Page 16 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

MILO

T he entire first half of the trip to Texas, I wrestled with my anxiety about whether or not it was safe to go. Nueva Notte has no clue where I am, so theoretically I should be able to travel on this side of the country without them catching me…

But, what if someone we know is at this event? I know mafia enforcers and cowboys don’t usually mingle, but Texas would be the place the two worlds collide. And with my luck, something awful would happen.

The alternative was to stay home. I don’t think Stone would have liked that idea much, and staying on such a big ranch in the middle of nowhere all alone is…creepy. Especially since we don’t know who cut the fence and came onto the property.

“What are you thinking about?” Stone asks, reaching across the center console of the truck to hold my hand. How can such rough, firm hands give such a gentle touch? It’s grounding, giving me a reprieve from my mental landslide.

“Just nervous. I’ve never been to a rodeo before and I don’t know what to expect,” I partially lie. What am I supposed to say?

Daddy, I’m nervous because I got my eldest brother–who I had a seriously fucked up relationship with—killed in a drug deal gone wrong, and I’m scared the mafia will somehow find me and drag me back to New York kicking and screaming to execute me.

No thank you. If I ever do tell Stone about my past, it will not be on this trip.

He has so much financially riding on this, and I refuse to fuck it up for him.

Cattle ranching is one of those industries where a lot of the business is still done in person instead of online.

He’s got to be on his game, rubbing elbows and closing deals.

“I do want to talk before we arrive,” he says, breaking my anxious thoughts.

“Yeah?” I lower the country music I’ve weirdly grown fond of in the short time I’ve been out of New York.

“It’s ‘Yes, Daddy’. It won’t kill you to have some manners, brat,” he says, squeezing my hand harder.

“Yes, it will. I prefer to be alive and well.” Truer words have never been spoken. I like being alive so much, I ran away from home like a coward to save my own neck.

“I know the guys probably talked to you about all the food, fun, and events at the rodeo, but I’m going to need you with me during some of the meetings I have set up.” He switched lanes to bypass a car driving too slow. “Sorry if it ruins your fun.”

“Daddy, there’s no one I’d rather spend time with than you. I’m your business manager, it’s my job to talk numbers.” A job I’ve grown to love. Everyday I wake up excited with new ideas on how to grow the business. I wasn’t nearly this happy being in the mafia.

“You’re more than my business manager.” His tone is decided.

“What am I?” I ask. Having the ‘defining the relationship’ talk wasn’t exactly on my bingo card for the day.

“The word boyfriend seems too juvenile,” he comments.

“Well, I am younger than you, by what, twenty years?” I tease him. “If you want to get specific about the kink terminology, some Daddies do call their younger partners ‘boy’. You already call me city boy.”

“It’s painfully obvious you’re from a city,” he laughs. “That’s why I call you that. But if it gets you hot, I’ll throw it around more often.”

“Everything about you gets me hot,” I admit.

“Good to know, but let’s get back on topic. I see this as a relationship, one I happen to have with my business manager. Do you want me to call you my boyfriend? Partner?”

“You pick. I’m just glad you call me yours.” Fuck, I didn’t notice how mushy I’ve become since meeting Stone.

He blushes, and it’s a beautiful sight. I take out my work phone and quickly snap a picture of him before he can protest.

“You’ll always be mine, brat. Partner is good with me.”

Partner . I’ve gone from one night stands and booty calls, to having my first relationship three weeks ago, to being someone’s partner . I never thought in a million years I’d have someone of my own. Leaving the mafia was the best thing I’ve ever done.

“I like partner too. It’s giving old-west-cowboy-vintage.”

His laughter is deep and gravelly, sending a hot coil of lust straight to my dick.

I stomp the feeling down, locking it away for later in the hotel room.

As hot as it would be to give him road head, I wouldn’t dare.

How messed up would it be to finally have a partner, only to get us into an accident with my throat game?

It would suck…suck is the word I’m thinking of.

I end up falling asleep for the rest of the trip, dreaming of all the romantic, mushy things I want to do with my Daddy. My cowboy. My partner.

Leave it to me to wake up in a new place, forget where I am, and instinctually reach for my gun.

Except I was facing the middle of the bed.

So instead of grabbing a gun off my nightstand, I smack my partner in the face, right on the nose.

I haven’t had to keep a gun on my nightstand since I left New York, but I guess being in Texas is making me edgy.

