs.
He pulled out another long-sleeved shirt with studded snaps. What the hell did he own that worked in Maui? Better question, how did he work in Maui? The buzz of his cell underscored the question. Coming, Mother. He grabbed the phone. “Hi. I’m on my way. Almost.”
“Randall, move your butt. We’re practically at the airport. If we’re going to meet in Kahului for the flight to Hana, you can’t be late for your plane.”
“I’m going. I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
“You know how much your father and I are looking forward to the holidays with you—for a change.”
Right, play the loving mother card. Of course, she was a loving mother, which was the only fucking reason he was rushing to get on this flight. Considering how terrified he was of flying, he loved her more than life. Of course, she didn’t know that heights terrified him. She didn’t know a lot of things. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Can’t wait. Kiss, kiss.”
He took one last look at the duffel and zipped it shut. Whatever he had was good enough. After grabbing his boots from the corner of the closet, he sat to pull them on. Somehow he’d survive this “family vacation”—the first one of its kind in sixteen years, since he was ten and they’d gone to Walt Disney World. Man, he’d hated that trip. He’d wanted to go to a working ranch so badly—but his mom couldn’t believe he wouldn’t adore Mickey and pals. Mom intuition? Zero. After the mouseland disaster, they’d shipped him off to horse camp every year and taken their own vacations while he was gone. Those summers set his course in life—both positive and negative.
He flipped off the bedroom lights and pulled the soft, rolling duffel to the front door. He automatically took the Stetson from the hook and clapped it on his head. One look back. Bye, house. See you later—if I survive.
He strode out into the cold morning air, left the bag on the porch of his ranch house, and hurried to the stables. Manolo and Danny curried the horses for the morning riders.
Short, stocky Manolo barely showed over the back of the big gelding. He peeked up with his dancing eyes. “Morning, patron.”
Rand leaned over and cuffed the wiseass on the shoulder. “So, we’ve got Scot and his mom coming this morning, and then the Andersons later. The rest of the week is pretty light, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. I’ve warned all our students and their families and haven’t scheduled any guests for the week. They were pretty under
standing since it’s Christmas.”
Danny grinned—dimples for miles, sandy hair, long legs, and brains, as some movie said. The ultimate cowboy cutie. Kevin Costner in Silverado—wiseass and ass-beautiful. Ever since he’d hired Danny, Rand worked to see him as a friend and nothing more. Danny fed a carrot to Star Sight, the big palomino. “No worries, man. We got this. Of course, Mrs. Anderson will be way disappointed you’re not here, but I doubt she’ll pull her darlin’ out of lessons over it.”
“Just be gentle with Ricky, okay? The kid’s got skill, but he’s really high-strung.”
Manolo winked. “He’s really gay is what he is.”
Rand frowned. “Regardless, the kid thinks he’s crap. Take it easy on him.”
Manolo nodded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be an asshole. We’ll take good care of him.”
“Thanks. Both of you. If you need extra hands, call in Judy and Beth. They’re both dying to help out.”
Manolo snorted. “They’re both dying to stare at Danny’s ass. Or yours, if it happens to be available.”
“They’ll have to live without my ass this week.” Rand frowned. Or any week.
Danny wiped an arm over his handsome face and led Star back to the stall. “Get goin’, boss, or your mom’s gonna have kittens.”
Manolo nudged Rand. “She’ll settle for kittens till she can get some kids out of you.”
“Yeah. Shit, I get a whole week of hearing her whine about me settling down so she can have grandchildren. Don’t be envying me this trip. Call me if you need me—although I hear the cell service isn’t much. So I’ll send you the hotel number in case of emergency.”
“You’re just hoping we have one so you can come back early.” Manolo chuckled.
“Don’t tempt me.” He turned, ran for his bag, and then hopped in the truck. He’d made the life he wanted here—pretty much. Why, oh why did he have to go to Hawaii?
An hour and a half later, he pulled into long-term parking in Sacramento. After hauling his ass onto a bus, paying twenty-five ridiculous bucks for his bag, and getting semi-strip-searched in security because the rivets on his jeans made the security wand beep, he finally sat at the gate and waited, his hands busily tying knots in his carry-on strap.
“Group three may now board. Group three.”
Instantly, his heart beat so fast he could pass out. Dying, he didn’t mind. Falling farther than the back of a horse? Nightmare. He grabbed his hat and got in line. Look indifferent about flying. You know, like you do with everything else.
He dragged his big body down the aisle until he got to his seat, stashed the bag in the overhead, and tipped his hat at the elderly lady sitting next to him before he put the Stetson on top of his bag. “Ma’am.” She was probably eighty, so she’d gotten to preboard. Still, her hair might be gray, but her eyes danced with humor and life.
He sat and fastened his seatbelt so tight it was a wonder his dick didn’t complain from lack of circulation.
The lady grinned and stuck out her hand. “My, aren’t I the lucky one. I’m Althea Orwell.”
“Rand. Rand McIntyre.”
She chatted amiably while half his brain listened to every whir, thunk, and rattle the plane made as they loaded. When the flight attendant gave them emergency instructions, he grabbed for the card in the seat pocket to read along. Mrs. Orwell looked at him quite seriously. “Most of these instructions don’t amount to much. Truthfully, if we ditch in the water, we don’t have a lot of chance despite what they say. Still, it’s good to notice where the exits are and how to put on the life vest.” Her finger traced the steps as the recording read them off.
