Chapter Four

TWO HOURS LATER, THEYwere done—the horses fed and watered, let out in the rear paddock, with all the stalls as fresh smelling as they could be in a barn. Sam collected Krista from the hay bale where he'd planted her an hour ago. He'd noticed her wincing while pitching a forkful of straw and examined her hands. She had several blisters where the gloves had rubbed her raw.

He cursed himself for not checking when she mentioned they were sore before, but he didn't often hire ranch hands who were greenhorn girls with tender skin.

As they walked side by side toward the house, his arm around her shoulders again—at her height, it seemed a natural resting place for it—she twisted and looked back.

"What about the horses? Isn't it too cold for them in the corral? And it looks like rain."

"They're used to it, and they like to exercise this time of the morning. We'd have a hard time getting them inside unless there's a thunderstorm."

"That makes it plain there is no horse blood in me. I'm freezing."

"Lightweight," he teased. "Aren't you from around here and used to our winters?"

"I've lived here half my life and still can't get used to the cold snaps. I'm surprised you are. I know from your accent and your penchant for naming your animals after towns and cities in Texas—Dallas, Del Rio, and Laredo to name a few—you're not from these parts. That cowboy hat is a dead giveaway even with the popularity of country music."

"I'm from West Texas. As a kid, I came here to visit family every summer, and the Atlantic grew on me. When the university near home didn't offer a degree in criminal justice but Georgetown did, it seemed this was where I was meant to be."

Although she complained about being cold, achy, and tired, the flush in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes told him it wasn't the hard labor she'd claimed it would be. But something he'd said dimmed the light in her eyes.

"What's with the long face, all of a sudden?"

"Just hungry and tired from not getting enough sleep."

He drew her to a halt as he curled his arm, bringing her around to face him. "What did I say last night about honesty?"

She averted her gaze, staring somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear, which told him when she answered it would likely contain some truth, but probably not all of it.

"I was thinking about Morris. I've never left him alone before. He's probably climbing the walls, wondering what's happened to me and if I'm ever coming back."

He doubted that was all of it but didn't press her for more. If she was hiding something, he'd find out soon enough, and if she had more legal troubles than she'd let on, he'd discover it when Jerry faxed over her files for him to review today.

Sam moved one hand to the base of her spine and started them walking again. Krista was an enigma. One side of her was sweet and warm like the sun, but she had times when dark clouds rolled in and blocked the sunlight. It would be interesting to find out the cause of her dark spells and the real reason behind her actions at the mansion. He felt in his gut she had more stormy days, but if he had anything to say about it, they'd happen while she was here at the ranch and he could offer safe harbor.

Something she'd said stuck in his mind. "You haven't ever left Morris alone overnight before?"

"No," she replied, glancing up at him guilelessly. "Why would I?"

"Hm... I guess that means there isn't a boyfriend who'll be looking for you."

"I told you that sad story. It's because of him I haven't dated anyone in a long while. Once burned, twice shy as they say. Besides, men totally suck."

"Present company excluded, you were about to add, right?"

She met his gaze directly. "With due respect, Daddy, the jury is still out on that."

"I've got a month to disprove your biased theory. I predict the verdict will return in my favor."

Her smile flickered briefly then vanished, but he'd take it and hope to coax it from her more readily in the coming days.

Even though her response wasn't quite what he wanted, it was honest. Trust took more than a day to build. What pleased him about her comment, and was responsible for the rare smile curving his lips, was how she'd called him Daddy without being prompted. Turned out he liked the sound of it coming from her a helluva lot. And he liked touching her too damn much, case in point how he slid his hand beneath her thick ponytail to steer her toward the back door.

Neither boded well for him and his vaunted control.

At the stairs, which were too narrow to climb double file, he motioned her ahead of him, reaching around her at the top to open the storm door and holding it open with his body. She had to turn slightly to get by him, and her front brushed against him from breast to hips. Despite their layers of clothing, his body reacted, and from the quickening of her breath and the heightened color in her face that couldn't be blamed solely on the cold, hers did as well.

