Page 6 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

MILO

I ron Peak, Montana, is the complete opposite of NYC in every way.

I haven’t seen a building over three stories since we crossed the border from Wyoming.

There are trees and fields everywhere, as far as the eye can see.

Just big, open spaces completely undisturbed.

I’ve seen more cows so far than people, and I’m not mad about it.

We roll through the center of town, and it’s like entering another dimension.

None of the people we pass seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything.

Stone knows every person by name, and frequently stops the truck to talk to people about his trip through the open window, like he’s in no hurry to get home.

He introduces me to everyone as Ironhide’s new Business Manager, and they’re more than happy to meet me.

This feels like one of those small town communities you’d see in television sitcoms. This would never happen in the city.

I’m not even sure I knew my neighbor’s name, let alone the person who owns the coffee shop.

I’ve had no less than three middle aged women try to set me up with their daughters, which I politely declined.

No one can catch my interest now that I’ve met Stone.

I know he’s technically my boss and landlord whom I’m lying to in a big way, and I’m not even sure if he’s into men.

So I’ll drool over him from afar. Especially if he’s wearing that hat with some faded blue jeans and leather chaps.

Leather assless chaps—new kink unlocked. I’m a fucking mess.

I need to keep my head down while I’m here, so I don’t attract any attention. Lusting after Stone is the perfect way to blow the best hiding spot. He already made it crystal clear he thinks I’m too young for him.

By the time we pull up to Ironhide’s gates, I haven’t convinced myself how awful lusting after Stone is. I’ve stared at him the whole time, which he points out.

“You okay? You’ve been staring at me for a while.”

“Um, yeah. Just taking everything in…”

“You’re taking me in?” His deep voice and teasing tone make my insides melt. I need to get my shit together before I pop a boner.

“No, Mr. Conceited Cowboy. The town, the wide open spaces. The nice people who talk to you. This is very different from what I’m used to.”

“Yeah, I pegged you as a city boy when I saw you on the road.”

An image of Stone behind me, gripping my hips so hard he leaves finger print bruises while pegging my prostate with deep, sure thrusts flies into my mind unbidden. I can feel my cheeks heating, creeping all the way down my neck like wildfire. Oh my God, he’s staring at me now.

Hopefully he can’t read my mind. If he’s like one of those mind-reading-super-humans from the fantasy novel I just read, I’m going to keel over right here and kick the bucket from embarrassment.

Here lies Milo Angelo Francis Romano, who died from filthy thoughts and embarrassment.

Considering my profession—well my past profession—it’s a surprising way to go.

“Milo…are you having second thoughts?” Stone asks, a slight frown curving his lips.

“No!” I blurt out as I snap out of my fantasy. “Just tired from the drive.”

His frown deepens, then he shakes it off as he gets out of the car. Before I can reach the door handle, he’s opening it for me. When we get back to the horse trailer, a group of men approaches us from a big house with white siding and an old-timey weather vain on top.

“Boss! Did you get me the caramel chews?!” A tall, lanky red head says, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

“Yeah, Stew,” he says before throwing an opaque plastic bag over to him. I was so absorbed in my filthy thoughts, I didn’t even realize he had it.

Stew wastes no time at all shoving a few of them in his mouth and letting out a loud, slightly sexual moan.

“Who’s this?” another guy asks Stone.

His voice is smooth, with a southern twang that’s different from Stone’s gruffer accent. He’s tall, with brown hair and bright, curious green eyes. His build is solid, but not nearly as muscular or appealing as Stone is.

“Everyone, this is Milo Miller. He’ll be our new Business Manager. Milo, the fucker stuffing his face with future cavities is Stewart Grise, aka Stew.”

Stew waves at me before demolishing more candy. The second man extends his hand, and we shake. It’s a firm handshake, but not a knuckle crusher. His eyes scan me as his lips curl into a megawatt smile

“I’m Lucky LaBeau, and I guess you could say today is my lucky day . It’s not often someone like you comes to Ironhide,” he croons, every word dripping in flirtation.

“There aren’t a lot of people like me,” I say, partly to sass him back because like recognizes like, but also to warn him. You can take the mobster out of Brooklyn, but you can actually take the Brooklyn attitude out of the mobster.

Stone clears this throat, stepping to my side before introducing the rest of the guys. “This is Knots, Flynn, Shooter, and Doc, my foreman. You’ll meet the other ranch hands throughout your first week.”

Each man shakes my hand. “So do any of you have actual names, or are you all a nickname kind of crowd?”

“Lucky is my actual name,” he says, running his hand through his shoulder length hair.

“And we call him Doc because he’s smart enough to be a doctor,” Stew says, gesturing at the foreman.

Doc’s sunglasses hide his eyes, and his face is frozen into the most neutral state of being I’ve ever seen. Seriously, the man could clean house at a poker game.

“I do alright,” he says in a raspy, still voice.

“Which bunkhouse are you staying in?” Knots asks. He scrunches his nose, making the light freckles on his bridge and cheek bones pop.

“The bunk above mine is empty,” Lucky says suggestively.

