Chapter Twelve

KRISTA WATCHED FROMthe porch as two deputies read her mother her rights, cuffed her, then set her down in the grass. Next, they searched her car. A few minutes later, one of them tossed a bag of white stuff on the hood. Sam glanced at her grimly. Before they were done two more baggies rested next to the first. That was when he joined her on the porch.

Squatting in front of her, he took her hands in his. "We can charge her for possession of the pills, coke, and pot, but there isn't enough there for an intent-to-distribute charge. She'll be out as soon as someone posts bond. It would be longer if we had something meatier, like theft."

She shook her head.

"With the drug activity we've had on the island of late, neither Mean Nadine nor George will be happy to see her in their courtroom. If we have more, she'll do time."

"I can't, Sam."

"There's a good possibility she could get clean inside where she hasn't before. This might be a good thing, her rock bottom."

"You'd think alienating her daughter would have been the bottom."

He squeezed her hands.

"I don't want her in my life, not like this. But I couldn't sleep knowing I was responsible for putting her in prison." Krista looked down at their clasped hands, unsurprised when a teardrop splashed on his. "She came to pay me back. I think she actually felt guilty."

"I'm sure, somewhere deep inside, there is a mother who loved her child dearly before her life was wrecked by grief, alcohol, and drugs."

"I have wonderful memories of her—Christmases were awesome. She loved taking me shopping and doing girl things like hair and nails, and would read to me every night when I was little. She was a good mom once. When Dad died, she became a different person."

"Losing someone you love is hard, baby, especially a spouse."

Her head came up. "Oh Sam, I didn't mean... I didn't think."

"Sh, Krista, this isn't about me. Your mom was devastated. I get that, but as an adult had a child to see to. When you take on that kind of responsibility, you can't just throw it away when times get hard—no matter how hard they might be."

He kissed her hands, one at a time, then rose. "I'll be back."

Lily Evans didn't do easy, not anymore, and today wasn't any different. When they put her in the cruiser, she kicked, screamed, and cursed them all, although most was directed her way. A lone tear tracked down her cheek when they slowly drove away with her locked in a cage in the rear seat. Sadly, for Krista, this wasn't the first time she'd witnessed this same scenario.

From the driveway, Sam watched along with her, and when the car disappeared down the tree-lined drive—longleaf pines like the name of the ranch—he turned and slowly walked her way.

He came straight to her, lifted her from her chair then sat with her in his lap. He kissed her tear-streaked cheek. "You don't have to be stoic anymore, darlin'. Let it go if you want to."

It would be a relief, and she wanted to, but the guilt gnawing her insides wouldn't let her. "Maybe I was too harsh with her."

"Get that thought out of your head. Wearing kid gloves with an addict doesn't help anyone. Your mother needs to understand how her actions impact others, especially her only daughter. Hopefully, she'll get into recovery, and one day it will stick. Until then, she can't keep dragging you down with her. It's hard, darlin', but tough love usually is."

"Just like the old, this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you brand of parenting. Is that how you feel when you spank me, for real?"

"No, you know the rules and the consequences for breaking them, so if you earn a spanking it's really a choice you're making. Besides, I'm a dominant with an affinity for ropes and impact play. I really don't mind spanking you."

"Boy, ain't that the truth."

Krista settled against him and tried to put her mother out of her mind. It was a lot easier with her Daddy's arms around her, and her thoughts turned to the topic of consequences and discipline. Since the day in the barn a week ago, she'd experienced both, twice.

The first was a minor transgression over a bedtime he'd set. They were watching TV after dinner, and he'd gotten a call-out. He'd kissed her, with a reminder to be in bed by ten o'clock since she had early chores and a big test the next morning. When he'd returned at eleven, earlier than expected, she was caught. He didn't care if she'd been engrossed in a movie, which had run long, and had put her over his shoulder and carried her to bed. He'd lectured about how sleep was important for good health while he climbed the stairs, giving her a dozen smacks while he did it.

The other time was major—two broken rules and defiance—and her bottom stung every time she thought of it, still.

She had been taking an online quiz on her laptop, and, already frustrated because the difference between a pathogen and pathogenic, and eukaryotic versus prokaryotic, had escaped her, when the computer slowed down. The little circle thing spun and spun and never stopped spinning. Frantically clicking on the mouse and the escape keys didn't help. Then, to her horror, the blue screen of death appeared, and it began a physical memory dump.

Glancing at the clock, with only five minutes left in the session, it would take her crappy computer that long to restart, and she'd still have to get to the college learning site to log in. Since it was a timed test, with only one attempt allowed before it locked her out, trying to get back in was useless.

Krista slammed the lid and her textbook while muttering, "Fucking piece of shit." Then, in utter exasperation, she got up, stomped into the living room, and flopped down on the couch.

She heard rustling and, from the corner of her eye, saw Sam fold down a corner of his newspaper and stare at her.

"Is there a problem, little bit?"