The house was warm and welcoming as they stripped off their outerwear and boots. In the kitchen, he went directly to the sink and retrieved the first aid kit from underneath.

"Those blisters need salve and bandages, which means your soak in the Jacuzzi is going to have to wait."

"That's okay. I'd rather go get Morris," she said as she came up beside him. "Can I get a rain check for later, though? I've never been in a Jacuzzi tub before."

"Absolutely. You don't know what you've been missing."

They washed their hands, Krista hissing at the warm water and soap hitting her irritated, abraded skin. One blister in the curve between her thumb and forefinger had already burst and was oozing. The others, though fluid filled, were still closed. He planned for them to stay that way, too. Popping them would only allow germs inside and increase the risk of infection.

He slathered them with antibiotic ointment, applied a nonstick bandage then wrapped them with fluffy gauze. The dressings were bulky, but it was hard to bandage moveable parts like fingers.

"There we go. We'll have to watch these for a few days and make sure they don't get infected. You'll have to keep them dry, too."

When she didn't reply, and he realized she hadn't for several minutes, he glanced up. Her eyes were closed, and she'd turned pale, almost green.

"Krista, what's wrong."

"I don't feel so good."

"I can see that. Is it your hands? Are they hurting?"

"They sting, but mostly it's my stomach." She waved at the cotton swabs he'd used to clean the large open blister. "I can't stand blood and gore. It makes me sick."

He frowned, not remembering any actual blood, just some pink-tinged drainage. "You aren't going to puke, are you?"

"I'm trying not to, but I'd do better if you would throw that nasty stuff away."

After quickly disposing of everything, he washed his hands again then wet a clean dish towel that he used to cool her face. After a few moments, her normal color returned.

"Feeling better?"

She cracked one eye and peeked at the counter then blew out a breath from puffed-up cheeks.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been this way since I was a kid. It all started when I fell into a rusty fence while roller blading. I had two skinned knees and several cuts that required stitches, plus I had to get a tetanus shot. The worst part was walking home two blocks with blood running down—" Krista stopped and swallowed hard before continuing. "It was a miracle my dad was home. He scooped me up and took me to the emergency room. That was the only good thing about that day."

Another piece to the Krista mystery—her dad being home was significant to her story.

She took a breath while shaking her head. "Can we not talk about it, please?"

"Yeah, darlin'," he said quietly. "The good news is these blisters have given you a reprieve from stable duty until they heal."

"Except for getting up at the crack of dawn, I really didn't mind it."

"Working outside in the fresh air with some of the most beautiful creatures to grace our world, what's not to like?

"Um, I wouldn't go so far as to call it fresh air."

He glanced down at her wrinkled-nosed grimace and found himself chuckling. "Point taken, but you get used to the smell. Maybe by next Sunday you'll be able to help me again. We'll see."

"What will I do in the meantime to work off my debt?"

"You leave that to me."

Sam closed the lid on the white plastic box and tucked it back where it belonged. A carryover from his grandmother, who, as a rancher's wife, knew the importance of being prepared, he kept it stocked with everything from gauze to betadine to butterfly bandages. There was also aspirin, another requirement Elly Golden insisted on after her husband suffered a heart attack at age sixty-three. She learned after the fact that aspirin decreased the chance of blood clotting in an already damaged artery supplying blood to the heart, and could often change the outcome from sudden death to a chance at survival. In his grandpa's case, when EMS arrived, she was still doing CPR, but he was already gone.

"Now you have a long face, Daddy. Want to talk about it?"

His eyes came up and met hers. "Turnabout is fair play, little bit."

The color still high in her cheeks, she averted her gaze again.

Yeah, Krista Evans had a secret, and likely more than one. The detective inside him would figure out what they were, and the daddy inside him would do his darnedest to make them better.

His brushed the rosy apple of one cheek with his thumb. "I wouldn't advise playing Texas Hold'em, darlin'. You'd lose your shirt."

"That's what Nana always says, except her game is poker, five-card draw."

