Single Cowboy Novels & Stories

Jeremy Saccone, the chairman of Creation Enterprises, emerged from the crowd and stopped beside me with a grim expression. I calmly watched the expressions on Theodore and Cassandra's faces. Theodore's pupils shrank abruptly as he stumbled backward in terror. His face paled and broke out in a sheen of cold sweat. His throat bobbed before he finally forced out a stiff greeting. "M-Mr. Saccone…" Dad's words must have left his head buzzing. The contempt that had been on Cassandra's face vanished the instant she heard Theodore's address. All the color drained from her face, and her lips trembled.

“I assumed they both worked around here somewhere. It seems like you MC members are all connected to the club businesses one way or another.” “It’s true that quite a few of us are, but some of the guys have their own thing going on. Like I said, Cowboy has his own ranch and Cain works there for him, but he took some time off to do guard duty for you.” “Ah. Right. But if you’re upstairs, you’re on guard duty?”

Four knew where we were. “North,” Kieran said. “Alaska. Yukon. _Nowhere_.” Gregor burst in. “Riders,” he said. We froze. “How many?” “One.” Kieran was moving before Gregor finished. We ran to the ridge. Below, on the dirt road, a motorcycle. And a man. No helmet. Black hair. Eyes like _void_. Project 1. He was _alone_. He was _walking_. And he was _carrying_ something.

Friday night meant the usual crowd: locals blowing off steam, truckers passing through, and the occasional drifter looking for trouble or a cold one. She owned the place with her uncle, but he mostly played cards in the back these days. Tess ran it. Short denim cutoffs, black tank top, scuffed boots, and a no-bullshit attitude that kept hands from wandering too far. Until tonight. He walked in around ten, ducking under the low doorframe. Tall, broad, dusty black cowboy hat pulled low. Dark stubble, sharp green eyes, a faded denim shirt stretched across shoulders that looked like they hauled fence posts and men twice his size. Colt Rivers. She’d heard the name from regulars—drifter rancher, s

Alexander seated in his throne with legs crossed as he gazed on the clan members below him. They were all laughing and celebrating because of the success in their bombardment to the L.A headquarter. Not only that, they were able to capture potential men and women who will be used in dealing with the their clan activities. Just then the door suddenly opened that made everyone froze and tilted their heads into the entrance door. The representatives of the other two factions made their grand entrance with the leadership of Sam Well , the second Boss of the Black Wolf's faction. Alexander noticed a young boy being carried by Melo, the new representative of the Fary Wolf Clan faction. He noticed

Standing on the poles, the cowboys would climb on the bulls' backs and shout ‘Open’. We watched as the cowboys tried to stay on the bulls. We were shouting and clapping. We both had our favorite. “No, stay, No..No” I was shouting at one that almost made it. Candice and I laughed and then turned our attention to the next cowboy. There were different types of things they did and we enjoyed them all. Enjoying the relaxed time. Enjoyed my friend that I never really had because of not staying too long in one place. Everywhere there were people walking and couples sitting whispering something in each other’s ears. Why is it that everyone has someone they “love”. The guy that holds the girl tightly

"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 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.