Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Tanner
I woke up wrapped in warmth.
For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was or why I felt so content. Then Simon’s steady breathing registered, his arm heavy and secure around my waist, and everything from yesterday came flooding back.
My Daddy.
The words echoed through my mind, and I felt my cheeks heat. I’d actually said it out loud. Had actually claimed what I wanted and asked for it.
And he’d said yes.
More than that—he’d been happy to take on the role. Taking care of me appealed to him. It was a big win.
I shifted slightly, turning in his arms so I could see his face. In sleep, he looked peaceful. The worry lines that sometimes creased his forehead were smooth, and his mouth was soft and relaxed.
He was handsome. I’d always known that, but seeing him like this—vulnerable and unguarded—made something warm bloom in my chest.
Mine, a voice in my head whispered. My Daddy.
As if sensing my stare, his eyes fluttered open. They focused on me immediately, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Morning, bud,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” I whispered back, suddenly shy.
He reached up and brushed my hair back from my forehead, the gesture so tender it made my throat tight. “How’d you sleep?”
“Really good, actually.” And it was true. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly, so completely relaxed.
“Good.” He glanced toward the window where weak morning light filtered through the curtains. “Storm’s passed. Should be a nice day for going outside.”
I nodded, though part of me wanted to suggest we just stay here. Stay in this cocoon of warmth and safety where the rest of the world couldn’t touch us.
But Simon was already moving, pressing a kiss to my forehead before sitting up. “Come on. Let’s get you fed and dressed. I want to show you something.”
The mention of food made my stomach rumble, and he chuckled.
“That’s what I thought. Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He left me alone to shower and dress, and I took my time, letting the hot water work out the lingering tension in my muscles. When I looked at my reflection in the foggy mirror, I barely recognized myself.
I looked… lighter somehow. Like someone had lifted a weight I’d been carrying for so long I’d forgotten it was there.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Most of the ranch hands were already out working, their breakfast dishes left in the sink. Simon stood at the counter, plating eggs and toast with the kind of easy competence that came from practice.
“Sit,” he said when he noticed me, nodding toward one of the stools.
I obeyed without question, watching as he set the plate in front of me along with a cup of coffee.
“You don’t have to wait on me,” I said, even as I picked up my fork.
“I want to.” He settled onto the stool beside me with his own plate. “Get used to it, bud.”
The words sent a pleasant shiver through me. Get used to it. As if this was going to be my new normal. As if I could count on this kind of care consistently.
It felt too good to be true.
We ate in comfortable silence, and I found myself acutely aware of his presence beside me. The solid warmth of him, the way he occasionally glanced over to make sure I was eating, the small smile that played at his lips when he caught me watching him.
“What?” he asked, amusement coloring his voice.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just… this is nice.”
“It is.” He reached over and squeezed my knee briefly. “Finish up so we can get outside. I want to check on the fences after that storm, and you’re coming with me.”
“I am?” Not that I minded—I just wasn’t used to being told what to do.
Actually, that wasn’t quite true. I was used to being told what to do in a professional capacity.
But this was different. This was personal, intimate even.
And the fact that I didn’t bristle at it, didn’t feel the need to assert my independence, told me everything I needed to know about how right this felt.
“You are,” he confirmed. “Fresh air will do you good. Plus, I like having you with me.”
The simple honesty of the statement made me duck my head to hide my smile.
After breakfast, we bundled up in our winter gear. I wrapped the scarf from my Secret Santa around my neck, and pulled on the matching hat and gloves. Everything fit perfectly, like they’d known exactly what I needed.
Outside, the world was transformed. Fresh snow blanketed everything, sparkling in the weak winter sunlight. The storm had left behind a pristine landscape, untouched except for the paths the ranch hands had already carved through the drifts.
Simon took my hand as we walked, and I laced our fingers together without hesitation. This was allowed now. This closeness, this connection—I could have it without feeling guilty or worried about overstepping.
We drove the fence line in one of the four-by-fours in comfortable quiet, Simon occasionally stopping to check a post or tighten a wire that had come loose in the wind. I mostly just watched him work, content to be near him.
“You’re quiet today,” he observed as we made our way toward the far pasture.
“Just thinking,” I said.
“About?”
I considered how much to share, then remembered what he’d said about communication being key. “About how different everything feels now. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for calm.”
He stopped and turned to face me, his expression serious. “You’ve been running on empty for a long time, bud. It’s going to take more than a couple days to refill that tank.”
“I know.” I looked down at our joined hands. “But it already feels easier. Like I can actually breathe for the first time in months.”
“Good.” He squeezed my hand. “That’s exactly how it should feel. And we’re going to make sure you keep feeling that way.”
“We?” I asked, looking up at him.
“We,” he confirmed. “This is a partnership, Tanner. I take care of you, yes, but you also take care of me by letting me. By trusting me with your needs. That’s not nothing.”
The lump that formed in my throat made it hard to speak. No one had ever framed it that way before—like my submission, my vulnerability, was a gift rather than a burden.
