Chapter Three

A LOUD KNOCK ON HERdoor the next morning startled Krista straight up in bed.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Sam called through the door. "It's Sunday, which means no hands, so you and I tend the horses."

He sounded bright and chipper. She didn't know how. It felt like she'd just closed her eyes. Peering groggily at the darkness out her window, she decided he must be confused. It couldn't be morning already.

He knocked again. "Up and dressed, Krista. Chores first then breakfast."

"What time is it?" she asked in a scratchy-from-sleep voice.

"Six o'clock, which is a late start for me. You can thank me later. Wear the clothes I left for you in the bathroom and be down in ten minutes."

His footsteps thudding in the hall, and on the creaking old stairs told her he'd left expecting her to follow orders.

Not a morning person at all, she sat there with her eyes closed, upper body swaying slightly and still heavy headed from sleep, or lack thereof. She needed eight hours not a puny three. Tempted to dive under the covers for another five, she thought better of it. Best not test him on day one. So, she flipped back the covers and put her feet on the cold bare floor, although far from happy about it.

Slogging to the bathroom, she found what he intended her to wear—jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. There were socks, but no shoes or underthings. Surely, his no-panties rule didn't apply while working in the horse barn. Having no choice, she went commando, which was extremely uncomfortable. Really unhappy now, she stomped down the stairs.

When she found him waiting on the landing near the bottom, her fatigue and irritability trumped her common sense. "It's still dark out, warden," she snapped. "Not even the fucking birds are up this early. I need coffee to function, so there's going to be a little change in your agenda."

Squeezing past him, she stomped down the four remaining steps, hardly registering his dark expression, with coffee being priority one. She turned toward the rear of the house and the sliding barn doors where she assumed the kitchen and coffee pot would be.

Sam had other ideas.

He caught her arm and spun her around then, with his boot on the second step, he lifted her and set her face down over his raised knee. Her loose jeans came down with barely a tug, and he walloped her butt with his huge paw-like hand.

"Ow!" she squealed while kicking and squirming as at least a dozen hard spanks rained down on her pantiless ass.

It was over quickly, her jeans back in place when he stood her upright on the first step, her eyes almost even with his. When she got a look at his face, she expected her ears would soon to be blistering hot and stinging like her behind.

"Here's where you have things wrong, little girl," he snapped. "You're living under my roof, now, which means I'm in charge, and we follow my agenda, not yours. For the foreseeable future, I'm responsible for you and decide everything. I'll be as good as your daddy." He paused, his expression still clouded with anger. "In fact, from this point forward, that's how I want you to address me. Is that understood?"

"You're joking."

He leaned in until his nose was only a fraction away, his eyes darkened to black with the extent of his fury. A chill ran through her when he asked in a steel-edged voice, "Look at this face. Do I look like a comedian?"

Far from it. The cool, composed, patient man of the night before had vanished and in his place stood a take-no-shit badass ready to bust her ass again if she said boo sideways. She wouldn't be surprised if he ate nails for breakfast and washed them down with gasoline.

Krista swallowed the host of unwise comments on the tip of her tongue and, instead, shook her head.

"Answers are spoken aloud in this house, missy."

She was back to missy...oh shit.

"No, sir," she answered. "I don't think you're a comedian."

"No, Daddy," he corrected her firmly.

Stubbornly, she held her tongue, unable to bring herself to say it. But stubbornness had been her downfall in the past. Before she could blink, he had her tucked under his arm, her ass facing forward, and his paddle-like hand descended on her already tender cheeks. Even through the jeans, it stung.

"I raise horses," he said as he spanked her. "I work with leather and tools every day. My palm is tough and can far outlast your defiant bottom, little girl."

"Okay!" she yelped as his hand picked up the pace and, at the same time, moved lower, catching the fullest part of her cheek with each rapid, upward stroke.

"Okay, who?" he demanded unflinchingly without letting up in the slightest.

"I'll say it!"

"Tell me, then. For the next thirty days, who am I?"

"You're my daddy!"

Immediately, he stopped and set her on her feet again, at which point she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry. That was an awful thing to say."