"Sounds like my kind of woman. I'd like to meet her one day. As for our talk, since we have errands, it can wait. We have plenty of time."

He heard a rumbling noise, the source straight ahead and about two feet down in the vicinity of Krista's stomach.

Her hands flew to her belly as her cheeks heated. "Excuse me. It's been a long time since dinner last night."

"Add to that a lot of fresh air and hard work, which can work up an appetite. I'll see what I can rustle us up for breakfast. You start the coffee."

Embarrassment quickly forgotten, she uttered in surprise, "You cook?"

"I'm a bachelor," he answered while digging in the freezer. "With Lucinda only here twice a week, it's either fend for myself or go hungry. And takeout gets old. Besides"—he pulled out frozen pancakes—"even a sucky man can use a microwave."

"You just worked for three hours straight. Carbs on top of carbs isn't much of a breakfast, Daddy." When the word so easily rolled off her tongue, she gazed at him in wide-eyed amazement.

He found her spontaneous reactions adorable and grinned. "It gets easier every time."

She adroitly changed topics. "I can cook. Want to trade jobs?"

Not a fool to pass up a non-microwaved breakfast, he shot back, "Trade frozen cardboard for home cooking? You bet." But when he recalled her freshly bandaged hands, he had to renege on the deal. "That's something else that will have to wait until your hands are healed."

"What if I give you step-by-step instructions?"

"Done. You're in charge." He tapped her nose playfully and added, "Just don't get used to it."

After Krista perused his fridge and cupboards, in no time, she had talked him through biscuit making, frying potatoes and sausage links—the latter something even he could have figured out—and scrambled eggs. He'd been going for fried, but after he broke the yolks of the first two eggs he cracked, the menu changed out of necessity.

"You are very teachable," she told him while forking up a bit of fluffy eggs.

"I had a good teacher. Who taught you to cook?"

"My grandmother. I'd help her in the kitchen every day after school while I was growing up. She makes homemade bread that will melt in your mouth, the best beef brisket this side of the Mississippi, and"—she raised her fork as if in tribute—"the fluffiest scrambled eggs."

"Every day after school. So, you lived with your grandmother growing up. Where were your parents?"

She stopped chewing and stared at him. Then it was like the sun disappeared behind a thunderhead. She put her fork down, pushed her plate away, and reached for her coffee. Once she'd taken a big swig, she set her mug down and folded her arms on the table giving him a narrow-eyed glare.

"Is this how you get confessions from your prisoners, Sheriff? Lull them into a false sense of security with your good looks and Southern charm then go in for the kill until they spill their guts?"

He mimicked her position with arms crossed, and drawled in warning, "First off, I don't care for your tone. It's bordering on disrespect, and I think you know how that ends up for you." He paused for emphasis, and while she didn't actually squirm, he could tell it was an effort not to. "In answer to your questions, I wasn't lulling you into anything. Based on facts you volunteered, I came to a simple conclusion. And, any prisoners I need confessions from are mostly men in our county jail, so charm, whether Southern or otherwise, is useless." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "You can talk to me, Krista. I'm a good listener."

Her focus shifted to the window, her face giving nothing away, but the white-knuckled grip she had on her napkin told a different story. He'd hit a deeply buried nerve. Mentally, he replayed their conversation before she'd suddenly gotten her back up. Not her grandmother—her eyes had sparkled with joy when she spoke of her. Which left school or her parents.

"Why Daddy?" she asked.

"Because it often helps to unload a burden, darlin'."

"No. I meant why do you insist I call you Daddy. Is it a fetish or something?"

The abrupt change in topic didn't fool him. "You're good at shifting attention away from yourself when you don't like the subject."

"I don't like to talk about my past, but I'm curious about my present."

"We're as good as living together, Krista. Sir to me is very formal, and I can't abide master—or warden." She squirmed in obvious unease at the pointed reference to her early morning hissy fit. "I like things more personal, and daddy seems to fit our situation."

"You're not a daddy dom all the time?"

"Where did you learn about that?"

