Page 152 of Giddy Up, Daddy

Wyatt rubbed his hand across the seat of his jeans and glared. “No!” He cleaned up the mess and drank the rest of the water. The two of them battled often but I couldn’t recall them getting physical in front of me. Alden had a point. My knowledge of the sort of relationships or dynamics Wyatt sought was limited. His left boot grazed the floorboard, and he raised his head to meet Alden’s gaze. I thought maybe he’d been suddenly shy, but desire blazed in his hazel eyes. Shooting a flirty glance in my direction, he then swept it to Alden.

Alden took Wyatt’s chin in between his index and pointer finger, raising it slightly as he stared. Something about the way the two were acting turned me on. My raging hormones needed to calm the fuck down.

“Answer me. Do you want me to explore a dynamic?” Alden kept his hold.

“Maybe I do,” Wyatt replied, his pupils huge. “What happens if I don’t behave?”

“I’ll take you to the barn, bare your ass, and show you what happens when you call me Daddy. You been a smartass since you strutted onto my ranch. It stops now.”

“I’d like to continue this conversation away from Kennedy,” Wyatt said gruffly.

I held up my hands in what I hoped was a placating fashion. “I’m not judging you, Wyatt. But I am exhausted. Let me get dressed while I still can.”

“Getting pulled from one thousand-pound horse to another while they are moving is like being involved in a minor car crash. I’ll grab you some ibuprofen and give you some privacy,” Wyatt offered.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that a lot.”

I watched him swagger up the hallway. At least his confidence returned. Alden shot another glass of honey whiskey. His second since we came in from the barn. He didn’t drink often, which meant our ordeal had likely gotten to him more than he let on. “Are you still upset?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not upset.”

“I’ve never seen you, uh, physically respond to Wyatt.”

Alden cocked his head to the side, studying me for a moment. “Titles, at least to me, are more than just a few letters strung together.”

“Aren’t you both dominant? I guess I’m not sure how that’d work,” I said, a bit confused. It wasn’t that the dynamic confused me, but the two of them.

“Wyatt also enjoys being submissive. I do not.”

Alden lifted me up in his arms. I sighed, blowing out a long breath. “I appreciate the clarification. You make it sound simple. Hey! Where are we going?”

I knew him well enough to know he was distracting me from whatever he was about to propose, otherwise he would have let me get dressed.

“I’m bringing you to the guest room. Stay here tonight.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I’ll cook my famous buttermilk pancakes in the mornin’.”

My mouth watered. Alden had perfected his recipe. I knew without asking that he had huckleberry and wild raspberry preserve in his pantry. It tasted divine on top of pancakes along with homemade whipped cream. I joked that someone rough around the edges shouldn’t cook and bake like a domestic goddess.

“Now you’re bribing me,” I said as if I wasn’t dreaming of pancakes.

“The aftermath isn’t going to be pleasant. I’ll spoil you all day.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Somebody ought to. It might as well be me.”

“Alden–”

“Stay here one day, darlin’. I’m not asking you to move in.”

I hated how well he read me. The most surprising part was that if he asked me to move in, my bags would be packed before he finished the question.

“Do you still have my clothes?”

“Yeah, in the dresser. You have stuff to wear tonight and to change into tomorrow. I’ll throw your outfit in with my wash.”

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