Cowboy: The Mathesons Book 2

by Declan Rhodes

“Yeah, but taken. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

  Ted laughed. “You knew right where my mind was headed. I think I do need to look for new guys. Even if I date a loser, it’s one more step out of Dodge.” He paused. “Get it? Clever? Getting myself out of Dodge…or not?”

  With a groan, I said, “I’ll give you six points out of ten. Maybe nine for effort.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Do you want to go join the lines for a bit?

  Ted shook his head. “No, I think I’m calling it a night early. The workday was long, and I’ve got an early showing in the morning. Enjoy the cowboys. I think there’s a new one dancing with Jim tonight. You might want to check him out. He’s got a cute backside.”

  I didn’t have the energy for meeting someone new, but I wasn’t ready to be alone yet either. “Hey, how about you walk me back to my place. It’s great outside.” I lived only five blocks from Sagebrush, and Ted lived two subway stops beyond my place. The station entrance was on the corner by my building.

  Sliding his empty glass to the bartender, Ted said, “I’ll take you up on that. A few more minutes of the company would be good.”

  It was a warm early summer night, but it wasn’t hot. The rank odors of mysterious items rotting in gutters and under manholes were still a few weeks away, and a gentle breeze drifted down the street along with us.

  I said, “One of my neighbors is thinking of moving in the fall. Do you still show your clients apartments? Or are you only doing sales now?”

  “Sometimes I show apartments for a flat consulting fee. If it’s a nice one, shoot me the details when they’re ready to go, or the landlord’s starting to show the place.”

  My gut was starting to gnaw at me. I’d only had a salad for dinner, and the dancing always left me a little hungry. “Can I steal a few extra minutes and make a quick detour by the Dog Diner?”

  “Is that the hot dog guy?”

  It was the name of a hot dog cart that prowled my neighborhood in the evening during spring, summer, and fall. It was my favorite street food in the city.

  “Yep, that’s the one. Are you hungry? I’m always a little peckish after Sagebrush.”

  “Might be good. You’re stretching my night, Tate. Do you do this with dates, too?”

  Winking, I said, “I take them home for a good night’s sleep if I can.”

  We could smell the grilled hot dogs on the air before we turned the corner. My stomach started to growl. “His chili dogs are the best. Messy as hell, but he gives you a fork.”

  Ted shook his head. “Nope, I like an unpolluted dog except for ketchup and straight-up yellow mustard.”

  I ordered the hot dogs and engaged in chit chat with the vendor while Ted stared at a tall, slim man who walked by wearing a well-tailored suit. I said, “You’re the best,” and handed over a small wad of bills for a tip.

  I turned around to face Ted and bit into the perfect chili dog. It instantly hit the spot. He muttered, “Oh, fuck.”

  After quickly swallowing my first bite, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t turn around.”

  That’s the worst thing to say if you don’t want someone to turn you around. Curiosity was a powerful force. I placed the heel of my cowboy boot against the sidewalk so that I could spin to face the source of Ted’s concern.

  He reached out to grip my shoulder and nearly dropped his hot dog from the other hand. “Trust me; don’t.”

  “It’s not like there’s a building on fire. I’d smell the smoke and hear the sirens.”

  While holding the chili dog to my face to take another bite, I pivoted on the heel. What I saw made me choke, and I nearly dropped my food. It was Simon. I’d forgotten that the Dog Diner was his favorite, too. To add insult to injury, he was in the company of Hamish, the leech.

  I found myself frozen to the spot on the sidewalk. Simon looked up for a split-second, failed to express any emotion, and returned to the business of ordering a hot dog to feed his face.

  Ted stepped up behind me, gripped my shoulder, and whispered, “I told you not to. C’mon, Tate, let’s get you home.”

  Simon wore a dark maroon polo and those jeans. It was always difficult to look away. Looking below his waist was embarrassing. Those jeans always fit perfectly, and it took me back to so many times swaying back and forth slow dancing to the music in our heads while our packages did a slow grinding dance together of their own.