Sam pulled her into his arms and with his lips to the top of her head, he swayed, slowly rocking her from side to side. "This is all very simple, Krista," he murmured, the warmth of his breath penetrating the thickness of her hair to her scalp. "I'm the only one you have to please for the next month. Make me happy, and time will fly by. Disobey me and keep using foul words like just now, and you'll earn more of the same, with the addition of the leather paddle, my belt, or whatever I need to get my point across."

"I'll be good. I don't know what got into me."

"It was a long night. You're tired, but that's never an excuse to curse and disrespect anyone."

"I'm sure you're regretting signing on for this and getting a bi— um, a brat in the bargain."

"No, I'm not. Do you know why?"

She shook her head while sniffling.

"Because I see a lot more of the good girl in you than the bad. But when your bratty side comes out, land's sake, does that girl need a few memorable lessons." He leaned back and looked down at her, his anger gone. "While you're here, I'm going to teach you self-control, respect, and you'll learn the value of the hard-earned money you tried to steal."

"But I didn't—"

Two of his fingers covered her mouth and stopped her protests. "You thought about it, and if not for the diamond pendant snapping some sense into you, you very well could have gone through with it. Getting away with something like that often sparks a fire in the belly for more, but it's a slippery slope, darlin'. I've been a lawman for a while now, and most criminals eventually get caught."

"I don't like the slope I slipped down, so I'm not doing it again."

"I hope not, darlin'. Now, for the rest of the rules."

"You have more?'

"I gave you the rules for my submissive last night. Now I'm giving you my house rules. You don't go anywhere without my permission. I'm responsible for you, so I need to know your whereabouts at all times. You'll have chores here at the house and out at the stables."

That didn't sound so bad. She didn't mind housework and looked forward to being around the horses.

You'll eat three meals a day because you'll need them, and will have a set bedtime. You'll also be sent in for a nap if I think you're getting cranky, which in all likelihood will happen today."

"Three hots and a cot, just like prison," she joked, although her attempt fell flat when Sam's serious expression didn't waver.

"If not for the judge and me, you might have been headed that way. Surely, this is preferable."

"Yes, sir," she answered promptly.

He caught her chin, angling it up as he asked, "No, who?"

"No, Daddy."

"That's better. These last few are what I call my golden rules. You heard them last night, but you seemed to have had a memory lapse overnight. There will be no cursing, or sassin', and no disrespect—plain as that. You can expect to be over my knee plenty until you learn to abide by all of them. Any questions?"

"Just one. Why can't I wear panties while working? The jeans will chafe."

"I imagine so, but there was no help for it. It's not something Gina leaves here, though I didn't figure you'd want to wear borrowed underwear anyway." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "I considered leaving you a pair of my new ones, but they would have stayed around your ankles, which, if you keep spouting off like you just did, is where they deserve to be."

"It wasn't intentional, as in more punishment?" She peeked up at him, saw his persistent scowl, and decided an apology was needed and fast, before she was upended for more daddy-style, bare bottom discipline. "I'm sorry. I'm not much of a morning person, especially before coffee."

"My advice is to figure out how to become one real quick. I don't mind dishing out a morning spanking, but I doubt you want to start your days that way, days which, by the way, usually begin around here at five o'clock."

Good grief, I'll die!

"Any more questions?"

"No, sir." His brows drew together in a frown again, appearing when she thought she'd been her most polite. Suddenly, it came to her, and she quickly corrected her error with a rushed, "I meant, no, Daddy!"

"Better. Now then, the horses aren't going to feed themselves, and they sure aren't going to muck out their own stalls."

"I hope that isn't what I think it is."

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the door. "This is a ranch, missy." He opened a closet in the mudroom and took out a heavy coat as well as a pair of boots that looked closer to her size not his. "That's why we wear these, and watch where we walk."

After she put on the boots, he helped her with her coat and took a pair of work gloves down from a top shelf. "These are more important than the boots. Don't forget them, or your hands will be blistered worse than your butt. If that happens, you'll be miserable because the work still has to be done." He stepped back and surveyed her from head to toe. Then he grinned. "That coat swallows you whole. Ready for chores?"

No, instantly came to mind. She wanted to go back to bed and start this day over. Or into the kitchen to swill three cups of coffee, which was her habit and the only way she usually functioned before 8:00 a.m. Except she wasn't foolish enough to suggest either of those ideas.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"I'll teach you."

