His fingers moved from the back of her seat and tangled in her hair, gentle but immovable, calluses rasping her scalp, grounding her the way he grounded skittish colts… with steady pressure and unyielding truth. “While you’re here, I’m your Daddy. That means I’m in charge, and you sure as hell aren’t going to run away without me knowing where you are or if you’re safe. What we have is special. I feel it, and I think you do, too. I’m not going to lose, Kip. Not to Rios, not to guilt, not to your own damn stubbornness. Are we clear?”
He hadn’t meant to use the wordDaddy. It fell from his mouth, soft but heavy. Her breath hitched, fogging the window in a white puff, and his heart ticked up a notch. Had he pushed too hard?
Lonzo hadn’t wanted to be her Daddy. That made him a dumb fuck in Trace’s opinion. She didn’t hide her Little well at all. If he didn’t want to be a Daddy, he should never have married her.
Trace damn sure did. In some ways, being her Daddy terrified him in some ways. He was promising to protect her, guide her,pamper her, pleasure her, and be the one she could always turn to for anything. And he’d do it without batting an eye because losing her would gut him worse than any bullet.
“Yes, Daddy. We’re clear,” she whispered. “And if you’re sure that’s what you want, I promise I’ll try to stay.”
It was like she was testing the idea, tasting the thought of staying with him and being safe at last. Then something deeper flickered in her eyes. Something that scared her more than anything she’d thought of before. “You should know, I’m falling for you, Trace Daniels. If I stay, you might have to put up with me forever.”
His eyes flicked to her, something fierce and tender warring in his gut. He clenched his jaw against the words fighting to escape. She wasn’t ready for “I already love you” declarations. Not yet, so he told her another truth. “I’d say that forever would be a good place to be.”
They crested the ridge overlooking a frozen stream, and there it was. A grove of blue spruce, dozens of them, each with perfect branches heavy with snow.
He let down the windows. “Smell that?” he asked.
She snapped to attention and breathed in the fresh, woodsy scent of pine filling the air. The scent always reminded him of the holidays before his parents had passed. He hadn’t celebrated right since.
He cut the engine. “Ready to find a tree?”
Her eyes glowed with excitement. “I’ve never looked for a tree in the woods before.”
She reached for the latch of the door, but stopped when he asked, “Ever had to strip your own branch for a switching?”
She froze, slowly turning back to him. “I’ll just wait here for you to open my door, Daddy.”
“Good call.” He grabbed the bow saw and rounded the truck.
When he opened the door, Goldie leaped out, hitting himsquare in the chest and sending him to his ass in the snow. He would have scolded her, but the musical sound of Kip’s laughter changed his mind.
Leaning forward, he grabbed her hand, as if to help her out of the truck. Instead, he yanked her forward, making sure she landed in the soft snow behind him.
“Daddy!” she squealed. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“I have a question, Foxy. Have you ever made a snow angel?”
“A snow angel?” She paused to think. “I’ve seen them, but I don’t think I ever made one.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present to make up for lost time.”
He showed her how to lie on her back and wave her arms and legs. He should have known better because once she had the hang of snow angels, she insisted on making a line of them from the truck all the way down to the spruce grove.
He’d never seen her happier. Goldie kept pouncing circles around them, barking and running circles around her every time she landed in the snow. Finally, Goldie decided to just roll in the snow along with them.
It took another thirty minutes to find the absolutely, positively perfect Christmas tree. Soon enough, the teeth of his saw were singing through wood in a high, keening whine that echoed off the rocks. He stripped off his coat, only to have Foxy whistle and catcall at the “sexy muscles” bunching under his shirt. “I guess you’re too hot to be cold.”
Trace grinned. “I’ll warm you up, too, soon enough. Get on the other side and grab the tree above the first group of branches.”
Kip held the trunk steady, her gloved hands slipping on needles that pricked through the wool, leaving tiny red dots on her skin. Of course, he had to stop and kiss away theouchieeach time.
Best Christmas tree hunt of his life.
When the tree thumped down, needles scattered like green confetti on the snow. He straightened, wiping the sweat from hisbrow with the back of a wrist, and declared, “Picnic first. Then we haul this beast home.”
Ruby’s thermal-lined basket was a damn miracle. She’d packed fried chicken still piping hot in foil, skin crackling. The grease seeped through and burned Kip’s fingers as she unwrapped it, necessitating another round of kisses. Ruby had also packed potato salad and peach popovers, last but not least, a sleeve of Oreos for later. It was topped off with the thermos of steaming hot chocolate he poured into thermal cups. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten the marshmallows. It was perfect for chasing the chill from their bones, which had returned with a vengeance after the effort of harvesting the Christmas tree wore off.
They ate on a scratchy wool blanket over the tailgate, Goldie begging shamelessly and nudging their hands. Trace pulled out some dog treats from the basket and tossed them to Goldie. “Don’t worry, girl, Ruby didn’t forget you either.”