More fidgeting preceded her short answer. "I read."

"Yes, you mentioned it before. What did you think about the daddies in your books?"

"It was interesting," she said evasively. "But it wasn't really for me."

"Why?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "I don't want to offend you if that's what you're into."

"I asked, so I'll have to be a big boy and accept the answer. Tell me."

"I didn't like the... um... Well, all the baby stuff."

"That's age play, Krista, which is entirely different."

She frowned. "I guess I don't understand, then."

"There are many reasons men and women enter into a Daddy/little girl relationship," he explained, "and many depths to the dynamic. For some, it's to meet the need for something missing in their lives. For others, it's an escape, or just kinky fun. The Daddy, like any other dom, needs to be in control, but he also wants a sweet, adoring submissive woman to care for. A little girl can't be summed up in a few adjectives. They come in all shapes and sizes, from various backgrounds, some with emotional trauma and others who are just in touch with the little girl inside them and know what they need. Generally speaking, they have an intense desire to be nurtured, supported, and loved. Most little girls don't mind giving up some level of control to get it, others revel in it. They're a perfect complement for a daddy."

"So, it's a give and take. That makes sense, I suppose."

Since she still looked uncertain, Sam furthered his explanation by being more concrete. "Let's take you for example. I think you'll agree you've been having a tough time lately, at least since college."

She grunted softly. "More like since middle school."

"That makes me sad to hear, darlin'. I can assume since you only refer to your grandmother, not a grandfather or a father, and you don't have a boyfriend, you've been missing a male influence in your life for quite some time. Not all women want that, but others find it as necessary as the food they eat and the air they breathe. To be fulfilled, they need a strong, protective daddy who is there for them through the good and the bad, offering guidance and support and, most of all, unconditional love."

"And discipline," she put in.

"Yeah, that often goes along with it. It's a niche within BDSM, so it shouldn't be surprising when spankings and paddles and other forms of punishment are intermingled." He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, holding it between his hands as he watched her closely over the rim. "We are what we are, for whatever reason. This isn't meant to embarrass you, but from the wetness of your pussy during your spanking the other night and the way you responded to me afterward, you are what we are, too. I haven't figured out to what extent yet with you, but I will."

"But I don't need a daddy," she protested.

"The same way you aren't submissive?" He set his cup down and stretched both arms across the table. "Give me your hands."

She didn't hesitate to lay her fingers in his open palms. His curled around hers, clasping them firmly but gently.

"I think you'll agree your life is out of control right now, Krista. Would it be so bad to let a man take charge and help you through it? Recall your actions this morning. Cursing and making demands like you did wasn't exactly adult behavior. It's certainly not the way a guest acts in someone's home, nor a grown-up whose made a deal to get out of a legal mess that could otherwise turn out much worse and permanently affect their life."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, and for using the f-word."

If she could step back and watch herself with head bowed, eyes fixed on their joined hands, and hear the soft deference in her tone, she wouldn't argue about being submissive any longer.

"You're sorry, now, darlin', because you're calm and thinking rationally, and because I took you to task for what you did. This morning, you were the embodiment of a little girl in need of a daddy's discipline."

"I'm not usually that way, I swear. I just feel overwhelmed sometimes."

"That's when a daddy can step in to help."

"Shouldn't I be able to do this on my own by now? I'm an adult."

"We all need a little help sometimes, baby."

Her eyes came up at the endearment, eyes clear, gleaming blue, and so hungry for what he could offer. Temporarily, his bruised heart warned, but he continued headlong when she asked, "Even you?"

"Remember Lucinda? Why do you think she felt the need to take care of me? I was going through a rough patch and, if not for her, I might not have snapped out of it."

"I know those patches. I'm glad she was there for you."

There she was again, the sweet girl he knew was at Krista Evans' core.

"What you have here is an opportunity, darlin', to learn and grow under my guidance, and try to gain a semblance of order in your life. Or you can continue to act like a spoiled brat, make the next month more difficult than it has to be, and leave here no better off than when you arrived. Either way, I'm ready and able to handle you."