He grabbed his Stetson off the hook and opened the front door, admitting a blast of cold air. She shivered. "I thought this was the South?"

"Not nearly south enough. A cold front moved in last night." He preceded her out on the landing then turned and extended his hand. "Hang onto me. I don't want you to step in a hole or trip over anything in the dark."

She clasped his gloved hand, the same one that had just heated her bottom—twice. With his fingers curled around hers in a tight grasp, he led her out to face more unknowns. She shouldn't have, but she felt safe, secure, and protected. Something she hadn't felt in years.

***

SAM LEFT KRISTA SPREADINGfresh straw in the empty stalls while he dumped the last wheelbarrow full of manure and dirty hay in the compost pile out back. He'd done the worst of it, but she'd done her fair share. She hadn't seemed to mind getting to know his dozen horses, and had laughed when they'd nudged her with their big heads when the carrots he'd brought for her to use as get-acquainted gestures were gone.

She was finishing up in the last stall when he came back in and hung the rinsed barrow on a hook on the wall. He walked up behind her while she was surveying her work.

"Not bad for a greenhorn."

Angling her head up at him, she grinned. "That was fun. Except for the horse poop—pile and piles of horse poop."

"A horse weighs around one thousand pounds. They eat fiber, and only fiber, and would do so constantly if we let them. Shit happens, as they say, and it's gotta go somewhere."

He barely contained a smile when she wrinkled her little upturned nose, and almost burst out

laughing when she uttered in amazement, "Yeah, but who knew there would be so much of it."

With big blue eyes, a brilliant smile—when she let it shine—and long hair kissed by the sun, the girl was pretty as a picture. And though she was petite, and looked like a strong wind would pitch her over, she had curves ample enough for his taste. He was going to have a hard time keeping his hands off Krista because, in addition to the lovely package she presented, she was submissive even if she didn't realize it quite yet.

Sex was off the table, unless she put it there, and so far, she hadn't indicted she was leaning that way. Perhaps that was for the best. Adding that complication when her time with him was over would make parting ways more difficult. But they would part ways. She was too tempting by far to risk more than a month's time with her.

"Too turned off by horse dung to eat breakfast?"

"No. I'm starved. We've been at this for hours."

"More like ninety minutes. And I was slowed down teaching you. But you'll get faster

with practice."

"You do this every day?"

"Nope."

Her shoulders slumped in relief.

"Twice a day, but I only pitch in on Sundays so the hands can have a full day off with their family."

"That's a nice thing to do. But I take that to mean we do this again in about eight hours."

"You take that right, little bit." His lips twitched involuntarily when she groaned. "That's not complainin' I hear, is it?"

"Oh, no, sir— Uh, Daddy."

He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Good because I did the smelly work this time. You get it next." Sam closed the stall door and turned toward her. "Ready to go?"

She nodded and returned her pitchfork to its hook. At the big doors, he let her pass through first then slid them shut. When he turned, she'd already started toward the house.

He whistled shrilly. "Where are ya going, little bit?"

She halted and looked back at him in question. "To the house to get breakfast?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but we've got another barn to feed." He jerked his chin in the opposite direction from where she'd been heading. When she simply stared at him as if he'd spoken something other than English, he held his hand out to her. "This way."

While she shuffled toward him, looking as devastated as a kid waking on Christmas morning and finding no presents under the tree, he couldn't keep from being amused.

Coming to a stop in front of him, she tipped her face up to him and asked, "Did I hear you right? You have another barn with twelve more horses?"

"Nope. I always save the big one for last."

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes shifted behind him. Now that it was light, the larger barn would be visible through the trees. He slung his arm around her neck and steered them onto the path leading to the south barn. "There are twelve horses stabled here, and twenty-four in the big one."

"And we'll be doing there everything we just did here?"

"Those horses gotta eat, too, and they need let be out to exercise, and to have clean stalls."

"But double the horses means double the horse sh—" She caught herself before breaking golden rule number one and ended instead with, "Poop." Then she muttered, "I take it back."

"What's that, darlin'?"

