“You can’t call me a liar about that,” she complained. “I’m allowed to say my cooking sucks when it really does.”
“Unless your cooking doesn’t actually suck, and there’s half a pie in the kitchen—”
“With too much cinnamon and under cooked apples—”
“There was nothing wrong with the way those apples were cooked,” he said sternly, hands going to his hips, his right palm itching so badly that the temptation to take off his belt right now needled between his shoulder blades, impossible to ignore. It tightened and tightened with every mutinous look she cast at his feet. She was openly unhappy, but not to his face. Her need to aim that at the floor was a behavior taught to her by an asshole he’d have a hard time not punting into next week if given the chance.
“They were too crisp,” she whispered.
“No, what they were was not mushy. Now, if you want to make this the hill to die on, that’s fine. All I have to do is march you into that kitchen, hand you a fork, and forever solve this issue with nothing more than a bite of apple. And while we’re there, I’ll get the soap and you can bring me your toothbrush, because right now you’re just piling punishment on top of punishment in your determination to prove to me how awful you are. Sad news, baby girl. I don’t see the awfulness. I see a little girl who has been undervalued for so long that she no longer knows how wonderfulshe is, and I’m not going to put up with that. Tonight, you’ll be sitting down on a hot, sore bottom, tasting yucky soap in all the corners of your mouth, to write lines until your hands ache from holding the pen for so long. Does that sound like fun to you?”
Her eyes began to well with tears. He heard it when she swallowed. “No.”
It was so hard to frown at her. Especially when all he wanted to do right now was pull her into his arms and reassure her he wasn’t angry with her. For sure he wasn’t going to walk away, regardless of how often or how desperately she tried to convince him that she wasn’t worth it.
Cupping her chin, he raised her face to his. “No, what, baby girl?”
“No, Daddy,” she whispered. “It doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“Do you want to take back some of what you said? I might be convinced to remove one of your punishments if that’s what you want to do.”
She looked at the floor, her brow wrinkling as she considered her options. For all he knew, she was arguing with herself over what could safely be said next. “What do I say?”
“‘Daddy, may I take back what I said? I might have been wrong,’“ he offered.
Her expression turned vaguely mutinous again. “I won’t get into even more trouble by suggesting Imightbe wrong?”
“Not yet.” Brock hid his smile. “For now I’m willing to allow you the luxury of premising anything you say to me with an ‘I might be wrong’ so that instead of being punished, like you’re about to be right now, we can just talk about it. Let’s bundle up the baby. I’ll grab some coats and let’s start walking. We don’t want to have to deal with the yucky stuff any longer than we have to. And I’m still hoping we can get some Big time in before you need to go night-night.”
And just like that the defiance vanished, leaving Stace to stand there, Little and lost and not at all understanding why it wasn’t okay for her to vent these self-depreciating comments that he so disliked. He would never like them, and this was the exact reason why. Allowing one’s self to acknowledge one’s shortcomings was only a bad thing when instead of becoming something to work on, it became the insults one used to beat themselves down. She might not be able to see the distinction now, but give him time. He was determined to build her back up again, until even at her Littlest and most uncertain self, it wasn’t the bad things that filled her mind first, but rather, all the good things Brock intended to drum into her—even if he had to do it with her bottom bare and upturned across his knees.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Leaving her to find what she’d done with Lily’s baby quilts, he retrieved two of his coats from his bedroom. He put on one, taking the other—a heavy winter Carhartt coat—out for Stace to wear until he could get her something better.
He took Lily long enough for her to put the coat on. She swam in the large brown jacket, especially in the sleeves. They were so long, she couldn’t stretch her hands far enough to reach the elastic cuffs.
“Mind your step now,” he said, as he held the door. “Let’s try really hard not to slip and fall.”
Sighing, she bowed her head a moment, then without asking, shyly she reached for his hand.
He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 13
Stace shivered the entire way from his house back to hers. The snow was deeper than the tops of her shoes which meant every crisp step as she followed Brock across the yard, meant trickles of snow fell over the top and in along the sides of both feet. The cold wetness soaking into her socks meant the snow was already melting. Wrapping the excess of the big coat he’d given her tightly around Lily, she mummified them both in the warmth and thought about what she was doing, where she was going, wondered why she was being so compliant when she knew it wasn’t a hug that would be waiting for her once they reached the privacy of her living room. No, it would be a humbling, mortifying, bare-ass spanking with thick, brown leather belt. She shivered again.
Honestly, that didn’t sound half as bad as it should have.
Not that she wanted to be spanked. It was hard to imagine anyone wanting Brock’s big hands smacking all over their butts until the stinging was more than could be quietly endured and she started crying again. Just like she had the last time, when he’d sat her on his knee like a child scolding her favorite doll.
That image didn’t upset her either. She’d loved dolls as a kid. In fact, if her mom hadn’t accidentally cleaned out her room while she was in college, Stace would still have all her carefully stored dolls with her now.
If, that is, her mother-in-law hadn’t kept them for herself.
Thinking about it, Stace didn’t realize they’d reached her porch until suddenly Brock stopped and tightened his grip on her hand. “It’s slippery, so be careful.”
She climbed the icy steps, her right foot slipping dangerously, almost causing her to lose her balance as he walked up the steps beside her. He held onto her firmly, preventing her from falling, holding her steady as a rock until they were off the ice and inside. Closing the door behind them, Brock took Lily over to her crib, swaddling her in the blanket they’d brought before laying her down, then turning his attention to building a proper fire. He took out half the wood she’d thrown into the grate, sniffing each one carefully.