“Oh fuck!” Stone shouts, shooting up to a sitting position as he grabs his nose.

“Are you okay?!” I lean over to try and look at his face, but his hand is covering most of it.

“Yeah, I think so. Can you pass me my phone?” He takes it from me, opening up his camera app and turning it to selfie mode. He turns his face from left to right, then touches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not broken. You just bumped it.”

I sigh in relief. The last thing Stone needs is a broken nose. I need to get my shit together and stop being so paranoid. Nueva Notte has no clue where I am, and they won’t find me here. I doubt they’re still searching for me, anyway.

“Get dressed, we have to be there by nine to meet everyone. How about having some fried oreos for breakfast?”

“Yes!” American delicacy for sure.

Stone and I take turns showering before getting dressed. I think we’ve proven to ourselves we can’t shower together without me getting fucked against a shower wall. Usually I’d be down for some wet and wild fun, but Stone is annoyingly prompt.

He wears a pair of faded blue jeans, a green button down shirt with the Ironhide logo on it, and a mahogany cowboy hat. His boots are a shade or two darker. I take my time raking my gaze over him, taking everything in.

Stone is such a Daddy. Not because I call him one, but because he exudes Cowboy-Daddy Energy. Everything about him—from his posture to the gray in his beard—attracts me like a silly little moth to the flame.

“Milo, if you don’t want me to tan your hide, you’ll close your mouth and stop staring at me like that. We don’t have time for me to fuck you senseless right now, brat.” His jaw flexes, and I can appreciate him having some restrain. One of us has to.

Spoiler, it isn’t me.

“Sorry, Daddy. Maybe you shouldn’t look so good in your collared shirt and blue jeans,” I sass him.

“Hmm, so you don’t want your matching one?” he asks as he hands me a shirt from his bag. He’s so thoughtful.

“Of course, thank you.” I kiss his cheek, then replace the shirt I have on with this one.

I stand in front of the mirror to button it up, and Stone moves behind me, wrapping his arms around me.

“You’re part of the Ironhide Ranch now, Milo,” he whispers in my ear.

I turn around, kissing him slow and heavy. His lips feel heavenly. Before it can turn to anything more, he steps back, shaking his head.

“Come on, we got to get going.”

When we finally arrive at the rodeo, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There are stalls selling food and goods, with a large sitting area where people can eat. We pass signs directing us to the arenas where all the sports take place and a huge poster about a chili contest.

“Can anyone try the chili at this contest?” I ask Stone. My brothers never liked it, but every now and then I’d make myself a pot of chili to eat during the winter months. It’s one of my favorite meals.

“I’ll look into it,” Stone assures me. “If my brat wants chili, he’ll get chili. Even if I have to make it myself for you when we get home.”

We pass a booth with leather goods, and Stone stops to look. He points out a black leather riding crop to me. It’s beautiful, a real work of craftsmanship.

He leans in, and whispers low enough so no one can hear him, “How would you feel about getting spanked with that?” The hotness of his breath on the shell of my ear is going to make me pop a boner, for fuck’s sake.

“Hmm, I’m open to it.” I feel safe enough with Stone to try new things, especially when it comes to spanking.

We move through the crowd pursuing everyone’s wares until we see Lucky and Doc ahead. Lucky is frowning, and Doc’s face is stoic and unmoving, as usual. I wonder what they’re talking about that has Lucky looking so sad. He was so excited about the rodeo this week.

“Hey,” I say to him, bumping his shoulder. He gives me a weak smile before excusing himself. “I’m going to get some of the homemade lemonade over there.”

I excuse myself to check on Lucky, running to catch up with his quick strides.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I guess? It’s a long story—one I don’t really feel like telling.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I can sense his inner light dimming. “I don’t think the person I want wants me…”

Wait, is he talking about one of the rodeo clowns, or Doc? I didn’t realize he had feelings for Doc, but I can see why. Older, rugged cowboys are hot, and his fun nature is a good foil for Doc’s stone exterior.

“I’m always here to listen if you change your mind.”

He hugs me before we get in line. “Same, friend.”

By the time we get back with our strawberry lemonades, Doc is gone. It’s hard to miss Lucky’s disappointed sigh.

“Come watch the bull riding with us,” Stone offers. “We’re going to watch Stew compete.”

Lucky still doesn’t look happy, but at least he won’t be alone. We walk all the way to the arena and find some seats close to the front of the bleachers. Stone sits on my left and Lucky on my right.