Winterland Daddies (Second Chance Ranch Book 1) Read online

  And now, she had my address. That was new. I wondered how she had pulled that off. Actually, I only wondered why it had taken this long. Everyone loved Nan, and she had connections out the wazoo.

  I flipped the envelope over and ran my finger along the seal crease. There was no return address, but I didn't need one. Nan, Slade, and Blake were the only people in my life who had ever called me Merry. They had coined it during my first Christmas at the ranch. My first real Christmas, ever.

  I hated Christmas before the ranch, and I hated it after. It was December first, and true to form, this one was shaping up to suck, just like the others before it.

  My most current boyfriend had dumped me last week. Of course, that was after he stole the envelope containing my rent payment and had an affair with my boss. I had no job, no boyfriend, and soon, no apartment. Merry freaking Christmas to me.

  Life after the ranch had been a rollercoaster of suckiness, followed by weeks of false hope and then major level suckiness when that hope came crashing into reality, which, somehow, it always did.

  I secretly considered the fact that I couldn't seem to get a grip on life was due to the universe dealing penance for my mega fuckage of the only thing in my life that had ever gone semi-right.

  Sighing, I chucked the envelope into the garbage without opening it. I knew what it contained. More false hope—probably in the form of an invitation to Christmas. I could never go back there, and I didn't have time to entertain frivolous fantasies at the moment.

  Reality was calling—the reality of a thousand pounds of dog shit in an elderly neighbor's back yard. I had put up an ad hiring myself out for odd jobs in an attempt to make back some of the missing rent money, and that was the response I got. The universe hated me.

  Pushing all thoughts of Nan, the ranch, and Christmas parties out of my mind, I threw off the clothes I had worn to the office to pick up my last check and pulled on my rattiest T-shirt and jeans, shoved a pair of heavy duty plastic gloves and several garbage bags in my pockets, and headed out the door. Adulting sucked, but a hundred bucks was a hundred bucks. Maybe I could even afford to spring for Taco Bell when I was done.

  I clutched the remnants of an eighty-nine cent bean burrito in my hand, as I jumped off the borrowed bike and limped towards the house. To top off the loveliness that was my day, my car hadn't started on the way home from Mr. Henderson's house, and I had to borrow his grandson's old banana seat Huffy that was, at best, leftover from the late 80s. At least, he had cleaned the cobwebs off of it for me.

  Even though it was several miles from home, I had stubbornly ridden over to Taco Bell to fill my stomach full of cheap and filling food that didn't taste like it was made from glue and rubber bands. The only consolation for my shit-tastic day.

  I hid the bike in the overgrown hedges near the front porch so it wouldn't get stolen, because that would be just my luck, and groaned with every step as I made my way up the stairs to the large front porch.

  I heard the boards creak under my weight like they always did, but I hadn't stepped up yet. A large manly figure stood, hovering in the shadows. I gaped for a minute, confused. When he began to walk toward me, I screamed and threw my purse in his direction.

  "Here! Take it all! Take everything! Just please leave me alone! I won't even call the cops!" And there went the hundred dollars I had just earned picking up dog shit.

  The man, who I could now see was very tall and wearing blue jeans, stepped over my purse and continued his path toward me.

  I froze for a full two seconds, then let out an ear curdling shriek and ran towards the bike, thinking that if I could just get to it, I could move faster than he could and maybe get away with my life.

  My whole body was shaking, and I was muttering under my breath as I tossed one leg over the bike and began to pedal before I was even all the way on.

  Of course, he cut me off at the path, stopping my escape with one long arm grasping the handlebars.

  "Merry, stop."

  I stopped. Nobody called me Merry, and I would recognize that voice anywhere. It haunted my dreams. I wasn't sure that I wouldn't have preferred a rapist or axe murderer.

  Slade. Slade David Cross.

  He fumbled in his pocket, while I watched, and withdrew his phone. He pushed a button, and suddenly, the darkness surrounding us was aglow, and I could see his face.

