Ranch Daddy - Page 6

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Blake jogged back from his truck, carrying a box that I assumed was a first aid kit. I tried to focus on him, but I still felt dizzy and sick. Based on the look of concern in his eyes, I looked as bad as I felt.

“Sit down and put your head between your knees.” I let him guide me down to the ground. Then I pulled my legs up and dropped my head between them. He kept a hand on the back of my neck for a few seconds. That simple touch sent tingles all through me. As bad as I felt, I couldn’t stop the rush of desire. How was I going to be this close to him all summer without doing something about the crush I’d had on him forever? I’d expected my feelings for him to have faded. I was more mature now, even if my father didn’t think so. But instead, my desire for Blake had gotten much more intense.

“Keep your head down. I’m going to take a look at your thumb.” I heard him open the first aid kit. Something cold touched my thumb and pain flared.

“Ow. Fuck. Ow. What are you doing?” I tried to yank my hand away from him.

“I’m using an alcohol wipe. I’ve got to get your thumb cleaned up so it won’t get infected.”

I expected Blake to berate me and tell me what a baby I was for not staying still. That’s what my father would’ve done. Instead, he lifted my hand toward his mouth and blew on it, lessening the sting.

His tender gesture made the tears I’d been holding back break free. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Was it because someone actually bothered to take care of me? Because I didn’t get yelled at? Because I was afraid I would never be able to do any of the things Blake tried to teach me?

Blake didn’t say a thing about my tears. He just put some cool cream on my wound and placed a Band-Aid over it.

“Look at me, Riley.”

Before I did, I wiped my eyes with my other hand, likely smearing dirt and grease across my face.

“You’re going to get up and go find the pliers, and you’re going to try again because you can do this. No one expects you to know how to do anything instantly, but I do expect you to try.”

“It’s not working. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

It took me a while to find the pliers in the grass, but I did and then, slowly, I followed Blake’s instructions as he stood next to me. The heat of his body was distracting as hell but also comforting. I worked carefully this time instead of trying to rush things, and I managed to follow all his instructions.

“Crank the engine,” Blake said to me when I was done. “Let’s see if that did it.”

When the engine came to life, I couldn’t help but holler with excitement. I’d done it, with Blake’s help of course. I wouldn’t have been able to do it on my own, but I’d helped get the tractor running again.

I turned the engine off, and Blake held up his hand for a high five. “Good work.”

I took a long full breath and felt the tension in my shoulders lessen as pride warmed my chest. “I’m sorry about—”

“No need to talk about it anymore. I think you learned something today, not just about the tractor.”

He was right. I had. Whether I would remember that lesson the next time I was hot and frustrated and ready to be done, I wasn’t sure, but it had been a good afternoon.

3

Blake

During Riley’s first week on the ranch, it was one step forward and two steps back with him. There were moments when I thought he was going to stop fighting me, like when I saw the happiness and pride on his face after he’d fixed the tractor. Then there were moments when he acted like the spoiled brat his father insisted he was, like the day he fell off his horse and pitched a fit, blaming the animal instead of his own inattention and poor seat. The boy had known how to ride since he was little, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to pay attention.

No matter what happened, though, I told his father he was making good progress, and overall, he was. Unless he did something that endangered one of the other hands or the animals, I had no intention of tattling on him for his transgressions, and I certainly didn’t plan to mention those infuriating moments when he challenged my authority and I wanted to drag him into an empty stall, spank his pert little ass, and then give him the rough, punishing fuck he was begging for.

When he’d stood there, leaning against the tractor, and asked if I was going to spank him, I had been so damn tempted to do exactly that. It had taken every bit of self-control I had not to. Even now, images of him bent over the tractor, pants around his ankles, my handprint stamped onto his ass had my cock hard as steel. What kind of sounds would he make as I spanked him? What would he do if I pulled off my belt and used it on him instead of my hand? Fuck. I had to stop thinking about that. No matter how compliant he was, working with him was not getting easier. It was getting harder—I was getting harder. At least I was getting used to the pain of riding with my cock like an iron bar in my pants.


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