  Ted raised his voice slightly. “Tate, c’mon.”

  Simon failed to look at me again. I tried to tell myself that he was nervous, and if he looked back, he wouldn’t be able to turn away, like me. After Ted tugged harder on my shoulder, I finally turned and followed him around the corner.

  Ted trailed behind me up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. My building had a fully functional elevator, but I preferred the extra bit of cardio exercise provided by the steps. After seeing Simon, stomping up to my door in my boots helped a tiny bit, too.

  As I closed the door, Ted grabbed me, and he put his hands on either side of my face. “Hey, hey…it’s over, and you’re fine. Forget about it. Do you want me to stick around for a while? I know how awful this can be.”

  “And he was with that goon, Hamish!”

  “That’s the name of the other guy? I barely ever saw him. Maybe he’s just a friend.”

  “Hamish wanted to dig his claws into Simon when we were still together. He’s slime. I confronted him once about pawing my boyfriend, and he insisted they were only friends, but I knew better. He looked at Simon like a cheetah salivating over an antelope.”

  Ted shook his head. “It’s over, Tate. It doesn’t matter. You’re ready to move on. Neither of them is half the man you are.”

  I listened to the words. I ran the comments back in my head. Looking into Ted’s eyes, I said, “That’s not true. Simon’s a great guy. He always was. I lost him. I fucked up.”

  Lowering my head, I tore myself away from Ted’s grip and found my way to the couch in the living room.

  Ted followed me to the sofa and sat close. “I don’t know if you want any advice from me, but I’m going to offer it anyway.”

  I turned my head. “Will you take the same advice since we’re sort of in the same boat?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “So what is it already?”

  “I think you need to find another cowboy.”

  4

  Simon

  The day was already a bad one, and it only got worse that evening. I’d met my friend Hamish for dinner early in the evening, and then we took in an art film down in the Village. We were on the subway. I was heading back to face my two moms and tell them the bad news while Hamish headed home. One stop away from his planned exit, he suggested that we visit the Dog Diner. He said that he was still hungry, and I never turned down a visit with Pete, he hot dog vendor. He was an old favorite from the years I lived with Tate.

  I was shocked when Tate was there. I had enough of a glance. I couldn’t look again. The last time I saw Tate, even in passing, was more than three months ago. Now, when we ran into each other again, he was with another man, and it was a cowboy, too. My gut twisted into a vicious knot as I ordered hot dogs with Hamish.

  While Hamish paid Pete, I stared at the concrete sidewalk. I tried to remind myself that I didn’t know whether or not the cowboy was a new boyfriend. They could have been hanging out. Maybe he was new to the city, a guest of Matheson and Greene, and Tate was showing him around.

  After all, Hamish was only a very casual friend to me, so perhaps the man in the Western wear was only a friend or acquaintance, too. Unfortunately, I knew what Tate liked, and the stranger was the kind of man that would make him drool.

  Finally, Tate left with his new city cowboy, and Hamish asked, “What the hell? He shook you up. I thought you broke up a year ago.” Hamish bit into his hot dog while he waited for my response.

  “We did, but it’s never easy with exes. Is it? We were together
for three years. You don’t get over that right away.”

  Hamish shrugged. “I spent four years with Malachi, and if I see him again in hell, that will be too soon.”

  My voice dropped to a volume barely above a whisper. “Tate’s…different.”

  With another dismissive shrug, Hamish asked, “Can you stop by my place? I’ve got something I want to talk about. I think it’ll put this sad encounter in the rearview mirror and leave you with a smile on your face.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. I hope you’ve got something worth drinking because I need it.”

  On the three-block walk to Hamish’s apartment, I wondered if it was a bad decision to follow him. I’d been casual friends with Hamish for years, and in the past few weeks, he was trying to move closer. That much was obvious. I didn’t know what he had in mind as an end game, but I knew that he wasn’t what I wanted in partner material.

