WIP - Storm on the Mountain - New

Ashton Storm had been forced into this vacation by his sister, the overbearing bitch that she was. But she’d forbidden him from riding until he got his head together. At least she’d picked a place that had horses. Of course, it was his money paying for it, just like it paid for his sister’s high-end lifestyle.

As he stood with the other five guests and the three employees of Mountain Platte Ranch, he did what he always did—people watch.

The employees didn’t really interest him. There was Greg, who looked more like a computer geek than someone who could handle a horse. Across from Ash was Ginger, a small red-haired woman wearing cowboy boots and a bandana around her neck. Then there was Mack, who was so big, Ash wondered what horse could possible hold him. Certainly not the jumpers that Ashton trained and competed with.

It was the other guests that drew his attention more. To his left was a duo of women, obviously a mother and daughter, also dressed appropriately for riding. Most likely a rich family who kept horses for pleasure.

Next to them was what Ashton took for a real cowboy, from his dusty boots, to his Stetson cowboy hat. He was ruggedly good looking, though Ash wasn’t here to hook up. Under orders from his sister, he was here to relax and get his shit together—and sober up.

On the other side of the cowboy near Ginger was a man that had Ash’s hackles up. He didn’t know why, but the man just radiated “predator” and “danger” to him, with his dark eyes and a ball cap pulled low over his face. Not that Ashton was a coward or unable to take care of himself.

The last guest was as flamboyant a twink as Ash had ever seen. He was wearing designer from the stiff red cowboy hat all the way to the snakeskin boots on his small feet. Ash almost sneered at the way the man was ogling Mack and was practically standing in the big man’s personal space.

It was a booming voice behind him that had them all turning. Ash’s throat went dry at the owner of that deep voice. Already mounted on a horse was a god. Ash had always found men on horses to be the sexiest, from rugged western cowboys to athletic polo players to lean jockeys, to the sleek English jumpers like himself. This man outshone them all.

Suddenly Ashton Storm was looking forward to the few weeks of raw mountain riding. If only he knew what was coming, he might think twice about that eagerness and excitement.