Before I can even ask what a bunkhouse is, Stone snaps, “He’s staying in the main house.” Everyone stares at him with wide eyes before he adds, “He’ll be working in the home office, so staying in the main house is convenient.”

The cowboys glance between the two of us, then Shooter asks about the meeting Stone came from. I hadn’t even thought to ask him why he was traveling from Missouri, through Nebraska to Montana.

“You drove all that way for a meeting?” I ask. Has he ever heard of video conferencing?

“I’m looking into a new bull to stud for the herd before we go to Saddle Up, a rodeo in Texas we attend every year. I’d rather have a stud lined up before we leave and get that to-do off my plate.”

My confusion must be written all over my face, which makes some of the ranch hands chuckle.

“Definitely a city boy,” Stew whispers somewhat loudly to Doc.

“Well Milo, when a rancher needs to raise some tasty cattle for the meat market,” Lucky starts, his voice sickenly sweet like he’s explaining something to a child, “He finds a big, virile male cow who still has his balls, called a bull. He studs –” he says the last word while thrusting his hips with a goofy look on his face– “The lady cows. That’s how hamburgers are born. ”

Everyone but Stone breaks out laughing, even me. Lucky is a piece of work, and I can already see us getting into a shit-ton of trouble if I’m not careful.

“Alright, smart ass. Everyone get back to work. You can torture Milo later.” Stone gestures past the bunkhouse, and we walk uphill toward the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen.

The rustic, two story lodge is massive, built entirely of wooden logs and stone.

It’s nothing like the thousands of apartment buildings in the city or even the twin and single homes you’d find in nicer parts of the boroughs.

The old-money mansions in the Hamptons can’t hold a candle to it.

It’s grand, without feeling superficial.

Instead of standing out, it reflects the outstanding nature surrounding it.

I stand with my mouth wide open on the limestone path leading up to the front door, marveling at how majestic Stone’s home looks with the mountains and forest as a backdrop. This is how the universe intended the world to look.

No bricks or concrete. No twenty plus story buildings blocking out the sun. No smog clogging the air. Just pure, unfucked nature. Peace and quiet.

“If you don’t close your mouth, something may find its way in there,” Stone says in his low, raspy voice.

A warm feeling coils in my stomach as my mind takes off, imagining him putting something incredibly long and girthy in my mouth.

“Huh?” I ask, sure that I didn’t hear him right.

“I said, close your mouth before something finds its way in there… We get horse flies this time of year, Milo,” he says, a playful note in his voice.

I must be imagining things. Stone is not flirting with me.

My face is busted up, I’m a hot fucking mess, and I’m nineteen years younger than him.

He is a silver-fox-cowboy-daddy who can have anyone he wants.

Every woman and even some of the men in town gave him heart eyes.

All he’d have to do is tip his hat and say ‘good morning’ and they’d drop to their knees in the middle of Main Street like a small town orgy.

He laughs at me as he tips my chin up, the callous on his thumb scraping the stubble along my jaw. My face turns a heated shade of red. Closing my mouth was useless, because it drops again when he leads me through the front door into a wide open space with chapel ceilings.

Somehow this man blended cozy, historical, and rich into its own style.

Leather furniture and Tiffany lamps coexist with deerheads, fur pelt rugs, and a massive stone and iron fireplace.

There are painted portraits of people from ye olden times next to old and modern photography of the ranch.

A flatscreen TV somehow complements the shelves of old leatherbound books on the far wall.

The eclecticness works—I can tell this house grew and changed with time, like a living, breathing thing.

He gives me a quick tour, showing me the chef’s grade kitchen I’ll cook in. The home office off the right of the main living space we left. Then he takes me up the stairs to my bedroom.

He opens the door, gesturing inside. “This is your room. It shares an ensuite with the empty guest room next door. My room is right at the end of the hall. If you need anything, let me know.”

For fuck’s sake. How am I expected to get any sleep with him down the hall from me? How can I sleep when he’s lying in his bed under the sheets partially or fully naked? I highly doubt he’s the type to wear a matching pajama set to bed.

Not like I’ll find out though, because I can’t fuck this up.

The ranch is the perfect place for me to hide, and I refuse to ruin this opportunity because I can’t keep my dick in check.

As if he heard my thoughts, he kicks up a bit.

It takes an insane amount of negative thoughts—everything from well done steak to someone kicking a puppy—to get the fucker to stand down.

“Thank you.” My voice breaks a bit, and I pray this interaction ends soon before I start sweating.

“Okay, I’ll give you some time to settle in. Meet in the kitchen at four for dinner? Maybe if you’re up to it you can make something quick, or we can order out.”

“Sounds good,” I croak, trying not to stare at the top two undone buttons of his flannel. And failing miserably.

“Alright.” He nods and closes the door behind him.

I cross the large guest room, standing in front of the open window. There’s nothing but trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. I’ve never felt so…safe. So calm, like I can finally take a deep breath and not worry about Mr. Vettore murdering me in my sleep.

That is, if drooling after Stone doesn’t dehydrate me to death first. Living on Stone’s ranch will be a test of my will power, but a worthwhile one. This is exactly the change I never knew I needed in my life.