Page 5 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

STONE

W hat the heifer am I doing? I literally just met this young man on the side of the road and offered to take him back to Ironhide Ranch.

My home. My family has owned it for three generations—poured our blood, sweat, and tears into making it the second largest cattle ranch in Montana—and I’m going to waltz back from my scouting trip with some random guy who could be a fucking criminal that’ll shoot me in my sleep.

I pulled over for him without a second thought.

Something strange drew me to him, this unexplainable pull from the deepest part of me.

When I saw the bruising on his face and how dejected he seemed, I couldn’t stop myself from swooping in and saving him.

Despite the fact that I don’t know this outsider who’s clearly running from something, or rather someone.

I look at him from across the truck’s center console, and the anger I worked so hard to leash earlier pulls at me again.

The purplish-green bruises on his face and neck aren’t the only ones.

He revealed worse when he rolled up his sleeves a few exits ago, including some healing slash wounds on his forearm.

It looks like he got the mess beat out of him.

Milo reminds me of a younger version of me I tried to bury and forget.

He stares out the dash window, watching the signs pass us by.

Even with his injuries, I can see his strong nose, sharp cheek bones, and prominent brows, like a Roman god.

Damn gorgeous. His honey brown eyes have this smoldering fire in them, an ember that refuses to quit.

He may be down on his luck, but I reckon whatever he’s going through won’t keep him down long.

Fuck, Stone. You’re becoming obsessed and you barely know him. I guess I’m a sucker for a mysterious, handsome face.

“So what brings you out west?” Even without the accent, I’d know he’s from the east coast. He just has that way about him.

“I needed a change of scenery.” A short, vague answer.

“How do you know so much about business?” He turns to me, his face neutral.

“My dad owns a butcher shop. I helped him with the books.”

Not much better. “Who gave you all of those bruises?”

He turns to me, one brow raised and eyes sharper than before.

“Shouldn’t the interview come before you hire the person?” he asks me with a hint of sarcasm. I like the way his voice sounds too much. For a second, I think of how it would sound hoarse and broken from a long night of moaning for me. For fuck’s sake, I got to rein it in.

“Yeah, this is a game of twenty questions though, as in I get to ask you twenty questions. You didn’t answer the last one by the way.”

“That’s not how the game works.” He evades my question again. “But since we’re asking questions, how old are you?”

“I’m forty three, you?”

He smirks at me. “Twenty four. Just so you know, I’m not first aid certified. So if your advanced age leads to you getting injured on the job, I won’t be of much help.”

Ooof. Way to hit my ego. “Hmm, maybe I should have interviewed you before offering the job. We don’t have a daycare you can take a nap in, youngin’. You’ll have to make it through the whole day like a big boy.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Trust me, I’m a big boy who can handle it,” Milo says in a playful tone. Is he flirting with me? Is he into men?

I pull into a rest stop ahead and park, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of my eye.

Nothing about him indicates that he’s into men, but then again, nothing about me does either.

You can’t tell what someone likes just by looking at them.

I didn’t even know I liked men until after my wife passed.

Honestly, I’m still figuring out how all of that stuff works.

There are so many labels and groups I didn’t know about—like twinks, otters, bears and jocks.

Apparently, I’m a daddy, or more specifically, a cowboy daddy.

One of my ranch hands, Lucky, is bi and he tried to explain it to me, but it was a lot to take in.

“Let’s get out and grab something to eat, my treat.”

“Wow, big spender. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man take me to a gas station for dinner before,” he quips while he looks at his watch. It’s an expensive one that oddly sticks out from the rest of his outfit. “Wow, you really are old as fuck. It’s only four.”

I roll my eyes, stomping down the laughter bubbling in my chest. “Smartass. It’s not a gas station, it’s a rest stop. And they have a mean burger and fries.”

“I’m definitely an ass, but whether or not I’m a smart one is yet to be seen.

I just accepted a vague job from a complete stranger on the side of the road and got into his truck without a second thought.

You’d think I have a death wish or something.

For all I know, you could be a serial killer who uses his cute horse to lure his victims.”

We get in line for our food, and a laugh slips past my lips.