He took a deep breath. Did her candid admission make him feel better or worse? Strangely enough, better. He nodded.
As the plane revved and took off, her old hand slid onto his tense arm and just rested there. How bad do you feel getting comfort from an old lady? His lips quirked. Not as bad as I’d feel without it.
Five and a half craptastic hours later, he swallowed hard for the fiftieth time as the plane hummed its way over the trade winds toward Kahului. Mrs. Orwell, it turned out, was visiting her daughter in Maui. Thankfully she hadn’t stopped talking since before they took off, which meant he didn’t have to think about the condition of his stomach. He’d heard about her daughter’s bad marriage to a military man who’d mistreated her, and then she’d gone ahead and married another one of those warrior types, but, thank God, this one seemed to be a good man and a good provider and took care of her and her three kids—when the husband wasn’t out on a ship, which he happened to be now, and so she was going to help out with the little ones and—
“You married, dear?”
His head snapped up. “Oh, uh, no, ma’am.”
“Big, handsome guy like you. I’d think a lot of women would have fixed a homing beacon on your pretty face.”
He reached up to touch the brim of his hat and realized it wasn’t there, so he touched his forehead instead. “Thanks most kindly, ma’am.” Cowboy talk got him off the hook every time. “Just haven’t met the right one yet.”
“How old are you?”
“Uh, twenty-six.”
“It’s time. Settle down and produce some kids to keep you company in your old age. Gets lonely otherwise.”
Shit, you don’t have to be old to be lonely. “Good advice, ma’am. Thank you.” The plane jerked; he grabbed the arms of the seat until his knuckles turned white.
Mrs. Orwell patted his arm. “Don’t worry. That kind of bumping is perfectly normal. Nothing to worry about.”
He swallowed. “Just took me by surprise is all.” One finger at a time, he tried to release his hands, but then the plane bobbed and weaved again, and ice-cold instinct took over. He clutched. Breathe. Can’t! Once again, he stood on the edge of that fucking cliff, staring into more than enough nothing to kill him, while that taunting voice counted down the moments until he’d die. Three. Two. One.
But I thought—I thought—
“Rand, breathe, dear. It’s perfectly normal. Not all humans like to fly. Just hold my hand and take a deep pull on this God-awful recycled air that’s more likely to kill us than a crash.” She squeezed his hand hard, and he let her. “Hey, it’s not every day I get to hold hands with such a handsome devil.” She put a warm finger on his chest just over his heart. “Relax right here and inhale.”
Are people watching me make a fool of myself? Nobody seemed to be. He focused on the warmth of her touch and expanded his belly. Air. Good.
She took her hand away. “There you go.”
He smiled. “Thank you very kindly, ma’am. I had an, uh, accident as a kid that made me skittish in high places.” Jesus, his mother would smack him if she heard that “exaggerated cowboy nonsense,” but his customers loved it.
“We all have our fears. Nothing to be ashamed of. So, I’ve been doing all the talking. Where are you visiting on Maui?”
“Uh, Hana.”
“Well, of course.” She slapped his leg. “Hana Ranch. Makes perfect sense. Cowboy like you. You going to be doing some roping and riding?”
“No, ma’am. I’m visiting my folks. They’re staying at the Hana Maui Hotel.”
“Well, isn’t that nice? Spending time with family. I’ve heard that’s a beautiful hotel. I imagine you’ll be doing more sunbathing than cowboying.” She chuckled. “Not that I wouldn’t give a lot to see that.”
“Mrs. Orwell, I’m blushing.”
She laughed. “One of the fun things about being my age is you don’t have to give a damn what you say.”
He grinned at her. “I look forward to that.”
The plane lurched, and she reached for his hand. He grabbed hers and squeezed. When the turbulence stopped, he said, “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Sure.” She smiled. “You want to call me to fly back with you?”
“That sounds good. But no.” She handed him her phone. “I’m putting my cell number in your phone. If there’s ever anything I can do to
repay you, you just call, okay?” He handed back the phone.
“My, my, it’s nice to have a lifeline.” She held his hand for the rest of the bouncy landing in Kahului.
When he stepped off the plane, he restrained his desire to kiss the ground and settled for a deep breath of sweet, moist, fragrant air. Hauling Mrs. Orwell’s two carry-on bags, he walked to the outdoor baggage claim with her beside him, holiday tinsel decorating the tropical flowers and bushes.
“Randall.” His mother half jogged across the small space crowded with people. She sported white linen pants and a flowing blue silk shirt—ever the fashion diva. She threw her arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you, darling. Did you have a good flight?”
He looked over his mother’s head toward Mrs. Orwell, who winked at him.
“It was fine. Mom, this is Mrs. Orwell. I met her on the plane.”
His mother extended a gracious hand. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Orwell.” Rand’s dad finally caught up to his wife. She took his hand. “This is my husband, Elson.”
Mrs. Orwell shook hands with Rand’s dad. “That’s a mighty nice boy you’ve got. He made me feel very comfortable on the plane.”
Rand snorted, then coughed to cover it. He gave his dad a hug.