Cowboy Terms Novels & Stories

“Wait, did he give you that heater? No, wait, that's from the outsiders. What do cowboys call their revolvers? Pops?” The security guards drew closer as Tyler stared at Daniel like he was an alien speaking another language. “Who's a cowboy?” Tyler demanded weakly. “Why do you keep asking me these questions?” "I don't know, Tee. You seem like a fascinating character. I've always been intrigued by the 1800s, and you strike me as the perfect person to shed some light on that era. Did you ever journey along the Oregon Trail? I've heard tales of the devastating dysentery that plagued travelers. And if your wagon's axle snapped, that was pretty much it, wasn't it? A broken axle meant certain doom.

What chance of resistance could I possibly have against Jaxon West, the hottest, most masculine cowboy I had ever set my eyes upon? T. B. C!

He had to admit this place wasn't as bad as he'd expected. He let his gaze wander around the shop, taking in things he hadn't really noticed yesterday. The artwork on the walls, for instance. Yesterday, they had been blurs of color. Today, he realized they were great examples of contemporary Western art. The style was very distinctive and arresting. Someone had lovingly painted a magnificent stallion, a small herd of horses galloping across a pasture, a tired cowboy at the end of a long day, and other similar scenes. Whoever this was might have come from Montana like he had, because the essence of the cowboy had been captured perfectly.

I followed my usual groundwork routine, carefully tightening the saddle as I prepared for our upcoming ride. "So, what's the strategy here?" I inquire. "Well, the plan is that I'll mount the horse as usual, and you'll mount with your right leg instead of your left. That way, you'll be facing me while we ride," my cowboy clarifies. As I approached the horse, I realized that mounting it would require some effort. I clumsily put my right foot in the left stirrup and tried to get on top of the horse. Cortland helped me by wrapping his arm around my back, allowing me to grip the horse's waist for balance. He then walks the horse around to make sure it was comfortable with two riders.

“You’re riding like a real cowgirl now.” I brush the hair out of my face, tucking it back beneath my little velvet helmet. “Oh yeah?” I ask, grinning down at him. “You going to teach me how to rope steers next?” “I’ll teach you anything you want,” Jerome says, coming close to Heathcliff’s shoulder and smiling up at me. “Pretty girl like you, though?” he says, raising his eyebrow, “you should learn how to barrel race. That’s what all the rodeo beauties do, and they make good money if they’re fast enough.”

"The queer cowboy's convention?" Jason scoffed and hopped on the countertop across from her, digging a finger into the guacamole she'd made earlier, "One, I'm heading out to a horse ranch downtown with some of my friends and two, there's nothing like queer cowboys convention, how did you even come up with that?" His voice rose incredulously at the end of the statement.

He said, and Axton hurriedly took a book and pen. "When a girl says she wants missionary, it means she wants you to be on a ministry uniform" "Really?" "Yes Axton, jolt it down" Kent said. Axton hurriedly wrote it now, Kent was busy laughing inside of him. "What about cowgirl?" Axton asked "She's simply wants a woman cow" Kent said. "Why will she want that?" "Not the bigger kind of cow, the little calf" "That's weird, are you really sure that's what cowgirl means?" Axton asked.

I ordered and hung up immediately. Behind me, the older man stammered, “It’s— it's a pleasure to have you here, sir. Which of our mares would you prefer?” I turned around, “And who are you?” I asked, watching Cowboy Hat and his partner shifting nervously on their feet. “I'm Oscar, the ranch manager—” “These idiots,” I cut him off, my voice low but taunting, “thought it was wise to let my wife ride off—alone?” My anger exploded in full.

A shirtless brawny man cursed, “Are you f*cking courting your own death? What are you knocking for so early in the morning?! Do you believe that I’ll crack your head open?!” Smith could only apologize when he was faced with this kind of typical cowboy-style bearded man, “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll keep my voice down. I’ll be quieter...” The brawny man pointed at him and said through clenched teeth, “Keep your voice down?! If you dare to make any more noise from now on, I’ll beat the crap out of you!” Smith hastily kept his mouth shut, and he could only keep reaching out his hand to salute the other party in a very submissive manner.

Every so often, the sharp crack of his bullwhip would resound through the air, a stern reminder for the cattle to stay in formation. Alexandra watched him, admiration swelling within her. His cowboy gear fit him perfectly, enhancing his ruggedly handsome features. His hat sat comfortably on his head, casting a shadow over his intense eyes. His work boots were worn and weathered, much like the man himself, bearing the marks of countless days under the sun. She admired him not just for his good looks, but for his dedication and work ethic. He handled the cattle with a calm assurance, his every move revealing years of experience. He was a man in his element, a cowboy through and through.