LGBTQ+, Wild West Romance, Vampires
Date Published: March 14, 2025
as he comes off a bull, he’s more than grateful for the save.
drinks, and a night of passion makes the night complete. But what should
have been a one-night stand turns into something more when Leon reveals that
they were matched by Cowboy Magic, a dating service for paranormal rodeo
performers.
riding fame, put in a request with Cowboy Magic, then forgot — until
he’s told to watch the bull riding.
brothers’ displeasure, because the three of them together are magic,
and each of them wants their relationship to last a lot longer than eight
seconds.
Adult language and situations.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Each book in the Cowboy Magic series contains stories
of queer cowboy/cowgirl/cowthey love across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum.
EXCERPT
Beau didn’t think he had unreasonable requirements — at least six
feet tall, familiar with bull riding and the danger that came with it,
understands the life of a traveling cowboy — but as he hit send on the
preferences form at Cowboy Matchmaker, he thought he was asking for a trip
to the moon or something. Though depending on how good the cowboy was at
giving a blow job, it might feel as if he’d gone into orbit. He
grinned at his mental joke, then quickly sobered. He hadn’t had so
much as a quick hand job in the men’s room for a very long time.
He’d been focusing on his career and watching his bank account get
fatter. It was nice to skyrocket in the standings. It was even better to
know he would have a nest egg for when he was ready to hang up his bullrope.
At some point he’d have to leave because even though people knew about
vampires, the fact he aged more slowly still creeped most of them out. Guess
that would be another requirement — not icky about vampires.
He checked his ride time. The rodeo would be starting soon, and he wanted
to find a good place to watch before the bull riding closed out the event.
Grabbing his travel mug, he drained the last of its contents before heading
out.
He made it to the arena just as the first event, bareback riding, was
starting, and found a spot behind the chutes to watch. He waved at the bull
riders passing by to go scope out their rides and see what they were up
against. He already knew. He’d drawn Smoke Demon, a big, dark gray
bull that few cowboys could stay on for the required eight seconds. He
could, though. He knew it, and tonight would be his night to add to his
winnings and his legend.
The cowboy in the arena spurred in rhythm with the bronc’s big bucks,
the two of them as pretty as a postcard. His white hat tumbled off about
three jumps in, and his long, dark ponytail fanned out behind him like a
horse’s tail. Dirk was good, one of the best, and a good friend. The
crowd cheered and hollered as the buzzer sounded, and the pick-up men helped
Dirk off the big chestnut paint bronc. When his score hit the board, the
arena erupted even louder. Beau drank it in, thinking the crowd would cheer
just as loudly for him, too.
He watched the rest of the bareback and saddle bronc riding, then as the
first roping events started, he went back to the locker room to begin his
preparations for tonight’s ride. He wove through the workers behind
the chutes, giving some nods of hello to men busy moving stock to and from
the pens and those working the chute. He reached the locker room, surprised
to find it lightly populated, and went to his trunk where he kept his chaps
and bullrope.
He sat on the bench, trying to focus on the visualization exercises he did
before his ride, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that Cowboy
Matchmaker application he’d submitted. After paying and filling out
the form, all he had to do was wait and see who he’d be connected with
and just how well and how fast they’d hit things off.
Word of the service had spread through the cowboys, with most of them
calling it magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in magic. He
was a vampire, and he knew magic existed. It was just, well, cowboys like
him didn’t get a happily ever after, and even the mortal, completely
non-paranormal cowboys had rough relationships with the stress and danger of
the road. A vampire? Who rode bulls? After living for a few hundred years,
he loved the adrenaline. He also knew he’d have to move on in a decade
or so. He could only claim a great skincare regimen for so long.
Beau removed his hat and raked his fingers through his long sandy-brown
hair, cut just shaggy enough to give him a rakish look.
“Worried about your ride tonight?” a familiar voice asked as he
walked into the locker room.
Beau replaced his hat and put on a big grin. “I’ve ridden
worse. Who’d you draw?” he asked to deflect the conversation
from him. Brand Bennings had chased his place at the top of the standings
for the past few years, and the younger vampire was always trying to give
him a hard time.