“I thought something similar about you. If you need assurance, look me up on your phone. My name is Stone Hannigan, and I own Ironhide Ranch in Iron Peak, Montana. We’re the second largest ranch in Montana and the fifth largest supplier of beef in the country. ”

“I don’t have a phone,” he says, looking away from me. “Can I borrow yours?”

It’s odd for someone his age not to have a phone–they’re practically glued to the damn things. Everything about Milo seems to be one giant contradiction.

“Sure,” I unlock mine and hand it to him. “Take your time.”

The entire time we’re in line, Milo scrolls on my phone as he intently reads whatever he’s researched about me. He hands me back my phone after we grab our meals and sit at a table in the far corner of the room.

“You don’t want to call someone and let them know where you are?” I ask.

“No. You check out. Army veteran, third generation ranch owner. Thriving businessman with an events venue and nature tours right on the ranch. Avid rodeo goer. How big is Ironhide, anyway?”

“About thirty thousand acres, give or take.” His eyes go wide. I bet he’s a city boy for sure. “Sometimes we use ATVs or rent a helicopter to get around the place.”

“That’s at least thirty seven central parks.”

Is he from New York City? I’ve only been once to visit an old friend from the army. If he is, the ranch is going to be a culture shock for sure. He pops another fry into his mouth, and I have to force myself not to look at his lips.

I take a sip of cold soda to lasso in my wandering mind, but it does nothing. “If you can do math like that in your head, I’m sure you’ll be fine with the business.”

“What kind of business work do you need done?” I can feel his attention on me like a presence.

“Running the ranch is a full-time job. I don’t have time to do the back-end stuff regularly, so I need someone to reconcile receipts and keep it all organized.

” That seems like a decent answer, even though it isn’t the truth.

My paper trail is a herd of wild stallions in desperate need of wrangling.

I shoot off a couple of texts as I inhale my soda.

It’s rare I get to indulge in a crisp, cold fountain soda, and I can never make it last past the end of the meal before needing a refill.

Every time I ask him a question, I get a vague answer before he sasses me or redirects the conversation.

The more withdrawn he is, the more I want to strip away his attitude and peel back his layers.

He doesn’t even realize how big of a hole he’s digging himself into.

Part of me wants to give him some kind of privacy.

He’s been through something bad enough he ran all the way west to Nebraska to get away from it.

Hell, he must be desperate if he took a job with a complete stranger.

Even behind his attitude, I can tell something isn’t right.

But the other part of me needs to know. I’ll go with the excuse of protecting the ranch.

It isn’t to satisfy my own sick curiosity at all...

We get back to the truck and I check on Winnie, my mare. She pokes her head out from the window and I rub the white spot on her muzzle.

“He’s friendly,” Milo comments when Winnie looks at him.

“ She . Female horses are smarter than Geldings.” Milo seems interested, so I go on. “Geldings are castrated males, and they’re decent for ranch work, but I think a mare has more endurance for a long day of chasing cows.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse. Can I pet her?” I nod, and he slowly reaches his open palm to her. Winnie’s friendly with him, letting him slowly pet her before neighing her approval.

“I can teach you how to ride one if you don’t mind waking up early.

It’ll be a good skill to have on the ranch, even if you’re not working with cattle.

” Imagining Milo riding a horse through the fields and around the mountains as his thighs flex around the saddle is way more appealing than it should be.

“I’d like that.” His unfiltered smile almost does me in. I got to get a hold of myself. He’s too young for me. And I’m too jaded and fucked up for him. I’ll only bring darkness to his life.

We hop into the truck, and I put on some country music to fill the silence.

Milo’s brows are pinched as he stares out the front window again.

There’s something sad in his eyes, as if he has the whole world weighing on his shoulders.

I’d like to know what he’s thinking about, but don’t ask, doubting he’d give me a real answer if I did.

The sun is starting to set by the time we make it to Wyoming. He yawns again, stretching his arms over his head as he shifts in his seat. When was the last time he got a good night’s rest?

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m driving straight through so we can make it by morning.”

“Sounds good. Stone?” He peers over at me with big, warm brown eyes, and I fucking melt inside.

“Yeah, Milo?”

“If your elderly, feeble mind forgets where we’re going, check your map app on your phone. It’ll give you step by step directions.”

Fucking smartass brat. “Try not to spit up on yourself while you sleep.”

“Hard order, but I can try.”