Giddy Up, Daddy (Dirty Daddies 2024 Anthology #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Now the brilliant, brave Blakely will attempt to free herself from the ropes of doom. Ta-da!” Blakely tugged at the piece of rope in her hand.

And nothing happened.

When she pulled on the rope, the whole thing was meant to fall off and free her.

So why wasn’t it working?

She pulled again. Was it her imagination or was the rope around her getting tighter?

No, no, no!

“Oh! Witches and wizards!” she cried as she jumped around. The rope was secured around her torso, over her bottom, and around the tops of her thighs.

Not good. Really not good.

She glanced over at her audience for help, but they just gaped at her in horror.

“Well, don’t just sit there, help!” she cried.

Not one of them moved.

Well. Wasn’t that just lovely? She’d always helped them when they needed it. When Mr. Whiskers lost an eye, who had sewn it back on?

She had. That’s who.

And when Mrs. Flopsy’s dress had a rip in it, who mended it?

She did.

And what thanks did she get? They just sat there and watched her flail around like an idiot.

What was that smell?

No time for strange smells, Blakely! You have to get out of the ropes.

“That’s it! No Christmas presents for you,” she threatened as she attempted to free her arm.

“Why did I have to tie it all the way around me? I’m not even that good at tying knots. I can’t tie my shoelaces properly and yet here I am trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving with no way to get free!”

Okay, she was really starting to panic now.

Her breathing grew choppy as she broke out into a sweat.

Got to get free.

What was that smell?

Hmm, it smelled like . . .

“Smoke!” she screamed.

An alarm suddenly blasted through the small apartment.

No! My tuna noodle casserole!

She had to turn that alarm off! If Mr. Brandt heard it, he wouldn’t be pleased. He hated any sort of noise. And Blakely needed this apartment. It was the only place she’d been able to find that she could afford.

As she spun, the ropes suddenly slid off her.

Huh. How had that happened?

“Magic,” she whispered with a smile. It worked!

Well, sort of.

The blasting of the smoke alarm infiltrated her happiness.

Shoot!

Rushing into the tiny kitchen, she saw the smoke drifting from the oven.

“No.” She reached for the door and smoke billowed into her face. “No. No. No.”

Smoke stinging her eyes, she searched around for her oven mitts. She grabbed something, not paying attention to what it was as she used it to lift out the hot dish.

But whatever she’d grasped hold of, they weren’t her thick oven mitts. And the heat from the dish seared her hands.

She quickly dumped the dish into the sink.

Sobs broke free as she stared down at her hands in horror.

“Ouch,” she cried. “Ouch, ouch, ouchie!”

Don’t just stand there. The alarm!

Shit! She searched around for something that she could stand on to turn it off.

Spotting a dining chair, she ignored the pain in her hands as she dragged it over to the alarm and stood on it. She hit the button on the alarm, but it still kept going.

Urgh!

She finally managed to remove the alarm so she could pop out the batteries.

The noise immediately stopped, and she sat down on the chair with a sob of relief.

This was all too much.

Tears filled her eyes. Her hands hurt, her casserole was ruined, and the apartment smelled of smoke. If Mr. Brandt was home, then he’d probably be here soon to complain about the noise.

Another noise blared at her. It sounded cymbals chiming. Ooh or a magic wand.

Oh, witches and wizards!

That was her phone alarm.

Standing, she scrambled around for her phone. Her hands throbbed and burned and in the back of her mind she knew that she should be running them under cool water.

But she had to know why her phone alarm was going off.

If it wasn’t for her phone’s calendar and reminder alarms, she’d never remember to do anything. So she never ignored that chiming.

Finally, she found it lying on the coffee table in the living room.

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 that had 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.

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.