"Yeah, I'm going to fail micro."

He looked at her then into the dining room where she'd been working. "I take it the test was harder than you expected."

"I was stupid to think I could be a nurse. Math and science weren't my best subjects in high school. I barely eked out a C in algebra and chemistry. Do you know how many organisms there are in the human body? On the skin alone, there are two hundred kinds of bacteria, which is just plain gross, and they each have stupid scientific names about a mile long, and some are gram-positive and gram-negative, then there are rods and cocci." She snorted in disgust. "It's all a bunch of cocci."

"Funny, I could have sworn a moment ago it was a fucking piece of shit."

Slowly, Krista shifted her eyes his way. He had one dark brow raised and was giving her that you're so gonna get it, little girl look.

He folded his paper and set it aside. "Before we deal with that, when did you change your major to nursing?"

"It's always been nursing."

There was a prolonged pause. "But you're afraid of blood."

"No, I'm not." They both knew she absolutely was, and he called her on it.

"Krista, you almost passed out over a few blisters."

"I'll overcome it."

"Denial is not a good plan, darlin'. I though you liked your sociology class? If you hate science and math, and are struggling, why not major in a social science field where you don't have to worry about blood and two hundred kinds of bacteria."

"And be a social worker? No thanks. I don't want to deal with the drama. Besides, do you know how little they get paid? I make more in tips on a good night than they do in a week. I'd never be able to move from my crappy apartment."

"Don't say crap," was his automatic reply. "This brings up another thing I've been meaning to address. You're not going back there."

"Why?"

His brows crept up nearly to his hairline. "Do you really have to ask? The neighborhood is horrendous, your security is nonexistent, the front door doesn't even lock, and a hundred-watt bulb would be an improvement to the lighting."

"It's all I can afford right now. I don't have a choice."

"You could move permanently to the island, once your time is done."

The bud of hope she'd been nurturing inside her blossomed. "And live where?"

He rubbed his jaw, something he did when thinking. "I don't know right now, but I'm sure I could get you a job in one of the restaurants on the strip. I know tips would be better. For housing, there're some modest apartments and condos nearby. I'll have to check into them out, but we'll figure something out."

Something that wasn't here on the ranch with him.

"Don't put yourself out," she replied, in an acidic tone. "I'll just keep my shithole apartment. It's only for another two years."

She pushed to her feet, intent on stomping from the room the same way she'd arrived, hoping to be gone before she broke down in the tears that were threatening. Sam was of another thought and surged to his feet. In an instant, he had her bent over the arm of the sofa, yoga pants around her ankles, and was tanning her behind.

"That mouth just keeps getting you in trouble," he declared as the first smarting smack fell without warm-up. It was followed by a flurry of more that went from side to side, up and down, and even farther down to the tops of her thighs.

"I'm sorry, Sam. That slipped out."

"Excuse me, are we in public?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" she corrected.

"So, s-hole slipped out like the f-word did earlier." He suddenly stopped and warned, "Don't even think about moving," then strode away.

Krista's head popped up, but she couldn't see over the back of the couch. Her question of where he went was answered by the sound of drawers slamming in the kitchen.

When he returned a minute later, he advised, "If things keep slipping out of that mouth, we'll have to find a way to contain them. Stand up," he ordered.

Once on her feet, he turned her toward him. The wooden spoon he held wasn't all that surprising, but her lips parted in dismay when she saw a leather bit, like they used on the horses.

"Open," he commanded further.

Hesitant, she started to, but suddenly changed her mind, snapping her jaw shut, and asking between locked teeth, "That's not...used, is it?"

He grunted in undisguised annoyance. "Of course not. I got this specifically for our next BDSM session. Now, don't make me ask again."

She obeyed, parting her lips just enough for him to slip it in place. He secured it by buckling the strap behind her neck.

"Say, I'm sorry, Daddy."

When she repeated his words around the leather-covered bar between her teeth, they came out muffled but understandable.

"Good, now say red."

"Red." This single word came out much clearer.

"Just checking. Those are the only things I want to hear once we begin. Crying is okay, but if you curse one more time—"

"I won't. I'm sorry, Daddy," was her inarticulate reply.

"That's what you keep saying, yet you keep cursing like a sailor. Back over the couch."

The large-bowled, long-handled wooden soup spoon she'd used to stir beef stew only two nights before connected with her bottom in a solid smack. "This is a repeated punishment for the same infraction. From now on, for each curse word and snotty remark, I'm upping the ante. Consider yourself warned, little girl."

Held in place by his strong hand, she kicked and wiggled and hollered, but the descent of the spoon never faltered. The only time he paused was when her hand flew behind her to protect her sore, stinging bottom. She had no idea the innocuous looking lightweight pine spoon would sting and burn worse than the leather paddle and the brush combined. He easily caught her wrist and pinned her hand out of the way then resumed.