  I was envious of Hamish’s apartment. It had hardwood floors and maple woodwork that’d never been painted. He had family money, and he could easily afford to own a condo, but he told me he didn’t want to be tied down that way.

  As we stepped through the front door, and I bit my lip seeing the collection of mid-century modern furniture in the distance, Hamish said, “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve ever brought you home. With your stellar design sense, you could give me great advice on expanding my collection. Feel free to check out some of the pieces.”

  That was all the invitation that I needed to head for the living room. Hamish followed at my shoulder. I ran my fingers over the black leather back of an authentic Eames lounger. “This is stunning.”

  “Oh, please sit in it. My great-grandfather bought that new only a year or two after they first hit the furniture market. It was the late 50s, and he was trying to impress his law clients.”

  I kicked my shoes off before I sat. After I leaned back against the rich leather, I pulled my feet up onto the ottoman. My voice dropped to a whisper. “Luxury.”

  Hamish smiled and sat on his sofa. It was not a historically significant piece like the lounger, but I knew that it would sell on the open market for something in the range of $5,000 or above. I didn’t need to feed Hamish’s ego, but interior designers love great design when they see it. He’d filled his living room with stunning pieces. The opportunity to decorate with the furniture Hamish owned would be a dream come true.

  He asked, “Are you still upset about the loan?”

  I frowned. He popped my dream bubble of an unlimited budget to buy all the pretty pieces of furniture I saw around me. “How could I not be upset about that? They turned me down flat. They didn’t even offer any suggestions about what I need to change to come back and secure the loan in the future. It’s a stupid, vicious cycle. I’m too broke to get a loan to make the money that would set me up so I’m not broke anymore.” A rueful laugh punctuated my comment.

  Hamish leaned forward as I crossed my arms over my chest. “I wanted to talk to you about funding your business plan. I’m sorry the loan fell through, but I’d like to join your project as an investor. You don’t need to wait any longer. I think it should get off the ground soon.”

  I blinked hard. I knew that I should take a moment and sincerely consider the offer, but I was raised on the humility of Mom Missy and Mom Tina. They always talked about how they built the art business up from nothing. They forged their own deals with galleries and didn’t put themselves in a position to risk giving control of Mom Tina’s work to deep-pocketed patrons with different philosophies about art.

  “No, I can’t take money from you. I’m sure that I can get things together within another year or two. It’s not like I don’t have any money, but Shanbrook doesn’t pay me anywhere close to what my work’s worth. I have to afford a new apartment first, so I’m not dependent on my parents.”

  Hamish shook his head. “Nowhere close to what you’re worth. I agree with you. That’s what I’m offering. I can put the necessary money into the business to get it started on the right foot, and you can pay yourself a livable salary from the beginning.”

  I wanted to change the topic and ask him about the couch, but I knew that was a rude response to a very generous offer. Reaching up and sweeping my hand through my hair, I said, “I have to think for a moment.”

  Hamish leaned into the pressure. “You know you’re ready. You wouldn’t have gone to the bank if you weren’t prepared to take the leap. I saw your face light up when you laid your eyes on the furniture. That’s the last piece of the puzzle that I needed to see. We could get you set up within—what?—less than a month? I’m sure there are plenty of storefront properties in Manhattan looking for new tenants. They’d be perfect for your office. My uncle owns three different buildings like that. Maybe you should talk to him. He’s a possible landlord.”

  Hamish was driving a hard bargain. While we were never close, he’d been a loyal friend for years. He pointed me toward some great deals with wholesale furniture dealers while I was still living with Tate. So far, his word was good.

  I thought about having to tell my two moms that I failed. They were so successful in their lives. I wanted to tear my hair out at the prospect of telling them that I bombed again—first the relationship—and now my effort to get out from under the dependence on others. I was their only child, their only hope for passing their legacy on to a new generation.