  "What do you want, Slade?" My voice sounded hard and angry, even to me, but it matched how my heart felt at the sight of him.

  "Don't you mean Daddy?" His tone was also slightly hard, with a hint of sarcasm that set my blood to boiling.

  "Fuck off. And go back to wherever the fuck you came from on whatever piece of shit horse you rode in on."

  "That's not language becoming of a lady, little one."

  The term of endearment threatened to crumble my angry façade, just as he knew it would. Slade didn't play fair.

  "And for the record, I came from Nan's, and my F250 is at the top of the driveway near the road, and I'm not leaving here without you." His eyes glinted with determination at the last bit, just before he softened to apologize. "Sorry if I scared you."

  "Whatever. Guess you're stuck here in Page then, because I'm not going anywhere with you, Slade." Now that I knew that I wasn't going to get killed in my sleep or raped in the sanctity of my own bedroom during the night, I threw down the bike and turned to stomp up the steps, gathering my purse as I walked.

  I could hear his boots crunch through the gravel as he followed me. I didn't care. He could sleep in his truck, or even out here on the porch, for all the shits I gave.

  He caught up with me at the door, as I dug for my keys and tried to unlock the bolt with shaking hands. Was it the cold or nerves? Probably both.

  He caught the door as I pulled it open, but I knew he wouldn't follow me in without invitation. For all his bad qualities, Slade was a southern gentleman.

  "Please go," I whimpered, resting my forehead against the spine of the door, refusing to look him in the eyes. "Please don't do this."

  "I just want to talk."

  "That's what phones are for, Slade, and letters, and, hell, even the internet. You didn't have to drive all the way here, loiter on my doorstep, and scare me half to death."

  "I wrote. I'm guessing you threw it out without opening it."

  "So what if I did?" I turned toward him and looked past him, without meeting his gaze. "Second Chance Ranch is part of my past. A small part. The part I left behind. I don't need to go back for some fake family Christmas for misfits."

  He shook his head, knowing as I did, that every word was a lie. I'd have given anything for one more Christmas at the ranch. They were the only real Christmases I had ever had in my life.

  Our eyes locked, and I could feel his reading me, just like he had always been able to do. I could feel that shit in my soul.

  "You are full of it, short stuff," he blustered, glaring darkly. Slade didn't abide lies.

  "It doesn't matter," I responded sullenly. "I'm not going back, ever. It won't change anything."

  "What if you're wrong?" It was a challenge, and I could feel myself getting pulled into a battle of wills that could easily go on all night. We were equally stubborn, I knew.

  I needed to shut the door in his face. It was the only way to end it, even if it was a temporary solution.

  I stepped inside and gripped the handle, staring at him to memorize his face. Just one last time.

  Finally, I began to slowly push the door shut, waiting for him to grab it once more. He didn't. He didn't need to. The words he spoke next stopped me in my tracks.

  "Nan's sick, Merry. And whatever you think of the ranch, or me, or the past, or, hell, even Christmas, you are an old woman's dying wish. And so help me, God, I will do everything in my power to make that wish come true. So go ahead. Close the door; get some sleep. Open the letter. Do some thinking. Whatever you have to do. Just know, I will be back, tomorrow, and this conversation is not over."

  I did s
hut the door then, so he wouldn't see me cry. Loud noisy wails, as I collapsed against the shut door and sank down against it.

  The final straw in a horrible day. Unable to move, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Over my boyfriend, my job, my car, piles of dog shit, and thinking I was going to get murdered, and then for Slade. And Nan. And the ranch.

  I sobbed until my hands were drenched, along with my jeans, where I had wiped my hands, again and again.

  And, finally, I stood, shuffled over to the garbage can, and removed the pink mottled envelope I had tossed there, hours ago. I drew a deep breath as I opened it, but nothing in there could be as scary or as painful as seeing Slade in the flesh had been.

  My eyes scanned the letter quickly, finding it to be exactly what I had expected. Nan's yearly invite to Christmas, with a note from Slade thrown in at the bottom—a plea, a promise, and a phone number.