"As my daddy..."

"Yes, and all that entails."

"It sounds like the little girl gets the most out of this, both good and bad," she observed.

"Not so. Most daddies enjoy being a mentor, a coach, a teacher, and"—he raised her blistered, bandaged hands—"sometimes a doctor to a little girl who needs him."

She nodded. "You took care of me."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have let it get that far. That's on me."

"You couldn't have known I'd get blisters?"

"I should have anticipated the challenges for a newbie with tender skin."

"You gave me gloves."

"Which I should have checked when you complained. Instead, what did I say?"

"That I'd toughen up."

He raised her bandaged hands to his lips and kissed each one. "This is on me, and I deserve a swift kick for letting it happen."

"You can't control everything, Sam."

"Daddy."

"You can't, Daddy. You're not Superman."

"To a little girl, that's exactly who her daddy is, or at least tries to be. That's why we like control in every way you can imagine."

"Including...sex?"

"Especially sex." When he saw her frown, he slid his hands up to her forearms and squeezed gently to ensure he had her full attention. "I have no misperception that you're anything other than a woman—full grown. Get that muddle out of your head. It's just a different type of dominance and submission, another level of power exchange. Any questions about that?"

"Not right now because I'm trying to process. Is there a book about this I can read?"

He grinned at her. "Hundreds, mostly fiction. If you're looking for a how-to manual, you don't need one. You've got me."

"Does that mean you want to..." A riot of color stole into her cheeks.

"If you're asking if I want you in my bed, the answer is an unequivocal yes. But it's up to you, Krista. As was stated in your contract, sex is a separate arrangement and requires written consent, no exceptions. This give you a built-in timetable to change your mind. We've known one another for a day and have twenty-nine more to get to know each other better. There's no rush. If you want to keep it the way it is now, I'll honor your wishes in that, too."

She didn't reply, only swallowed with an audible gulp. When seconds ticked by and she said nothing, he worried part of her secrecy might be a bad experience in her past. There was a trigger question on the mansion staff application. She wouldn't have been hired if she'd responded yes, but people had been known to fudge the truth to get a job before. He decided he need to see her record and background check before going any further. Considering she wasn't a typical submissive in training, who came in with her eyes wide open, it was far too soon for this discussion anyway.

"Krista. I'd like to see your eyes when I'm talking to you, darlin'." He waited until her lashes came up and he could see brilliant blue. "I don't want you to think sex is a condition of your being with me. There are dominant daddies who never become sexually intimate with their little girls. I won't go there with you if you have any reservations."

"You're one of the most attractive men I've ever seen." Her answer burst out of her like soda from a shaken can, and he could tell she immediately regretted her candor when her eyes skittered away.

"Look at me, Krista." Shyly, they came back to him. "I'm glad you find me appealing, darlin'. That helps, but I can see you're uncomfortable with this. We'll wait until it feels right, until you tell me you're ready."

"Oh... I, uh... I'm not good at...asking for what I want, or, um...taking the initiative with, well...you know." He thought her cheeks may actually burst into flames before she got that out.

"Are you saying you want me to take the lead with this as well?"

She nodded, which wasn't good enough for him.

"I need to hear the words, baby."

"I'd rather you lead, Daddy."

"Most little girls usually do. Although they often have ways of sending their daddy a message."

"This conversation is unlike any I've ever had before."

"I can imagine." He grinned. "But we all had to have an awkward conversation to get things rolling." Her blonde brows shot up. "Don't even ask. We are not swapping lost BDSM virginity stories."

"Mine wouldn't be very riveting," she said with a giggle, "because you were there."

And with that, the tension was broken. All her hemming and hawing around the topic was adorable and far removed from the foul-mouthed shrew who had greeted him with demands for coffee hours before. He'd make a point to have it brewed before waking her from now on—or not. A morning spanking to start the day on occasion would suit him just fine.

"Have you always been a daddy dom?"

"I had a little girl once before, a long time ago. After it ended, I went back to being sir."

"Why with me, then?"