"I was convinced a shift in four-inch heels dealing with demanding customers and drunks was worse than being a stable hand, but it's a walk in the park by comparison. My legs and shoulders are killing me, and my hands are sore even with gloves on."

"You'll toughen up, buttercup, after a week or so."

She stopped and gazed up at him appalled. "I thought you only do this on Sunday."

"I do because I also have a full-time job as sheriff. You, on the other hand, will be paying your debt to Wanaker Landing society as a hardworking Longleaf Ranch employee for the next month."

He started them forward again, but much slower, with her leaning against him, her face buried in his coat.

"This is cruel and inhuman punishment. I don't think murderers on chain gangs have to do anything near as hard as this."

"You're exaggerating."

"Tell that to my aching arms and shoulders."

"After we get through and eat breakfast, I'll put you in the Jacuzzi tub in my room for a soak, and, if you stop griping, I'll throw in a rubdown afterward."

Her head came up, an utterly captivating wistful smile on her pretty. "That would be amazing, if I don't die first."

"Hm, that sounded a lot like griping."

"No, it's a definite possibility, which makes it a statement of fact."

He chuckled, something he hadn't done in years. "I'll do my best to keep that definite possibility from becoming an actuality."

As they continued through the trees and up the rise, he considered the other emotions she instilled in him, emotions that had been buried a long time. Her disrespect this morning had ignited his temper like a flash fire. She deserved every swat, and though furious, he hadn't come close to losing control. The question was, why such a volatile reaction?

She was beautiful, but he'd been with other beautiful women since losing April. Krista was inexperienced, which gave him an opportunity to teach and train and observe, the last perhaps what he enjoyed most of all, watching a woman's response to the incredibly freeing aspects of sensual submission. But he'd initiated new submissives before. What about Krista stirred his daddy instincts after five long years?

She was testing him, the same as any new sub, again nothing new.

Was it because her sharp tongue and brashness were the opposite of what he suspected was her true nature? He'd seen it in small spurts, like last night when she'd cuddled in his arms during aftercare, or when she'd edged closer to him for protection when Geoffrey was trying deliberately to frighten her, or when she burst into tears not because he'd spanked her but out of true remorse for her behavior. That her body responded to a spanking as much as it did his light touches and affectionate kisses also had to be considered.

He was convinced the cute little blonde pressed into his side wasn't the hard-shelled smartass she tried to portray, but more like a kitten—sweet-natured, vulnerable, and starved for attention. She was also more ready to be loved and cared for than any woman he'd seen in a long while. Her personality, when she let it show, practically screamed Daddy's girl.

But Sam wasn't interested in another long-term commitment. After April died, he'd retreated inside himself, his world irreparably altered. He did his duty as sheriff, but not with the passion he'd had before. The only solace he found was on the ranch with his horses.

As time passed, his need for companionship grew, and he couldn't deny his physical needs either. Slowly, he reintroduced himself socially. A few beers with the guys, accepting invitations from friends, and eventually going back to weekends at the mansion. But he only took on subs for a short time, usually for a quick scene, or for training very briefly—a few sessions at most. Being a temporary dom, as was the case with Krista, suited him.

After her time here, she would return to her life in the city, or, if she chose, she could remain here and find another dom to meet her needs, perhaps fall in love and start a family. They weren't all about sex and kink and playing at the mansion. This was a community, family oriented. The adults kept their private lives behind closed doors, but in their day-to-day life, it was understood the dominant was in charge, even if that happened to be a woman.

Krista would thrive in this environment. He was sure of it.

He tried to push his growing affection for her aside. But being around her every day and hearing her call him Daddy in her softly lilting voice would be as addictive as a drug.

What had possessed him to go down this path?

If their attraction kept growing, and she wanted to take it further, after he had a taste of her, gotten used to her in his home, seeing that brilliant smile day after day, and experiencing her wit, how would he ever let her go?

But keeping her wasn't an option. Losing his wife, who was also his little girl, had wounded him so severely he had vowed not to get in that deep with any sub again—ever. He'd have to harden his heart, enjoy their time together and, a month from now, part ways. That was as far as he was willing to go, and he'd have to make it clear to Krista that their Daddy/little girl arrangement was time limited and as ironclad as the contract they'd signed.