“Spit Stain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s so
predictable. One hop out of the chute, then spin to the left. Yawn.
I’ll have to be perfect to get a good score tonight.”
“Stay on your rope. Sometimes he’ll go to the right and dump
you in the well.” They might be competitors, but Brand had to ride
well for them to be in close contention, which was exactly what the fans
wanted.
“Right-O.” He gave a two-fingered salute at the tan brim of his
cowboy hat, then went to his trunk.
Beau returned to his visualizing the ride. He knew Smoke Demon’s
moves, had watched countless videos of him after the draw. The trick to
staying on was to expect the unexpected, because Smoke Demon didn’t
have a single way of going. He could do this. He moved to his stretches, and
by the time barrel racing started, he exchanged his cowboy hat for his
helmet and was ready to ride.
He went behind the chutes with the rest of the riders, giving a nod to
Brand as he passed him on the bleachers. Beau would be riding fifth, so when
the barrels were removed from the arena and the spotlights dimmed, he was
ready and already getting stationed behind the chutes where the first three
bulls were being guided into place.
Normally he’d ignore the announcer’s hype. He knew the sport
was rough and dangerous, that he was epitomizing the essence of the cowboy,
especially since he’d been part of the Wild West when it was truly
wild.
Smoke Demon went into the chute, and it was showtime. Upon reaching the
chute, he climbed down, straddling the gate while he adjusted the bullrope.
When he was ready and the arena cleared of the last rider, he settled on
Smoke Demon’s back. He fastened his bullrope, and though he’d
done this a thousand times, he wasn’t sure if it was like strapping
himself to a rocket or a fifteen-hundred-pound rattlesnake. One wrong move
and it’d hurt like hell at the very least. He was immune to a lot, but
a horn through the chest wasn’t one of them.
Out of habit, he reached to press down his cowboy hat, his hands
encountering his helmet instead, and gave the nod. The gate swung open and
Smoke Demon exploded. He jumped from the gate, hitting the ground with his
front feet solidly in the dirt and his hind feet up over his ass. A long
thread of snot whipped from the bull’s nose to slap across the toe of
Beau’s boot with the remainder hitting the ground. Beau ignored it,
because just as the hind feet landed, the bull bucked again — another leap
and snort and all Beau’s focus remained on his center of gravity
locking with the bull’s.
One more jump, then the bull settled down to turn to the right, into his
hand. He didn’t get cocky, didn’t think he had the ride.
Instead, he rode each spin, each jump as it came, and when Smoke Demon
whirled out of the spin, reversing like a cat pouncing on its prey, he rode
with the bull. He’d never been one to count the seconds. He
didn’t even try to view the board, but surely he’d ridden eight
seconds by now.
He dimly registered the bullfighters staying in position in case he needed
help. One, dressed all in black, a mop of curly blond hair poking from
beneath his black cowboy hat, gave him a thumbs-upas the bull twisted and
spun. More jumps, more bucks — how the hell could so much beef be so
athletic?
Then the whistle blew.
Beau yanked on the bullrope.
It didn’t budge.
Fuck.
He yanked again as the pressure on his hands tightened, his fingers
swelling from the loss of circulation.
The bullfighter in black was there. “I got you,” he yelled over
the crowd’s gasp as they realized what was happening. “Relax
your hand.”
Relax his hand? He was trying to cling to a pile of angry fucking
hamburger. He also knew the bullfighter was right.
“I got you. Look into my eyes,” the bullfighter said again, and
something about his voice, a bit of compulsion, captivated Beau, mesmerized
him, and his hand relaxed.
The bull jumped.
About the Author
WM Kirkland loves the smell of the forest after a thunderstorm and
listening to the pounding of hooves as the horses come to the fence for
attention. A pen name for a prolific author, WM focuses on writing stories
of steamy queer love between shifters, magical creatures, cowboys, and the
occasional time-traveling gladiator. They’re proud to have been
telling tales for the past two decades and hope for many more.
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, & TikTok:
@changelingpress
