': Shane Thorpe Knew Jesus and Rode Bulls (A States of Love story) by @GeorgeSeaton | Cat's 4 Star Review, Spotlight, Excerpt & #giveaway #mmromance #hotgaycowboys @Dreamspinners

Eighteen-year-old Joe Vasquez leaves Denver for Texas with Harley Bray, the cow kid who never fit in at their high school. In spite of discovering there’s another side to Harley’s nature—occasional “withdrawals” from roadside convenience stores, a nefarious skill he teaches Joe—Joe shares Harley’s dream of riding bulls and a life together on the Texas plains outside of Abilene. A life that will hopefully see the fulfillment of another of Joe’s dreams—to become a veterinarian.

When a rank bull kills Harley in a rodeo on Longview, Texas, Joe accepts an offer from another bull rider, Shane Thorpe, to partner up and ride the circuit together. The problem is that the blond-haired, blue-eyed Shane found Jesus a long time ago, and he’s torn between his faith and his attraction to Joe. As they make their way across Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona to their final stop on the circuit at the National Western Rodeo in Denver, Joe bides his time for what he hopes will be a relationship with Shane as fulfilling as the one he’d had with Harley. His hopes for the future, however, are challenged along the way when he discovers that his “withdrawals” have captured the attention of a dedicated Texas Ranger.

Buy links: Dreamspinner Press | Amazon

Cat gives this one 4 Meows with a 1 Purr heat index...

Shane Thorpe Knew Jesus and Rode Bulls is very different than most of the rodeo books I have read. In fact, it doesn't have a lot of the actual bull riding or rodeo in it and is more focused on the lives of the men. It isn't a happy everything is perfect story either. Harley, Joe and Shane don't win big and get rich from bull riding. This shows the other side of the fence (pun intended.) Joe and Harley left home at age 18, Harley to become a bull rider and Joe to be with Harley and figure out how to manage his dream of becoming a vet.

Harley figured to win big get rich and make that dream come true for Joe. Then Harley was killed in a tragic accident. Joe meets Shane a young man also beginning bull riding and struggling with his faith and sexual identity.

The story and characters are interesting, but the story is very skippy. The prologue gives us a hint of Joe and Harley then we go to Shane and Joe then it goes back and more of Joe and Harley then Shane's past then even throws in a Texas Ranger (you will see why if you read the story). I think this story would have been better in chronological order but that's just my opinion.

If you like cowboys,men with strong faith, men with hard pasts, bittersweet stories, and a good ending this is for you.

Excerpt...

This whirlwind of activity became routine for Joe and Shane, and, for the most part, each day and night melded with the next.

They traveled mostly in the dark of night and the earliest hours of the morning. Sometimes they’d stop for an hour or two, each scooched down in their truck’s passenger seat, the windowsill a pillow, a jacket for a bedcover. Joe would usually be the first to wake up, get out of his truck, take a piss, and then knock on Shane’s window. Shane was always slow to wake, but when he did, he’d step out too, take his own piss, and then they’d both dig into the supplies in Joe’s truck and eat a candy bar or grab some chips and water. Then they’d head back onto the road somewhat refreshed.

The supplies in Joe’s extended cab included a case of medical adhesive tape, bull ropes, chaps, spurs, gloves, vests, rosin, change of jeans and shirts, two extra pairs of boots, one helmet, lucky hats, first-aid kit, a case of bottled water, underwear, potato chips, tortilla chips, candy bars, one battered saddle, four bottles of whiskey, two cases of beer, duffel bags full of bathroom supplies, including four rolls of toilet paper and five bottles of painkillers, an ice chest, two videotapes and three DVDs of famous riders on bulls just as famous, and other items that both had come to know they’d need or want on the road at one time or another. The load would sometimes shift, and Joe would stick his arm back there and try to right it, and other times he just let it come undone, his attention to driving more important than neatness. When they stopped at a motel or an arena, they’d pull out what they needed and repack it when they left.

The motels had vibrator beds that didn’t vibrate; heavy air laced with the odor of cleaning solutions and remnants of a thousand or more cigarettes, cigars, beers, and whiskeys; soiled mattresses that sagged in the middle; TVs as wide and heavy as engine blocks; chests of drawers painted white or brown or blue or untouched by paint and chipped with peeling veneers; toilets with dark rings at the top of the water pool; bathtubs with rusted faucets; bath tiles framed by moldy grout; and walls as thin as onion skin paper.

The cowboy bars in the small towns and the outskirts of cities were mostly bare wood interiors with multicolored lights flashing from the rafters—Christmastime through all seasons. Jukeboxes boomed, with the bass amped up, the tunes spanning the twang of the oldies to the glitzy orchestrations of the modern. Giddy, high-pitched giggles from cowgirls and wannabes, were answered by the guttural chuckles of cowboys bent on getting in on the good times. The odors and aromas of sawdust, peanuts, beer, whiskey, men and ladies in rut, toilets and urinals that had overflowed one too many times wafted throughout the bars from one end the to the other. There were always greasy hamburgers and fries cooking in the back and, at near closing time, another rendition of Waylon’s “Waltz Me to Heaven” ensued after the lights were turned low.

The cowboys and bull riders they met had amongst them more Jesus freaks than a charismatic tent revival in Arkansas. There was snuff, chew, smokes—hand-rolled and unfiltered. There were South Americans, Texans, Mexicans, Texans, Canadians, Texans, Australians, more Texans and their cousins. Nearly all the cowboys coveted crosses, rabbit’s feet, amulets on chains, bracelets, figurines of one thing or another in their pockets—all talismans, good luck charms believed to be essential to assure a good ride of eight seconds or more. These treasured items were witness to the belief that any good ride took both talent and magic, sweat and soul, blood and blessings—the blessings purported to come from Jesus Christ or the devil’s wink, or some power derived from the juju of the talismanic trinkets. Bandages, braces, metal plates and screws unseen underneath skin were worn as battle ribbons, and gabbed about in lively one-upmanship. The odor of liniments and poultices, of man smell, horseshit, bullshit, leather, hay, of pungent egos burning bright and hot hovered about them all, unfettered and usually ignored. Boys limped, some wore slings holding their arms, and some necks were braced by plastic doodads that came off before the chaps were put on. Always huddles of boys watching DVDs portraying the best of the best of both rider and bull, commentary from all like surgeons critiquing brain surgery; the history, lore, and lies shared about bulls and riders who had traveled this route before them.

George Seaton’s short stories, novellas, and novels capture contemporary life mostly set in the American west—Colorado and Wyoming in particular. He and his husband, David, along with their Alaskan malamute, Kuma, live in the Colorado foothills just southwest of Denver.

Website: http://www.gmseatonauthor.com/

Facebook: facebook.com/george.seaton

Twitter: @GeorgeSeaton