She didn't know how many he gave her before he stopped, but it felt like a thousand. He rubbed something cooling on her skin before helping her stand up then removed the gag. He took a soft cloth and wiped her face free from tears and mouth and chin clean of drool—of which there was a lot—and turned her into his arms where he held her, swaying from side to side and whispering soft words of encouragement against the top of her head.

When her sobs had ceased and only sniffles and hiccupping breaths remained, he tipped her face up to his.

"What's gotten into you? The deeper we get into this month, the worse your behavior gets."

He had to know. If he didn't, he wasn't as shrewd as she thought. But after last week, and their talk, which had efficiently squashed her budding dream there could be more between them after her month was over, they'd gone back to what they had before the package arrived. For Krista, it was easier to pretend it never happened, and if days were all they had left, she wanted them packed full of good memories.

It was working, too, up until now. Darn him.

"I'm stressed over school, I guess." This was the truth, but only half of it. "If I fail this class, I'll have to repeat it, and I'll get even further behind."

"Does slamming your computer, stomping around in a huff, and cursing help matters?"

"No, especially when I get a sore butt in the process. That spoon was the worst yet, Daddy."

"Next is my belt, and I'll be tempted to wash your mouth out with soap rather than gag you. You know how to avoid both, don't you?"

"Follow your golden rules, I know." She sniffled again, and he handed her a tissue from one of several boxes her Daddy kept handy for situations like this. "I'm sorry I took my frustration out on you. None of this is your fault."

"I want to help you get back on track, Krista. Though I really think you should reconsider the medical field. But that is your decision. Give me a kiss before we log in and see the damage."

Dutifully, she stood on tiptoe and offered her lips. He met her halfway and brushed her mouth lightly. Still bent to her, he admonished, "I'm all for turning your bottom a pretty pink, but I don't want to have to teach this lesson again."

He used stern daddy words, but his tone was oddly unsettled, as though the punishment had actually hurt him more than her.

"I'll try my best not to make you have to, Daddy.

He gave her another lip touch, this one longer and wetter. Once he raised his head, he was back to business. "If your progress wasn't saved on your test, you'll need to email your professor right away. Sending him a copy of the event log might help."

"Um...okay." She had no idea what that was, but went along with it because he did.

"It logs what you call your blue screens of death, little bit, which would be proof you didn't just blow off his assignment." He took her hand and started toward the dining room.

"Okay, but wait." She grabbed a pillow from the couch to take with her. "Those dining room chairs are hard. My butt almost went to sleep before that spanking."

"Numb may be a good thing at the rate you're going."

That would have been funny if he wasn't right.

***

THAT NIGHT, WHILE LYINGin bed with her cheek on Sam's shoulder, replete from yet another phenomenal twofer orgasm session, she had to wondered how another man could possibly follow him. He'd spoiled her, plain and simple, for anyone else—not that she wanted anyone else.

"You've gone quiet, darlin'," Sam observed. The vibrations of his deep voice rumbling next to her ear roused her slightly, but not enough to move. "What are you thinking about?"

"My mother."

"Odd timing, but understandable after your last run-in."

"Do you think she might have done better with a man like you in her life? I mean, after my dad. One who wouldn't have put up with her antics."

"You mean a dominant? Who would do with her like I do with you?"

Her head came up, and she grimaced. "I don't even want to think about what my dad did to corral her, but he had a way. She always was a bit high strung, but could hold it together during deployments. Once he died, she couldn't cope, and things got out of control."

"It could be she's submissive, but there are a lot of subs out there that are iron willed. Just because they choose to submit doesn't make them incapable or less strong." He moved, rolling her off his chest and coming up on an elbow, looking down on her. "Your mother is an adult, Krista. Like you, she knows that there are rules and consequences for her actions. Her addiction and compulsion to use has clouded her judgment so that she'll risk breaking all the rules and damn the consequences. The thing is, it's catching up to her. It always does for an addict, one way or another."

"I don't know that the clouds will ever lift."

"Then I'm sorry for her because she's got a rough road ahead."

Curled into his chest, her face in his neck, she didn't release the emotions. Not until she thought of the ticking clock winding down on her time here. In only a few days, she'd be free to return to her shithole apartment, a crappy job, and school, where she was struggling to keep up. At least she'd be busy, so it might not hurt quite so much when the man in her life who'd completely taken possession of her heart wasn't there any longer.

She loved him, of that there was no doubt.

But Sam still loved April. He grieved her loss like her mom did her father. They just coped in different ways. Her mother's way was more self-destructive, hurting herself and alienating everyone around her. Sam was more constructive, turning to work, both on the ranch and as sheriff, and for the society, taking on submissives like her, but he also had a destructive way of coping. It wasn't as visible as her mother's because he kept it buried behind the protective wall he'd built around his heart, but it was as damaging, especially if he never allowed himself to love again.

Lying there thinking how incredibly sad it was, she listened to the slow cadence of his breathing, and, with him asleep, gave in to her own grief—silent tears running down her face—for all of them.