Page 3 of Giddy Up, Daddy

No!

No, no, no.

She had her interview this afternoon. And in thirty minutes! It was going to take her nearly that long to drive out to the ranch!

Scrambling around, she found her handbag and keys. She stuffed her phone into her handbag and quickly pulled open a couple of windows.

She was on the second floor, so she wasn’t worried about anyone trying to break into her apartment. If they did, they’d be severely disappointed because there was nothing worth stealing.

What was she going to do about her hands, though? They hurt so badly and they were all red.

Bandages. She needed bandages.

“Where is my first aid kit?” she grumbled to herself. “Wait, I don’t have a freaking first aid kit! Why?”

Calm down.

She might not have a first aid kit, but she had a drawer filled with bits and pieces that she’d gathered over the years. Wincing, she searched through it until she found some petroleum jelly and bandages. Hands shaking, she slathered on the jelly, then hastily wrapped some bandages around her hands.

They looked ridiculous. But they’d have to do the job.

She was going to be late.

Blakely rushed toward the front door. After locking up, she ran down the stairs and past Mr. Brandt’s door just as it started to open.

“Miss Ellis!” Mr. Brandt called out. “What was all that noise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sorry, Mr. Brandt! I’m in a hurry.”

Oh, that wasn’t going to go down well.

But she didn’t have time to worry about grouchy old Mr. Brandt. Rushing out of the building, she headed to her car.

Please, please, please let me get to the ranch quickly.

She really needed this job.

Getting into the car, she turned the key, breathing out a sigh of relief as it started on the first go. As she grabbed hold of the steering wheel, she hissed in pain.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

Blakely drove ten miles over the speed limit the entire way, trying to make up for lost time. She really wished she’d been able to find a place to live in Wishingbone. Not only would it have been closer to Maple Grove Ranch, but Wishingbone sounded like the sort of place she’d like to live. Filled with quirky, kind people.

She’d heard about Wishingbone, Montana, when she’d been in a Little playroom at a BDSM club in Chicago. Another Little had stopped at Wishingbone for a few days and had been filled with stories about the people she’d met. Including a number of Littles and Daddy Doms.

It had spurred her interest and when she’d lost her job, she’d decided to head out to Montana.

Unfortunately, she’d been unable to afford anything in Wishingbone, so she’d found a place to live in Frogmore.

She pulled up to a pair of wrought-iron gates framed by wooden posts. The posts supported a large wooden beam thathad to be fifteen feet tall and had Maple Grove Ranch etched into it in large letters.

Amazing.

Had there ever been a better name for a ranch? She could only dream of living somewhere so beautiful.

Getting out of her car, she had to shove the gates hard to get them open. Her hands protested as the gates screeched like they desperately needed oil.

Skipping back to her car, she drove through and jumped out to shut them again.

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