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Jackson snorted. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”
Wyatt stuck his tongue out, but he was facing away and Jackson couldn’t see it. “Whatever, man. I got life experience, it’s just different than yours.”
“I’ll say.” That had been under his breath but in the near-silent barn, Wyatt still heard it.
Once Cobblepot was squared away, Jackson attached a rope to his halter and led the horse into the corral. It took Wyatt a bit more effort to mount the taller horse but he managed without being too awkward about it. Jackson left them near the corral fence and moved to the center, still holding that rope.
“All right, we’re gonna try a trot,” Jackson said. “It’s bumpier than a walk. Nudge him in the flank.”
He did and Cobblepot surged forward, his walk wider than Shirley Temple’s had been, and Wyatt did his best to roll with the motions. They did a full circle of the corral at a walk before Jackson said to nudge him again. Cobblepot sped up, and Wyatt’s ass bounced uncomfortably in the saddle. He gripped the reins and pressed his feet harder against the stirrups, a little nervous about falling off now.
“Try to relax a little,” Jackson said, “or you’re gonna be stiff tomorrow. He ain’t got nowhere to charge to, so don’t worry about him galloping off with you astride him. Try to roll with him.”
Wyatt did his best and gradually relaxed into a posture less likely to spontaneously sprain something. Jackson even nodded at him and offered a half smile, some kind of silent praise that he was doing better. After an hour of alternating between a trot and a walk, Wyatt wanted to cry for how much his body hurt, but he clung tightly to his pride and somehow did not groan in agony while climbing off Cobblepot.
“You did good today, kid,” Jackson said. “It’s about quittin’ time, so why don’t you go ahead and clock out for the day? I’ll take care of Cobblepot.”
He resisted the urge to hug Jackson. “You sure? I can do my part.”
“I bet you can but I rode you pretty hard today, so I can have mercy.”
If only he’d ridden me hard. Naked and without a horse involved.
“Thank you,” Wyatt said, genuinely grateful to be done for today. “I can’t really say I had fun today, but I did learn a whole lot.”
“Good. If Ramie’s got any Epsom salts at home, a long soak in a hot tub will do your muscles a world of good.”
“Thanks for the advice.” A hot bath sounded like heaven, maybe with a cold six-pack to go along with it. Only the small grocery store in Weston didn’t sell beer, and Wyatt was too exhausted to drive out to the convenience store on the highway. He’d just close his eyes and imagine he was drinking an ice-cold beer.
“See you tomorrow morning, kid.”
“Hey, Jackson?”
“What?”
Wyatt bit his upper lip, then squared his shoulders. “Could you maybe not call me kid anymore? I know I’m only twenty and can’t buy a beer without a fake ID yet, but I’m a grown man. Haven’t felt like a kid in a long time.”
Jackson held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Sure, I can respect that. Wyatt.”
“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Wyatt left with a bit more bounce in his step than before, proud to have stood up for himself and for getting through his first day of training without having to wave a white flag in surrender. Jackson had been tough, but not cruelly so, and he’d shown a lot of restraint with Wyatt’s teasing. He respected the older man a hell of a lot, both as a teacher and a future coworker.
He’d also enjoyed spending time with the Woods family over lunch, way more than he’d expected to. Nothing about the past two days on the ranch had gone the way he’d expected (other than being hired, of course) and, despite his exhausted, sore body, Wyatt was eager to see what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter Seven
For the second night in three consecutive days, Jackson found himself at a back table in Blue Tavern, eyeballing the offerings and not liking anything he saw. Anyone intriguing enough to bleach his brain of the mental image Wyatt had fed him that afternoon in the corral. An image of Wyatt bent over, hands braced on a mattress, jeans around his ankles while Jackson spanked his ass cherry-red.
An image that had threatened to give him wood multiple times today while he continued training Wyatt to be a decent cowboy and ranch hand.
Jackson wasn’t into BDSM in general, despite having dabbled in the lifestyle briefly in his early twenties. He enjoyed certain things but definitely not others. He didn’t want a boy or to be a daddy, and he didn’t want to control another person in or out of the bedroom. Did he like being spanked? Yes, with the right person. Did he enjoy spanking others? Hell to the yes, again with the right person.
Was Wyatt the right person? Probably not, even though the kid’s mouth knew how to write checks and suggest future possibilities. Wyatt was only twenty years old, still finding his place in the world, and no way was Jackson the right person to settle him down or introduce him to the kinkier side of sex.
Then again, Wyatt could have a kinky sexual history that Jackson knew nothing about. But if Wyatt was on the hunt for some kind of older daddy to take him in hand, Jackson wasn’t the guy. He’d never make that mistake again. Fantasies were safer for both of them.
