Rocky Mountain Christmas

By Michael Barnette

Ranger Cooper Heywood is on duty at Rocky Mountain National Park during Christmas. Alejandro Velez is an accomplished photographer. What Alejandro didn't plan on is the instant desire he feels for Cooper… and what is that odd golden shimmer?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Barnette
• Release date: Nov 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781962865005

Michael Barnette

Michael Barnette grew up in the wilds of Miami, Florida where he enjoyed the nightlife and wide variety of cultures, but not the late night driveby shootings. Deciding on a change of pace, Michael moved to Athens, Georgia where he lived for several years before migrating west. He misses the ethnic food in Miami, he doesn’t miss the driveby shootings. The last two years he was in Miami, Michael went from being a poet to writing short stories. One of the short stories he wrote, Zoner, was also the first gay erotica he’d ever written. Set in his cyberpunk world setting—which takes place in a future variant of Miami—and using characters established from an unfinished novel he was working on, he submitted the story to Circlet Press. The story was published and has been well received in the gay community, garnering a Gaylactic Spectrum Award nomination in 2003, while the anthology, Wired Hard #3, was a finalist for the Lamda Literary award that same year. He has since been nominated for the Gaylactic Spectrum Award six more times, both for novels and short stories. Seeing the popularity of erotica—and finding it much easier to sell than poetry—Michael changed his writing focus in 2003 and started researching the types of erotica popular with readers. The rest, as they say, is history.

Book preview

Chapter One

The ranger station in Rocky Mountain National Park was well lit and warm, the smells of spruce from the Christmas tree in the corner and fresh coffee from the station’s kitchen filled the air.

Cooper Heywood, a steaming mug in his hand, stared at his boss, Mark Waller as the man pointed to a map on the wall where a series of stick pins had been placed to mark the location of the winter campers. A group of seven skiers were identified with a blue pin, a trio of snowboarders had their camp marked with a yellow pin. The green pin marked the base camp of a group of eight hikers. A pink pin marked the location of a trio of skiers while the last pin, a bright red one, marked the location of their last winter guest: a lone photographer. Being alone in the rugged wilderness lands of the park wasn’t safe even in the summer, but some people didn’t listen to advice. This guy was probably one of those: they knew it all until they got in trouble. Then they wound up hurt, lost, and crying for someone to come rescue them from their own stupidity.

That job typically fell to him. He never got lost, never failed to find whoever had gotten themselves into trouble, even when his other coworkers couldn’t manage the task. They said he had amazing luck. He knew it was a lot more than mere luck, not that he’d admit it to the other rangers. There were some things they didn’t need to know, and his ability to find hurt and lost people—along with being gay—were secrets he kept to himself.

Cooper Heywood shook off his musings, frowned at his boss. So, I have to keep an eye on this guy until he decides to leave?

His boss, an older man with over thirty years as a park ranger, nodded. That’s right Cooper. He shouldn’t be any trouble. He’s a photographer. My understanding is he’ll be here until he gets all the photos he needs. You’ve got him and the other groups to check up on. It’s all pretty routine.

Cooper’s frown deepened. "But a photographer? What’s he doing up here at this time of year?" He and the other rangers had a bad experience with a photographer who’d showed up during the fall two years ago. The man had arrived with an entourage of people including a bunch of needy models who’d been nothing but trouble. They’d come to the park to do a fashion shoot. As if that weren’t bad enough, they’d decided to stage several of their shoots well off the easy paths in the deeper part of the forest. They’d gotten lost twice, one of the models had broken his leg and had to be air lifted out. To make matters worse their totally unsecured camp, where they’d left food out everywhere, had been ravaged by a hungry young black bear. The thought of another bunch like that, or even a guy like the clueless photographer who’d led the group, made Cooper’s head ache. He pinched the bridge of his nose and thought a silent prayer to whatever divine powers might be listening that the photographer wouldn’t be a total pain in the ass.

I’d guess he’s taking pictures of the park. That’s what he said he’d be doing when he applied for his back country permit.

Cooper sighed and took a sip of his steaming coffee. "During the winter? I hope he’s prepared for the bitter cold of the Rockies. Did you warn him about how fast the weather can change around here? I don’t want a call from this guy in the middle of the night telling me he’s freezing to death. For that matter I don’t want to not get a call because he couldn’t get a cell signal and freezes to death before I even know he’s in trouble." Though it’s not like that’s going to happen. I’ll know he’s in trouble probably before the guy realizes it.

I discussed it with him. The photographer seemed well prepared from what I could tell. He’s got a lot of gear with him at any rate, Mark commented. Seriously, Cooper, I don’t think he’s going to be nearly as much trouble as that pack of dimwits we had here two years ago.

We can hope, Cooper replied, still unconvinced the photographer wasn’t going to be a rolling disaster. People who weren’t used the fast-changing weather of the Rockies often wound up in serious trouble in the summer, much less the depths of winter when temperatures could dip well below zero in a matter of moments.

You know the routine. Get them out fast if the National Weather Service issues a weather alert of any kind. Most of the folks here right now are Colorado residents, so they’re probably well aware of the dangers. But that photographer’s from Florida. If anyone winds up needing to be warned it will probably be him, Mark informed as he shrugged into his coat and headed for the door.

That figures, Cooper remarked sourly, watching Mark as he reached for the door, then paused.

