His Little Winter Wonderland (Secret Santa Daddy Season Five)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Tanner

"Sole custody will be awarded to Mrs. Qincet…"

The words haunted me as I walked down the courthouse steps, each one echoing in my skull.

My client, Mr. Qincet, had stormed out of the room the minute the verdict was spoken, his face a mask of devastation I knew I'd see in my nightmares.

He'd told me before all this began that he wouldn't be able to watch his ex-wife gloat if she won.

And then she had.

While not always perfect in the courtroom, I was considered one of the better family lawyers in the area. My success rate was high, and I often ensured the child's safety above all else. I'd worked hard to achieve the praise.

Bled for it, really.

Endless nights in the office, my eyes burning under fluorescent lights. Researching anything and everything involved in the cases until the words blurred together. Building damn near impenetrable evidence, brick by careful brick.

None of it mattered this time.

Mr. Qincet had come to me months ago explaining he believed his ex-wife was purposefully turning his children against him.

He also believed there was some type of abuse happening, though he could never prove it.

The desperation in his voice that day had lodged itself somewhere deep in my chest, like a splinter I couldn't remove.

I'd not been able to find anything to agree with his suspicion; however, after meeting the kids, I could see how they'd been made to believe their father was the bad guy. Their words were something an adult would say, not a child.

They were rehearsed… careful… wrong.

Worst of all, their gazes always fell as they said anything. It was as if they didn't want to throw their father under the bus, yet they didn't know any other way to respond. The way they'd looked at me, those small faces trying so hard to be brave.

God, it gutted me.

This case should have been simple. The goal was primary custody for Mr. Qincet and supervised visitations for his ex. It was a lot to ask, but again, it felt best for the kids. For those scared little souls who deserved better than what either of us could give them now.

I unlocked my car with shaking hands, toppling inside and slamming myself in. The door shut with a finality that felt like sealing a tomb. My forehead fell to the steering wheel as I let out every emotion I'd been keeping bottled up.

All the fear and rage and bone-deep exhaustion I'd held at bay while wearing my professional mask ripped from me.

Tears poured down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable, as the stench of failure surrounded me. It was a cloud, suffocating me in the loss of a case and the fear that those kids were going to be subjected to even worse treatment now that they couldn't see their father at all.

"What the fuck happened?" I muttered to myself, my voice cracking on the words.

Since I was alone, there was no answer. That didn't stop my mind from going over everything again and again, picking at the wounds like I could somehow bleed out a different outcome.

I couldn't move until I'd picked every piece of my argument apart, examined every failure under a microscope of self-recrimination. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, telling me to get over it and get back to work.

“You don’t make money being a whiny baby. It’s pointless to cry over a case. You got paid, didn’t you?”

Her words, and the cold agreement my father would give, were a vile reminder of the life I grew up in.

A life I’d worked hard to leave behind so I could do good work for others.

It meant more to help others in an unconditional manner than to fit into the greedy, vain mode my parents believed in – yet another reason why we rarely spoke these days.

I never wanted to feel like this again. Never wanted this hollow ache, this sense of having failed people who trusted me.

I never wanted to feel this… loss.

Time moved by as I thought it all through, the sun shifting across my windshield, the heat building until sweat prickled along my collar.

The heat of the day eventually got to me, so I started the engine to get some air flowing.

I still didn't drive away though. And I didn't dare raise my head in case someone might see me.

They might see the red eyes, the tear tracks, the complete dissolution of Tanner Hayes, Esquire.

Eye contact with anyone right then would have sent me spinning further into the abyss.

It took my stomach rumbling—a sharp, insistent cramp—for the spell to break.

I blinked a few times, my vision adjusting to the brightness, then carefully pulled myself into an upright position.

My shoulders and back screamed, muscles seized from being locked in place for too long.

The ache from my crouched position would linger for hours.

Good.

I needed the reminder of how I'd fucked up.

A glance in the rearview showed a thick red mark in the arched shape of my steering wheel marring my forehead. Normally I'd laugh at something like this. Maybe make some self-deprecating joke to lighten the mood.

At that moment, all I could do was stare at the stranger looking back at me, hollow-eyed and defeated.

I'd lost.

I'd lost a case for a good man. For innocent children.

The devastation was worse than any other time, cutting deeper, leaving me raw.

Was it because this one was so drawn out?

Or did I get too invested, let myself care too much?

Could this merely be exhaustion or hunger?

I couldn't remember the last time I ate or slept at length.

Days blurred together when you lived at the office.

My stomach made another obnoxious noise, as if to say, “Hey, dumbass. Feed me now!"

Shaking my head, I slipped on my seatbelt and pulled out of the spot I'd taken when I arrived—I glanced at the clock—ten hours earlier. Jesus. It's a wonder no one tapped on the window to check on me. I'd been slumped over for longer than anyone should be. Folded in on myself like something broken.

Part of me wanted to go straight home and climb into bed. Then I could block the world out. In the comfort of my blankets, I could dissociate until sleep finally claimed me. I could pretend for a few hours that I wasn't a failure, that I hadn't let those kids down.

Except I knew my body wouldn't allow me to go to bed hungry. There was no ignoring the small army of needy gremlins inside me, demanding sustenance with increasing urgency.

That meant finding food.

Preferably as quickly as possible.

As I drove through town, I contemplated where to eat. Though it was late, there were still a couple of places I could grab a bite, including the usual suspects with their harsh lighting and plastic menus.

Not one of them sounded appealing.

Not one of them felt like what I needed.

What I needed was comfort. The familiar. Some friendly faces that wouldn't ask too many questions or expect me to hold myself together.

The ones that popped to mind were those of the men at the Coleman Ranch.

