Cowboy Interest
August 13, 20—
Blue Coyote, Oklahoma
17 Stenner Street
The guy is trouble, Daniel Fargo thought, watching the owner of The Cutter Experience walk into Fargo’s saddle store called Saddling Cowboys. Big trouble. He’s someone I need to stay away from.
Chip Cutter walked around the store, admiring and fingering the thirty-plus saddles on display inside Fargo’s store. Fargo watched him circle Abbeta, Tucker, Fabtron, and Crates saddles, all of which were expensive, but in Chip’s price range, since the cowboy was a pretty savvy businessman and could hold his own regarding financial matters.
Saddling Cowboys was only a little over one thousand square feet. Displayed leather saddles were on the right side, pads and apparel were on the left side, and a few cowboy hats and boots were near the register area at the back of the shop. The floor was pine tongue-and-groove, the radio played mostly Garth Brooks, Carrie Underwood, and Luke Bryan. The air conditioner was on in the place, which created a cool temperature that was comfortable for patrons since it was sticky-humid outside in the summer sun and heat.
Fargo owned the store for the last thirteen years. He borrowed money from his pa when he was twenty years old, read a few books on business, and opened up the saddle shop almost a year later. The place paid his bills, and gave him money to pay his pa back for the cash that was loaned out to him, plus interest. All in all, he was doing fine, but wasn’t a millionaire, and probably wouldn’t end up as one. But he was happy, which was important to him, and he was doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life, working in saddlery. He shipped saddles all over the world, which had paid for his house and Jeep Wrangler. There was sixty thousand bucks in his savings account that he never touched, and over three hundred thousand in investments, which were legally untouchable at the moment. Fargo was comfortable at thirty-three, worry-free and doing well. Life was good. How couldn’t it be?
“Can I help you, Mr. Cutter?” Fargo asked, checking out the thirty-one year old cowboy’s tight ass in his jeans, broad shoulders, and his swagger, which was sexy as hell. Chip Cutter was mighty fine to admire. Fargo thought so, all the local women thought so, and the gay cowboys of Stockton County lined up to get saddled and banged by the cowboy. Chip had a firm jaw line covered in brown scruff, dark eyes, and handsome pink lips. He stood a little over six feet tall, weighed a smidge under two hundred pounds, which was comprised of mostly muscle from working on his ranch, and at his business. He didn’t chew, believed in the good Lord, and rocked a cowboy hat like no one’s business.
“I’m good, Fargo. Just don’t forget to call me Chip. I hate to be stuffy.”
Of course he did. Fargo should have known better. Mr. Cutter was Chip’s father, a respectable man when he was alive; one who opened Cutter Drilling back in 1972, which made the Cutter family millionaires. Most of that money was gone now according to Blue Coyote rumors. Bad investments broke the family’s fortune. Not that that stopped Chip Cutter from surviving, opening up his own business, The Cutter Experience.
“You looking for a saddle today, friend?”
Chip nodded. “A roping saddle. Maybe two of them.” He looked from one saddle to the next, studying their horns, cinches, and rigging.
“Any particular brand?”
“I prefer Alamo.”
Fargo exited his counter area and showed off three different Alamo roping saddles to the customer. He pointed out their waffle tooling, fiberglass-covered wood trees, and roughout jockeys. While standing beside Chip Cutter, he inhaled the man’s scent, which was tangy with a hint of sandalwood. Fargo liked the aroma, was almost turned-on by it, but kept professional, showing two more saddles to the cowboy.
Truth was Fargo taught himself all about saddles: cantle sizes, seat sizes, horn sizes, Latigo ties, blank sets, and skirt lengths. He learned different materials that saddles were crafted from: pre-oiled leather, Cordura, Equisuade, and fleece, wool, or foam. He also taught himself a variety of different types of saddles: Western, Australian, doubleseat, treeless, flexible, and bareback. Knowledge was power, he knew, and that’s how he opened up his own business. One theory that he lived by was simple: if you don’t try it on for size, how do you know if it will fit or not?He tried Saddling Cowboys on for size thirteen years ago, and it was fitting just fine, which he had no complaints about.
Granted, it wasn’t always roses and doves. A tornado in 2009 ripped through Blue Coyote and knocked over a telephone pole with a transformer affixed to it. The pole crashed through Saddling Cowboys’ front windows and the transformer exploded, which burned half of the business down. Fargo was smart enough to have fire insurance for his building and all the damages were covered. Then there was the dust storm of 2011, which broke out his front windows and covered his entire stock with two inches of Oklahoma dust. Again, his insurance coverage paid for the damages. And sometimes the economy took a nosedive, which affected him, but he had always stayed afloat, cutting back his spending and learning to live minimally, saving his cash for retirement.