McLeod, Anitra Lynn - Dirty Cowboy (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove) by McLeod-Anitra-Lynn
Authors: McLeod-Anitra-Lynn
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Chisholm Trail, 1877
Everett Henry was the sole survivor of one of the worst cattle drives in the history of men moving steer to market. Half the hired hands disappeared the first few weeks, and the low-down dirty thieves took more than half the herd with them. The rest of the men fell victim to an incredible string of misfortunes that had Everett thinking the whole venture was cursed from the get-go.
After the men and horses were gone, the rest of the cattle stampeded. Riding solo, there was nothing he could do but watch them kick up dust as they ran. All that remained was him, his horse, and the two oxen that pulled the chuck wagon.
“Quit your bellyaching. At least you’ve got something to eat.” His voice sounded amazingly loud in the open prairie. He’d tried to stop talking to himself, but loneliness and a pressing fear prompted him to speak every once in a while. Everett couldn’t shake the feeling that he was actually dead and all this was just his brain refusing to let go.
If not for the wagon full of food, Everett would have probably died a week ago. By no account was he a skinny man, but he was all bone and muscle. Without constant grub, he’d fail fast. There wasn’t a lot of variety, but beans, salted meat, coffee, and biscuits would keep him alive and get him home.
Hell.
Problem was, he didn’t really have a home. He wasn’t a vagrant by any means, but he wasn’t a man to put down roots, either. He more sort of drifted from town to town, looking for work. When the work dried up, he moved on. But there was more to his wanderlust. He had a hankering for something. Exactly what he was longing for, he didn’t know. All he knew was that when he found this mysterious thing he wanted, he’d be happier. And maybe, just maybe, he could stay put for longer than a few months.
After what happened in the last town, Everett was positive he wasn’t going to go back that direction. Getting the snot kicked out of him over a misunderstanding at the local watering hole was not his idea of a good time. He hadn’t wanted to play cards or drink himself stupid. He just wanted to sit, sip his beer, and watch people. That wasn’t acceptable for some reason. Looking at a man too long with a speculating gaze had ended up with fists flying and then his hat tumbling after him as he was tossed out the saloon door.
Everett had picked himself up, brushed himself off, and moved on like he had done a dozen times before. On his way out of town, he’d run into a man he knew through another, and that’s how he’d ended up on this cursed cattle drive.
Since he couldn’t go back, Everett moved forward. He had been following the most-traveled trail, and reckoned he was heading roughly northeast. He had no idea exactly where he was, but he decided knowing the location didn’t much matter. Alive and moving was all that concerned him at the moment.
Tonight he was enjoying the sun setting at his back after a windy day of hazy sun and gathering clouds. He’d never been all that great at predicting the weather, but he had a feeling rain would fall tonight, or by tomorrow morning at the very latest.
Concerned about flash floods in the lower areas, he’d pushed his little wagon train to higher ground. Once he felt he’d gained a good vantage point, he’d moved off the main trail to set up camp for the night. Curious about an odd grouping of amazingly tall and green cottonwood trees, he went a little deeper and found a spring.
He also found a man.
“Well, looky here, someone worse off than me.”
Naked as the day he was born, the stranger’s legs dangled in the water while his upper body was splayed on the bank. At first, Everett had thought he’d best lay off the cook’s whisky because when he’d come upon the tree-shaded scene, he’d thought there were two legs sticking out of the water. After peering intently, he’d seen the rest of the man. It was hard to see him under the layer of filth. The poor man was so
Everett Henry was the sole survivor of one of the worst cattle drives in the history of men moving steer to market. Half the hired hands disappeared the first few weeks, and the low-down dirty thieves took more than half the herd with them. The rest of the men fell victim to an incredible string of misfortunes that had Everett thinking the whole venture was cursed from the get-go.
After the men and horses were gone, the rest of the cattle stampeded. Riding solo, there was nothing he could do but watch them kick up dust as they ran. All that remained was him, his horse, and the two oxen that pulled the chuck wagon.
“Quit your bellyaching. At least you’ve got something to eat.” His voice sounded amazingly loud in the open prairie. He’d tried to stop talking to himself, but loneliness and a pressing fear prompted him to speak every once in a while. Everett couldn’t shake the feeling that he was actually dead and all this was just his brain refusing to let go.
If not for the wagon full of food, Everett would have probably died a week ago. By no account was he a skinny man, but he was all bone and muscle. Without constant grub, he’d fail fast. There wasn’t a lot of variety, but beans, salted meat, coffee, and biscuits would keep him alive and get him home.
Hell.
Problem was, he didn’t really have a home. He wasn’t a vagrant by any means, but he wasn’t a man to put down roots, either. He more sort of drifted from town to town, looking for work. When the work dried up, he moved on. But there was more to his wanderlust. He had a hankering for something. Exactly what he was longing for, he didn’t know. All he knew was that when he found this mysterious thing he wanted, he’d be happier. And maybe, just maybe, he could stay put for longer than a few months.
After what happened in the last town, Everett was positive he wasn’t going to go back that direction. Getting the snot kicked out of him over a misunderstanding at the local watering hole was not his idea of a good time. He hadn’t wanted to play cards or drink himself stupid. He just wanted to sit, sip his beer, and watch people. That wasn’t acceptable for some reason. Looking at a man too long with a speculating gaze had ended up with fists flying and then his hat tumbling after him as he was tossed out the saloon door.
Everett had picked himself up, brushed himself off, and moved on like he had done a dozen times before. On his way out of town, he’d run into a man he knew through another, and that’s how he’d ended up on this cursed cattle drive.
Since he couldn’t go back, Everett moved forward. He had been following the most-traveled trail, and reckoned he was heading roughly northeast. He had no idea exactly where he was, but he decided knowing the location didn’t much matter. Alive and moving was all that concerned him at the moment.
Tonight he was enjoying the sun setting at his back after a windy day of hazy sun and gathering clouds. He’d never been all that great at predicting the weather, but he had a feeling rain would fall tonight, or by tomorrow morning at the very latest.
Concerned about flash floods in the lower areas, he’d pushed his little wagon train to higher ground. Once he felt he’d gained a good vantage point, he’d moved off the main trail to set up camp for the night. Curious about an odd grouping of amazingly tall and green cottonwood trees, he went a little deeper and found a spring.
He also found a man.
“Well, looky here, someone worse off than me.”
Naked as the day he was born, the stranger’s legs dangled in the water while his upper body was splayed on the bank. At first, Everett had thought he’d best lay off the cook’s whisky because when he’d come upon the tree-shaded scene, he’d thought there were two legs sticking out of the water. After peering intently, he’d seen the rest of the man. It was hard to see him under the layer of filth. The poor man was so
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