Page 4 of Giddy Up, Daddy

Then she stared at the long, straight driveway flanked by maple trees. It was spring, and the leaves were just starting to grow. The trees were gorgeous, but she knew they would be even more impressive in autumn.

She just had to hope she was here then.

Her phone chimed, startling her out of her daydreams of a cool autumn day with hot apple cider, a fluffy blanket, and a big porch swing.

Get it together, Blakely.

Jumping back into her car, she grabbed her phone.

Shit!

She was officially late. Except, she was on the property so that had to count for something, right?

As she drove further down the driveway, her admiration turned to concern.

And a teensy bit of horror.

Because the house she was driving toward looked like something from a horror film.

It was wooden and a single level with a huge wraparound porch which she should have instantly fallen in love with. Because who didn’t love a wraparound porch?

Unfortunately, the entire house needed a new paint job. The white paint now had a yellow tinge to it and was chipping off the wooden boards.

It must have once been a beautiful house with a brick path leading to the front door flanked by roses. It had an old-English feel to it. Weeds were growing up through the bricks and around the rose bushes which were overgrown. They looked like they hadn’t been pruned in years.

That was just sad.

Not your problem, Blakely.

But maybe if she got this job she could trim back the bushes and weed spray.

Please let me get this job.

There weren’t many available jobs in Frogmore, Montana. It was depressing. She’d interviewed for three jobs over the last month and hadn’t heard back from any of them.

This was the only job left she was slightly qualified for. If she didn’t get this job, then she didn’t know what she would do.

She really, really didn’t want to go back to living in Frank.

Blakely reached for Frank’s door handle and realized her hands were still covered in bandages.

God, they hurt. Why hadn’t she taken some painkillers?

What was she going to do? She couldn’t go to this interview with bandages all over her hands.

Wait . . . what if she put gloves on? She kept thin cotton gloves in her glovebox.

Seemed like the place to keep them, right?

Grabbing them out, she carefully pulled them onto her hands. Getting them on wasn’t fun, but her bandages were hidden. That was the main thing.

Now she was ready.

Smiling, she climbed out of her car. She had a really good feeling about this. She was totally going to rock this interview.

Chapter Two

She was late.

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