The hikers and the snowboarders will be leaving tomorrow. The skiers are leaving on Christmas Eve, or sooner if the weather turns foul. Take care, Cooper. I’ll see you after Christmas.

I’ll be here, Cooper joined Mark at the door. He held his hand out and they shook, then Cooper said, Merry Christmas.

Mark smiled at him. Merry Christmas to you too.

Cooper shut the door behind his boss and watched him drive away through the large window at the front of the station. The snow wasn’t deep, they’d only had a few inches so far, but that could change as fast as you could say Santa Claus here in the high country of the Rockies.

Once Mark was out of sight Cooper turned away from the window and headed into the kitchen with his empty coffee cup.

He alone would be responsible for looking after the people in the park until two days after Christmas when Julie Liddy returned from her vacation. Then it would be the two of them watching over whoever came until the day before New Year’s Eve when Mark returned and Cooper started his two weeks of vacation. He couldn’t wait. He’d already booked the hotel on South Beach and he was looking forward to warm breezes and tasty tropical drinks served in hollowed out pineapples or coconuts. High octane fruity drinks which came complete with orchids or little umbrellas in them. He’d have nothing to do for seven days but laze on the beach, soak up the sun and watch the sexy Latino hunks stroll by.

Thinking about all those dark-haired studs made his cock twitch in anticipation. Smiling at his own runaway libido, Cooper though, Down boy. We’ve got a wait until anything fun happens. Glancing at the clock on the wall he shook his head and wondered where the time had gone. He’d been on shift for almost an hour already.

Time to get busy. I’d better make my rounds for the day and check up on the folks staying here. I hope they’ve all got GPS tracking devices and Weather Alert Radios. This time of year the weather can be particularly treacherous.

Fortunately—so far anyway—he didn’t have any sense of foreboding that typically niggled at the base of his skull hours in advance of trouble, which, to Cooper’s way of thinking, was fine, just fine. He didn’t relish the thought of any emergencies while he had to hold the fort down alone. He grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall behind the information desk, shrugged into his heavy parka and left the ranger’s station, careful to lock the door behind him. Snow crunched under his boots as he crossed the small parking lot, pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the SUB then climbed into the park’s slightly battered SUV. He started it up and let it run for a minute to make sure the engine wasn’t going to cut out. They’d had it in the shop several times, but the mechanic had yet to discover what occasionally caused the vehicle to stall.

All right, baby, be good and work right for me, he said to the SUV, a ritual he knew his coworkers’ thought was a bit crazy, but he never had a problem with the SUV and he knew why: he treated the aging vehicle like a respected friend, rather than a simple machine, something the SUV seemed to appreciate. So far it had never let him down. Cooper put the SUV in gear, rolled out of the drive heading toward the nearest group of people. The going painfully slow since the roads weren’t plowed beyond the station which made for a treacherous uphill climb in many spots. If the snow had been deeper, he’d have taken either the snowmobile or the bigger snowcat, though with the fuel prices being what they were they tried to save the snowcat for emergency use only. Fortunately, the snow had been on the light side so far this year, which meant he could stick to the park service’s four-wheel drive SUV.

He made his rounds, chatted with the skiers, and the snowboarders. The hiking group wasn’t in their camp so he left them a note and headed on to the location where the photographer was supposed to be.

Cooper found the camp. The tent was closed, the campfire was out—which showed the photographer wasn’t a total idiot—and a rope, tied around a tree, showed where the guy had hung his backpack which probably contained his supply of food. While it wouldn’t protect it from a determined wolverine—which were highly rare in Colorado—it would keep the bears out. Of course, the bears were already hibernating at this time of year, but it did show Cooper the guy had some knowledge of wildlife at least. A marked improvement over the photog and his models, though Cooper still had his doubts about this guy from sunny Florida.

He stopped the SUV in front of the photographer’s suburban utility vehicle, a very new much larger vehicle than the one he was driving, and sat waiting for the guy to return.

If he’s not back in a half an hour I’ll leave him a note.

Bright red berries under a thin layer of ice glittered in the bright morning sun. Perched near the berries was a brown bird with striking black, rust and yellow markings. A few flakes of snow drifted lazily in the still air, creating a perfect winter’s day image.

Alejandro Jesus Velez adjusted the focus until the image in the camera lens was sharp and clean. He snapped the photo, followed it with a second, turned the camera to get a slightly different take on the image. The bird remained where it perched, then it eyed him, tipped its head to one side as if regarding him. He smiled when the bird took wing, emitting a high-pitched whistle as it flew into the ice decked trees.

Alejandro rose from the crouch he’d taken to get the picture of the bird. His breath plumed in the bitter cold air, becoming a roiling cloud that drifted gently away on the faintest trace of wind. He turned to regard the snow draped mountains surrounding him. Mountains which were bathed in bright sunshine, the snow giving off sparks of light like glitter on a Christmas card. A few stray clouds over head dropped scattered flakes of snow.

Inspired by the view, Alejandro snapped a couple of pictures. Even if they didn’t work for the book they might sell to a card company. Anyway he could make money doing what he loved was a win as far as he was concerned.

This is beautiful country, but so cold. I miss the warm winter nights in Miami.

But he wouldn’t be away from them for much longer. All he needed were a dozen or so images from Rocky Mountain National Park to complete his photojournal which he’d titled The Beauty of Winter. Then he could head home to the balmy semi-tropical breezes of Miami to make his final selections for the book and write the brief sections of text that went with the images. After that he’d send