"Because you're rather lost, Krista, and seem to need one. Are you through?" he asked as he rose with his plate and mug.

"Yes," she said, taking one last sip as she stood up. "I'll do the dishes."

"Nope, your bandages need to stay dry. We've dawdled so long the Jacuzzi should probably wait until after we get Morris." He considered her ponytail, which streamed over her shoulders and well down her back and as good as ruled out probably. "I imagine with all that hair it takes you a bit longer to get ready than me."

Her eyes angled up, and he knew she was taking in his unruly hair that was a month past due for a trim. Likely, he was suffering from a case of hat head, as well. Though it showed no signed of thinning or receding, thankfully. Krista's was thick and lustrous, falling almost to her waist. He could only imagine how it would feel gliding over his chest, or wrapped round and around his fist as he took her from behind.

"You'd imagine right, Daddy. It takes almost an hour to blow dry." She reached up and brought her ponytail over her shoulder, the strands running like silk through her fingers. "I should probably cut it."

"Don't you dare! It's beautiful. Shiny and healthy looking, and I noticed last night how soft it is." Her blushes were becoming addictive and her hair far too tempting. Although they needed to get going, he planted one hand flat on the table and leaned over it. The other he wrapped around her head, fingers sinking into the thick softness as he pulled her halfway to meet him. The kiss was brief but long enough to coax her lips apart and claim a taste of her sweetness. While not nearly enough to tide him over, it would have to do. "Head on up," he ordered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "We've dawdled so long over breakfast we'll have to see to your bath after we get Morris and your stuff."

"We will?"

"You can't very well do it with your hands wrapped. Besides, another perk of being a daddy is bathtime. Later this afternoon, I'll take you on a horseback tour of the ranch."

Her face lit with excitement, but an instant later she frowned, and her hands crept to her bottom. Already tender, the swats she'd earned with her morning grouch couldn't have made her backside any less tender.

"I'll take you up with me, little bit. It will be easier on your bottom."

She rubbed her denim-covered rear end, looking skeptical. "I'll take your word for it, Daddy."

"I usually ride every day and would love a riding partner who doesn't chase after squirrels."

Her eyes widened then she giggled when Dallas, who always seemed to know when he was being maligned, gave a soft woof from the kitchen rug.

Sam touched her on the end of the nose as he issued his warning. "Mind your manners and follow my rules and you'll sit a saddle comfortably because there won't be any more spankings. Not for punishment, leastwise."

Her eyes grew wide as saucers. He took that as his cue to tote the dishes to the sink. The chore served a dual purpose of hiding the smile curving his lips and the unmistakable bulge in the front of his jeans.

While the sink filled with sudsy water, he listened to see that she did as bidden. When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he quickly washed the few plates and utensils. Minutes passed before he realized the entire time he'd been whistling a random happy tune—something he never did, not since April...

***

THE WOODEN TREADS CREAKEDbeneath her feet as she climbed to the second floor. She didn't have to ask what he meant by his last remark. But she did wonder.

Memories of the playroom swirled round and round in her head while she got dressed, and especially when she brushed out her hair, bending at the waist and flipping it forward to get to the tangles underneath. Just like last night, the thick wavy strands fell into her face and nearly to the floor. It obscured her vision but not what she heard. Wails, though not her own, moans, and louder groans in response to the crack of a palm and the snap of leather against skin; they were the opposite of painfilled.

Krista stood up slowly, not bothering to brush the hair out of her face as the erotic sounds echoing in her mind turned to vivid visions of her naked body bound to a cross facing outward. He'd lash every sensitive spot with his flogger—breasts, belly, thighs, and the wet place in between. Then, he'd follow it with his lips and tongue trailing over every pink mark it had left on her skin. Or, of kneeling at his feet, hands bound behind her back, wearing the blindfold she'd refused the night before, as Sam slowly fucked her mouth. And lastly, of him taking her over his knee and, in between spanks that made her bottom hot and tingly, his fingers driving into her sopping wet channel until she cried in release.

"Oh my..." she whispered.