  Sighing, I peeked out the window. He was still there, sitting on the porch steps, staring at his hands.

  He had won this round. I opened the door and peeked my head out.

  "If you still want to talk, I'm ready to listen."

  Chapter 2

  Merry

  Slade entered, and instantly everything felt smaller. It wasn't just because I was so short, or he was so tall, or even that my house was so modest, it was merely his presence. He commanded a room as soon as he stepped through the door, much the way he had once commanded my heart.

  Damn this man. I craned my neck up to look at his face as he stood unmoving in the center of my tiny living room.

  "Talk." That's all he said. Just that one word.

  "Sit," I countered. "My neck is already cricked from looking up at you for two minutes."

  He smiled on one side of his face, his eyes lit with mischief, but he sat. No, he didn't just sit—he made himself damn well comfortable, kicking off his worn boots and stretching his massive frame clear across the length of my couch.

  Grumbling, I grabbed a rickety wooden chair from the dining area and dragged it to the living room.

  "So talk, then, princess," he prompted me, folding his hands behind his head and leaning even further into my couch.

  "I said I was ready to listen, Slade. That means you talk, I will listen. I don't have anything to say."

  "Well, darling, I reckon I've done said everything of any importance. Nan's old. Come to Christmas; I'm not leaving here without you." He paused then, tapping his chin with one finger, as if contemplating saying more. "Nope, that about covers it."

  Crossing my arms across my chest, for no other reason than to somehow give me some semblance of illusion that I was protected against this man and his charms, I leveled him with a death glare. "You're not staying here, Slade. And I'm not ready to leave just yet. Christmas is weeks away. I have responsibilities here, obligations, and a boyfriend."

  Slade snapped into a sitting position, lickety-split, balancing his elbows on his knees as he stared at me. "Is that right? You don't say? Well, where is he? I'd surely love to meet him."

  He spoke rapidly, and my heart sank to my stomach, knowing what would come next when he snapped his fingers in my direction.

  "Get him over here, why don't you? Give him a call." He paused. "Why don't you call over at your former boss's house? I'm sure she's seen him."

  My face flamed and my mouth went dry as I stared at him. "You've been spying on me!" I accused. I jumped to my feet and pointed to the door. "And this is exactly why I should never have let you in. And why I'm certainly not going back to Nan's with you," I ranted. "Who knows, maybe I'll fly her out here after Christmas just so I don't have to spend another second looking at your stupid face!"

  Slade stood then, speaking very slowly as he crossed the small space between us. "I hired a private investigator to find your address, and, yes, I did ask him what you had been up to and what your life was like now. I wanted to know the likelihood of convincing you to come back home. Speaking of which, I didn't realize the seventeen dollars in your savings account was enough to buy a plane ticket, these days, and I wonder where you are planning to have Nan stay, since you're about to lose this place, anyway."

  "Dammit, Slade," I choked out behind the river of hot tears running down my face. I hadn't wanted him to know all that. I hadn't wanted him to know any of it. I may not have anything, but at least, I had my pride. Stupid private investigators. Stupid overbearing dominant types. Stupid cowboys.

  When the tears fell, Slade's face softened. "So, things got a little messed up in your life, babe." A large lone finger wiped a tear from my cheek. "It happens."

  "It happens to me all the time!" I cried piteously, fighting the strong urge to fall against his chest for comfort. "Nothing in my life ever goes right. I'm not even sure why I'm still here! I'm just a waste of space and air!"

  I heard the low growl start deep in his chest and make its way to his throat. Instinctively, my butt cheeks clenched. The growl that launched a thousand spankings. I remembered it all too well.

  He made no move this time, though, except to cup my face in one large hand. "Everybody needs a second chance to get things right, now and again, doll. Seems to me there's no better place for a second chance than Second Chance Ranch, wouldn't you say?"

  "Except it's more like my four thousandth chance," I wailed, reaching a point of being nearly inconsolable. Dammit. I had promised myself I wouldn't cry in front of him. I'd lasted all of five minutes. It was all his fault, too, for being sweet and wiping my tears and using terms like doll and little one. Acting like a Daddy did.