Over the last few years, I'd grown close to all of them, making sure to swing by often, even if just to catch up or to check out their Market Days.

The once-a-month event was one of the largest attractions in the area now, having grown from something small into this spectacular, family-friendly affair.

A place where laughter echoed and people smiled and the world felt a little less sharp.

Before I could second-guess the decision, I turned onto the road that would lead me to the ranch, my hands moving on instinct. If nothing else, I'd get a good meal from the ranch cook, Harlan—something warm and filling and made with actual care.

A big reason people flooded to the market each month was a chance to get some of his cooking. They always sold out, and unless you worked the ranch or were a friend, it was the only way to secure a plate of the deliciousness.

My mind went back to the case as I drove, unable to help itself. I contemplated through each minute to see if I could pinpoint where it went wrong. When had I lost control? When did the judge decide my client was the one in the wrong rather than his ex? What had I missed? What had I done?

I should have done more. More research. More interviews and character statements.

I should have pushed further in my cross-examination.

I should have…

All the shoulds in the world weren't going to change the outcome. It couldn't turn back the clock to give me a second chance. It would only increase the crashing helplessness roiling through my system, the tightness in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

To distract myself, I turned on the radio. Christmas songs drifted through my speakers, bringing with them a type of holiday cheer I couldn’t resist. Bright bells and warm harmonies wrapped around me like a blanket I desperately needed. My mood softened ever so slightly.

It's not enough to fix everything.

It's just enough to make me a little less moody.

A little less likely to drive off the road.

The music also helped me focus. The further I got from the main parts of town, the less kept the roads were, snow packed down and treacherous. It wouldn't be a problem if I were driving a truck, which so happens to be the standard vehicle in these parts, but I'm not.

I drove a Honda. A tiny one that felt even smaller on these back roads.

Slow and steady was the only way.

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, but it would be worth it if I'd make it in one piece.

While the men at the ranch wouldn't hesitate to come pull me out of the snow, I didn't want to inconvenience them anymore than I'd already planned to.

I didn't want to be more of a burden than I already felt like.

It was bad enough I would be showing up this late, unannounced and falling apart.

The only reason I kept going was because I knew somebody would be awake.

The ranch was a bit like Vegas in that way.

Men came there to heal from the burdens of life.

Several of them were known to go through bouts of insomnia, their own demons keeping them company in the dark hours.

While I didn't want to wish ill on anyone, I could appreciate how this fact would grant me access to one of the guest bedrooms in the main house. If I were really lucky, Sean and Atticus, the owners of the ranch, would still be awake as well.

I always felt better after talking to them. Their company made me lighter somehow and less alone.

Not only were they both genuinely nice men, but they also practiced a kinky lifestyle—more specifically, Daddy/boy dynamics. They were everything I wanted for myself. Living proof that what I craved actually existed in the world.

I'd yet to find my own Daddy though.

And honestly, I wasn't even looking. There were places I could go, numbers I could call. If I was truly focused, I'd have a Daddy or two in my contacts by day's end.

Pulling the trigger on finding one hadn't happened yet. I couldn't bring myself to invest time in my want. I couldn't justify taking energy away from my cases, from the people who needed me.

For others, I'd try to bend the space-time continuum to help.

For myself, well…

My old therapist would tell me the culprit is my people pleasing behavior. I'd have to agree with her. Would have to admit that somewhere along the line, I'd decided I didn't deserve the care I so freely gave others.

Whatever the reason, I'd been sadly single for the better part of the last six years.

Before that, the guy I dated claimed to be a Daddy, but really didn't have any of the traits that fit the name.

He only wanted me to call him that in bed, which there isn't anything wrong with if you and your partner enjoy it.

For me, the role of Daddy involved more.

So much more.

I wanted someone to take care of me—to see how hard I worked and decide I deserved softness.

They needed to understand how stressful my work was so they could be my safe place to land, the eye of the storm I could rest in.

I'd be completely submissive to them in all ways, from food choices to sleeping habits.

Anything Daddy said would be for my benefit.

He'd want only the best for his boy. Would protect me even from myself if need be.

The issue was finding a nurturing caregiver who wanted an overworked, likely burned-out lawyer pushing closer to forty than twenty. Oh, and if they liked a bit of age play, then that'd be even better.

In short, I needed the unicorniest Daddy of Daddies.

At this point in my life, I wasn't sure he existed, much less that I'd ever find him. The longing for it sat in my chest like a constant ache, something I'd learned to live with the way you learn to live with an old injury.

Who knew though? Maybe he'd show up in my life when I least expected it.

Maybe tonight.

The thought made me release a bitter laugh in the darkness of my car.

The Christmas music cut away as the DJ's voice came over the air.

Thank you for listening to 85.6 The Soft Place, your home for all the calming music your soul craves. We've been listening to Christmas tunes for a while now, and I'm thinking we need a break.

Now, before y'all blow up my phone lines, I'm not a hater. I love Santa as much as the next person. I just want to be an equal opportunity music provider. Plus, with Christmas hitting us in twelve days, you're going to get plenty more caroling in.

Ok? Alright.

Let's go with some…

I tuned out their voice as I spotted the archway that meant I'd reached my destination. With how dark it was, I could only make out the shapes of some of the buildings in the distance. The familiar silhouettes made something in my chest loosen just slightly.

I wouldn't be able to see if anyone was awake until I made it down the long driveway.

The drive itself had been cleared, so I was able to navigate it with more ease than the main road. I still kept both hands on the wheel, though. No need to tempt fate. Not when I'd already had more than my share of bad luck today.

A light was on at the main house. I recognized it as the one for the living room, warm and golden against the darkness.

Someone was awake.

My heart lifted despite everything, hope flickering to life like a candle in a window.

The only question was who.