  At the same time as the thoughts ran through my head about the dangers of making rash decisions, I said, “Okay, I say yes. I can’t think about giving more of my talent to Shanbrook. How do we do this? Do I need to sign something?”

  Hamish smiled, and I tried to ignore the hint of something oily in his grin. He said, “We can take care of the legal paperwork later. For now, why don’t we shake on it? We’ll make it a gentleman’s agreement.”

  I shook Hamish’s hand. His grip was firm. I left less than an hour later excusing myself by talking about the exhaustion of the day. Nothing felt real as I arrived at my parents’ home on the upper East side.

  My two moms were asleep on the couch leaning on each other with something random playing on the TV. It was late, after 11:00, and I was ready for bed. I fell into deep sleep less than five minutes after my head hit the pillow.

  Somewhere in the middle of the night, Tate appeared in a dream. We were back in Central Park. It was the fall. Brightly colored leaves of red, yellow, and orange drifted toward the ground everywhere I looked.

  Tate spread a blanket on the ground, and we sat together eating pastrami sandwiches on rye. They were from my favorite Jewish deli in the entire city. I never figured out what the Happy Belly Deli did to their pastrami, but nobody else served anything that could match.

  While we ate in the dream, Tate looked into my eyes. I gazed back, and there was something strangely lifeless about his expression. I dodged to the left and right trying to see life in his eyes, and I failed.

  “Tate, are you there?”

  He didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, in his trademark booming voice, he said, “Winter will come soon. Everything dies in winter.”

  He said it once, and ten seconds later repeated it. I said, “I heard you the first time.”

  He continued to repeat the words like some sort of mantra. I quickly grew frustrated. Finally, I reached out to shake him and stop the words. I gasped when his entire body dissipated like a puff of smoke before I could touch him.

  I woke up sitting bolt upright bathed in sweat shouting, “Tate!”

  My room wasn’t completely dark. Short of a blackout, the city never cloaked itself in total darkness. I looked around, and all of my belongings were still there. “The Captain” still hung on the wall above the headboard of the bed. I gasped for breath and understood the words from the dream. Our previous relationship ended in the winter. I wished that we’d entirely skipped that winter. I’d never felt more confident that I wanted to turn back time at least two years to work for a better outcome.

  Slipping out of bed,
I padded down the hall to see if my moms were still in the living room. I found Mom Tina lying on the sofa with an old rainbow-colored blanket draped across her body.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “You’re up, too?” asked Mom Missy. “I thought I heard something from your room, but I wasn’t sure.”

  Whispering in an effort to avoid waking Mom Tina, I said, “You scared me, but yeah, I had a bad dream. You were both on the couch when I got home.”

  Mom Missy laughed softly. “We haven’t done that for months. We were watching an old Bergman movie. I guess our brains got tired of reading the subtitles.” Suddenly, a thought about me entered her mind. “Oh, how did your loan appointment go? Did you get the money for your business? We thought you might send a text, but I told Tina to be patient. We didn’t want to get in the way.”

  I didn’t want to tell them the bank declined the loan, so I answered the second question. “Yes, I got the funding. I’ll start making plans tomorrow.”

  She frowned slightly. “I know I should help you celebrate, but that means you’ll move out, too, I suppose. This morning you said you already had places picked out.”

  “Isn’t that what you want? Parents always talk about how great it is to have their home and their time to themselves when the kids are gone. I’m not far from thirty. I don’t think I should be dragging my parents down anymore.”

  “Let me get you a cup of tea. I think both Tina and I have mixed feelings about you moving out, Simon. We love your company, but we know our little bird needs to fly. And eventually, you’ll soar like an eagle. It’s only a matter of time.”

  5

  Tate

  It was great to see my big brother Mason when I picked him up at LaGuardia Airport, but he always looked out of place in New York City. He was a southern California man through and through. I’d been in the city for six years since Dad suggested that I take over the East Coast branch of Matheson and Greene. He told me it was my golden opportunity to soar outside of my brother’s shadow.