  It would have been so easy to let the old title fall from my lips, to seek comfort in his arms, and even to accept the discipline I so desperately craved. But I didn't deserve any of that, or even the kindness he was offering.

  He looked at me for a long time, with his lips twisted into a grimace of confusion. Then he scooped me up into a cradle hold and pulled me into his lap as he dropped unceremoniously onto the couch. I scrambled to get away, but his hold was firm.

  "What was it Nan always said? That if it doesn't change anything, it wasn't a second chance? Just a different scene of the first act?"

  "It was just something she said to make us feel better when we messed up," I grumbled. "Because we were kids with crappy lives who didn't know any better, and she wanted us to forgive ourselves."

  Slade nodded.

  "But I'm not a kid anymore, Slade. I'm a grown ass woman who still hasn't managed to get her shit together. And it's not just a bad spell. It's been one bad spell on top of another for the past five years. You don't know the half of it."

  "Try me." His jaw was hard and his eyes were pensive. My stomach sank as I realized he was privy to a lot more knowledge than just the events that had transpired recently.

  My cheeks tinged with shame as I mentally recounted the past five years. Flunking out of college, several evictions, a string of loser boyfriends, and an even longer stream of dead end jobs.

  "God, I'm such a fuck-up," I muttered, refusing to look at him. He wouldn't like the fact that I was using that language, period, much less about myself. I knew that for a fact.

  "Hey now, stop that, little girl." His large hand rubbed circles on my back. "You may be a grown ass woman, but you are one who never had anyone to teach you any better and one with no real support system in this world."

  He always tried to make me feel better and often made excuses for me. He was definitely more Daddy than Dom. Blake had been the real hardass. Together, they made one perfect man. But that didn't excuse what I had done. I'd had the perfect life and the ultimate support system between him, Blake, and Nan. And I had been greedy and fucked it up. Just like everything else in my life since then.

  With him no longer holding tight, I climbed off his lap and made my way back to the chair across the room. It was safer there.

  "You're too easy on me, Slade. Too nice. You need to stop."

  He shrugged. "It's probably more helpful than beating you up for your mistakes. You seem
to be doing a pretty good job of that, yourself."

  My eyes fell to the floor. He hated when I beat myself up. I remembered that one well. Being hard on myself was a huge downfall of mine, and it had been the quickest way to a hot red bottom.

  Of course, if I had ever met a single man who was half as dominant as either Slade or Blake, maybe my life wouldn't have gotten quite so out of control. Maybe.

  "I'm not beating myself up. I'm just being honest."

  "Okay, well, if that's how you feel, fix it. Come home, and put your life back together. We will support you, you know. Nan and I."

  "If Nan is sick, she doesn't need to worry about me."

  "Nan's gonna worry about you, regardless, because she loves you, and that's who she is. If you honestly think for a minute that you running away changed either of those things, you don't know her very well." Slade pinned me with a knowing gaze, which was all Dom. Eyebrows raised, eyes narrowed, face tilted down pointedly in an expression of knowing disappointment.

  And it had the same effect it always had. My face flushed, a shiver ran down my spine, and my pussy clenched with arousal. He knew what he was doing to me, too. It was evident in the slow sly grin that covered his face.

  "Slade, stop," I whined. "Please stop."

  He didn't stop. He stood and crossed the room, coming to kneel in front of the chair where I sat. I drew a deep breath and held it.

  Slade

  God, this woman drove me crazy. I had sworn to keep it neutral, at least, for now, but two minutes in the same room with her, and I was finding it impossible to not fall into old habits. It had taken everything I had not to pull her over my knee and spank the daylights out of her, right out of the gate, and she made it worse every time she opened her mouth. Not only that, but the conversation was getting far off track from where it needed to be, which was on getting her home. Not that I was surprised. She had a way of doing that to me. Getting me off track. She'd had me wrapped around her little finger since the day she had showed up to Second Chance Ranch.