Page 6 of Mustang Valley

When I bask under the shower myself, I can practically feel her presence in there, can imagine her rubbing the strawberry-mint shower gel she left in here all over her feminine curves. It’s been a long time since I shared personal space with a stranger. And an even longer time since it’s been with a woman as beautiful as Molly.

I let my hand wander down to my dick and stroke it smoothly with my eyes closed, imagining it easing in and out of the dark, deep crease between her breasts. My dick throbs at the thought of squeezing her tits tighter together, wrapping her soft skin around my shaft, thrusting deep between them. I’m hard as fuck, harder than maybe I’ve ever been in just a split second of thinking about her curves. And when I let my mind wander to what my fingers might feel searching up under that yellow towel, it takes all but a second before hot cum releases over the back of my hand.

That woman is trouble. And she’s my trouble now.

ChapterThree

MOLLY

Dash wasn’twrong about the earplugs. His alarm blared in the middle of the night, loud, obnoxious, beeping that persisted for a good twenty seconds before his hand came down on the snooze button. I tried to go back to sleep but my adrenaline spiked when the most annoying sound in the world entered my ears.

I listen through the wall. My mind draws a precise image of Dash drawing his shirtsleeves over those tattooed arms, sliding jeans over his muscly ass, and buckling his belt over his tight hips. Ten feet away through one measly wall is the hottest, most mysterious man I’ve ever met. And a cowboy at that. I have to stop reading my Western romance books immediately before I romanticize the notion of Dashiell Hunter. I’m here to do a job, and it isn’t one of a stripper, no matter how much seeing him makes me want to take my clothes off. That’s saying a lot because I’m not fond of being exposed and naked.

I snuggle the duvet up against my chest. Why the hell is he up at three in the morning? I know he’s been micromanaging the stables, and it’s understandable. Though most stable hands and ranch workers love horses and are typically attentive, one or two of them are always distracted. Maybe they’re hungover. Maybe they’re having trouble with their girlfriend. Maybe they’re having money problems. Distracted minds leave things. Trough water left running in the pasture. Stall lights left on. A hoof wasn’t picked out. Something goes wrong every day while I’m here, and that’s probably why Dash is here before I arrive, before anyone else, to see what was messed up from the shift before.

But three o’clock in the morning? In my efforts to prove my value, I tried to always arrive by six. And I don’t think there’s been one time where he wasn’t here before me. Still, I figured him living just above the stables and here at the resort, he’d be up at four-thirty at the earliest.

Three. a.m.

By the time his boots clunk intentionally across the oak floor toward the kitchen, I’m not even trying to ignore the sound of him anymore. Water rushes out of the faucet. The faint gurgle of the coffee pot sneaks under my door. I listen hard, carefully. Not much happens until the sink runs again and his boots make their way to the front door which, out of courtesy to his should-be sleeping employee, he closes with a quiet click and an almost silent turn of the key.

By now, I’m wide awake with wonder. And excitement. So I, too, get to work early. I’m down with the horses by four-thirty, and by five, I sense Dash’s presence again, working with the same creatures I do, but keeping a distance and eventually, he’s gone altogether.

I don’t break the news to the other workers. There are seven of us employed regularly here at the resort. After our run-in yesterday morning, I had doubts that after Dash went to Colt, I wouldn’t have the job after all. Or I’d be packing my suitcase, moving out and not managing anyone or anything yesterday. Sure, he made the rules, and that kind of suggests I don’t have to leave, but maybe those rules are just for now? He never said I was hired. He never explicitly said I could stay.

I spend the day as normal, going about my business and not even telling a soul about my move. When I get back here from my day of work and grabbing a bite to eat in town with two of the stable hands, it’s eight o’clock, and Dash is already in his bedroom. He didn’t leave a note or say a word all day, so I go to bed, too, still wary as to whether I’m really staying here or not. I wish he would have just said something. Anything. Maybe I should have asked Colt today…

I settle down and manage to fall asleep easily after being up for nearly twenty-four hours, but all too soon, Dash’s three a.m. buzz is hacking through my skull again. But this time, I try to get back to sleep because for the time being, this is my life, and although I’ve never been one to need much sleep, six or seven hours would be a preference.

I finally creep out into the open-plan space at five a.m., after two hours of tossing, turning, and reading. It’s dark and magically still. Moonlight pierces through the window and along the wooden floor like a tight silver ribbon of a birthday gift. Even though my crusty lids are heavy, I shake my head with pure delight. This is not the apartment the Hunters had showing on the ad for the job.

They must have renovated it. Dash probably didn’t post the new photo to keep people away from applying. All I know is this is the most gorgeous place I’ve ever lived. It’s a far cry from my house growing up in South Shore, Chicago. We never had money to upgrade anything, and the couch I watched cartoons on was the same one I watched reruns ofGilmore Girlson as a teen. Maybe my mom replaced a toaster or something, but often, our things were from thrift stores anyway, so it was never new-new.

I switch on a light and stare at the living room. Everything in this place looks entirely unused; either Dash isn’t here much or he’s meticulous. The remotes are lined up in a row on the coffee table. The couch pillows are neatly tucked into corners at the far end. My bedroom is off the kitchen, and I make my way to the beautiful oak table with chairs, again, nice and square against the top. The only evidence of the place being used is the upside-down coffee cup in the dish strainer, washed I’m guessing by Dash this morning, and half a pot of coffee.

With a mug next to it.

And small notepad with the logo from Starlight Ranch Resort. There’s messy scrawl on it:

Molly,

Make yourself at home.

Dash

A smile dances on my lips, and my heart flutters because these four words mean everything. This little note makes it official. I’m the new Starlight Ranch Stable Manager.

And I don’t have to leave this place. I let out a sigh, holding the note to my chest. I’m so close.We’reso close. I rush to my bedroom to snatch my cell from my nightstand and text my sister, who I’m likely to wake, but hell, everyone loves starting a day with good news. I pad quick steps along the floorboards to the open-plan space and take a short video scanning the living area and send it to her, along with a text.

Me

UPGRADING YOU FROM THE DORMS. BIG SIS HAS THE ROCK-STAR APARTMENT ON LOCK.

I head back in the kitchen, sliding my socks along the smooth floor like a happy-go-lucky ice skater and get a mug for my still-warm coffee in the pot, and when his offering steams my face, a twang of guilt passes through. Dash was here first. He chose to live here for a reason.

I shake my head. I have to believe my reason is bigger to keep on going. I need my sister with me.

By the time I’m pouring creamer in, my sister texts back.

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