“Thank you,” I managed to say.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, right above the edge of my hat. “Come on. Let’s finish the rounds so I can get you back inside where it’s warm.”
We spent the next hour walking the property, and I found myself relaxing more with each step. There was something meditative about it all. The crunch of snow under our boots, the crisp air filling my lungs, the solid presence of Simon beside me.
When we finally headed back toward the main house, I felt more grounded than I had in years. Like I’d found my footing on solid earth after drifting for too long.
“I’m going to grab some tools from the barn,” Simon said as we approached the outbuildings. “Why don’t you head inside and warm up? I’ll be right behind you.”
I nodded, reluctant to let go of his hand but knowing he had work to do. “Okay.”
He waited until I was on the porch before heading toward the barn, and I watched him go with a small smile on my face.
Inside, I stripped off my outer layers, carefully hanging everything on the hooks by the door. As I pulled my coat off, something fluttered to the ground.
A small piece of paper.
I bent to pick it up, my heart already speeding up because I recognized what this was.
Another note.
My hands trembled slightly as I unfolded it, reading the words written in the neat handwriting:
You’re doing better. Proud of you for doing what was needed.
The tears came without warning, hot and fast. But these weren’t sad tears or overwhelmed tears. These were tears of gratitude, of recognition, of finally being seen.
My Secret Santa was proud of me.
Not for winning cases or working impossible hours or being strong when I wanted to break. He was proud of me for trusting him. For letting him in. For being vulnerable enough to ask for what I needed.
I clutched the note to my chest, trying to catch my breath around the emotions threatening to swamp me.
“Tanner?”
I looked up to find Sean standing in the doorway to the kitchen, concern written across his features.
“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer.
I nodded quickly, swiping my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” I held up the note, not sure how to explain.
Understanding dawned on Sean’s face, and his expression softened. “He’s good at that, isn’t he? Knowing exactly what you need to hear.”
“He is,” I agreed, my voice still thick with emotion.
Sean came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a side hug. “I’m really happy for you, you know. Both of you.”
“Happy for who?” I wondered if he was talking about me and Simon or about me and my Secret Santa. Even if Sean and Atticus probably knew everything that happened on this ranch, I needed some clarity.
Sean paused for a minute, his gaze assessing. “You and Simon, of course. There isn’t much that happens here I don’t know about.”
I laughed wetly. “You’re a meddler.”
“I prefer ‘helpful matchmaker,’” he said primly. Then his expression turned more serious. “But really, Tanner. Simon’s been alone for a long time. And you’ve been alone too, in your own way. I think you’re good for each other.”
“I hope so,” I said quietly. “I really hope so.”
“I know so.” Sean squeezed my shoulder. “Now come on. Harlan made cookies earlier, and I’m not supposed to eat them all by myself, though God knows I’d try.”
I followed him into the kitchen, tucking the note carefully into my breast pocket where I could feel it against my heart.
The rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur. Simon came back from the barn, and we spent time in the living room with some of the other guys, playing cards and talking about nothing in particular. It was easy, comfortable—the kind of lazy afternoon I never allowed myself during my normal life.
Every so often, Simon would catch my eye and smile, or his hand would find mine, or his knee would press against mine where we sat together on the couch. Small touches that reminded me I wasn’t alone anymore.
That evening, as we were cleaning up after dinner, Simon leaned close and murmured, “How are you feeling, bud?”
“Good,” I said honestly. “Really good.”
“Not too overwhelmed? Not having second thoughts?”
I shook my head firmly. “No second thoughts. This feels right.”
The smile that spread across his face was brilliant. “Good. Because I have plans for tomorrow.”
“Plans?” I asked, curious.
“Mm-hmm. But it’s a surprise.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Think you can be patient?”
I wanted to protest, to demand to know what he had planned. But the look in his eyes told me he was testing me—seeing if I could trust him with this too.
So instead of pushing, I nodded. “I can be patient.”
“That’s my good boy,” he said softly, and the praise washed over me like warm honey.
That night, as we climbed into bed together—my bed, our bed for now—I pulled out the note and read it again by lamplight.
“What are you smiling about?” Simon asked, settling in beside me.
I showed him the note. “This. I found it in my coat.”
He took it from me, reading it. “It’s true, you know. Every word.”
“I know.” I curled into his side, resting my head on his chest.
His arm came around me, holding me close. “You’re already loads better since you got here. I can see how relaxed my boy is.”
His boy.
I was his boy.
The thought should have terrified me, should have sent me spiraling into panic about moving too fast or losing the little bit of peace I’d found. But instead, it settled over me like a blanket—warm and secure and exactly right.
“Daddy?” I said tentatively, pulling out the word in the quiet darkness.
“Yeah, bud?”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
His arms tightened around me. “Me too, sweet boy. Me too.”
Wrapped in the arms of a man who saw all of me—the strong parts and the broken parts and the little parts—and wanted to take care of them all was euphoric.