Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
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.