Page 17 of Tame Me Daddy

That last item stopped me in my tracks. I stepped fully into the office without consciously deciding to, my attention fixed on the small menagerie arranged along the desk's edge. Beautifully carved horses, cattle, and wildlife stood in a neat row, each piece displaying extraordinary craftsmanship. I picked up a small wooden horse, marveling at its presence among such practical items. The carving was exquisite—every muscle and plane of the horse's body rendered with loving attention to detail, the wood smooth from handling.

It seemed too whimsical for the serious rancher I'd observed. Yet somehow, it felt right. These weren't mass-produced toys but works of art, treasured possessions displayed where he could see them daily. I ran my finger over the horse's mane, feeling the individual strands carved into the warm wood.

"Find something interesting?"

Grant's voice from the doorway made me jump. The wooden horse slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the desk. Mortification flooded me as I spun to face him, my cheeks flaming. Being caught touching his personal belongings was bad enough on its first day, but for it to be something like this—something that my little side was so drawn to—felt like being caught with my most private self exposed.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered. "I was just—I didn't mean to snoop. I finished with the hay and saw the door open and—" The excuses sounded pathetic even to my own ears.

Grant stepped into the office, his expression unreadable. Instead of the anger I expected, he picked up the fallen horse, his largehand dwarfing the small carving. He examined it for a moment, as if checking for damage.

"My grandfather made these," he said unexpectedly, his voice softer than I'd heard it before. "Taught me to carve, too, though I never got as good as him."

My surprise momentarily overcame my embarrassment. Of all the responses I had braced for—reprimand, irritation, even firing—this quiet sharing was the last thing I expected.

"They're beautiful," I said honestly. "Really incredible detail."

Grant studied me for a moment, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that made me want to look away but couldn't. Then, to my astonishment, he held out the wooden horse to me.

"Keep it," he said. "A welcome gift to Warwick Ranch."

I stared at the offering, then at his face. Was this a test? A trap? But his expression held only quiet sincerity that disarmed my defenses.

"I couldn't," I protested weakly, even as my hand reached for the carving, drawn by a desire that bypassed my rational mind.

"I insist," he replied.

Something in his eyes shifted as he watched me hesitantly accept the gift—a flicker of understanding or recognition that made me wonder, for one terrifying moment, if he somehow saw the little girl hiding beneath my carefully constructed adult facade. The wooden horse felt warm in my palm—smooth and solid, its weight comforting in a way I couldn't articulate.

"Thank you," I managed, curling my fingers around the carving, fighting the childish urge to clutch it to my chest.

"How was your first day?" Grant asked, leaning against his desk with casual ease. The small office suddenly felt much smaller with his presence filling it. He wasn't a giant of a man, but his presence expanded to fill whatever space he occupied.

I swallowed. "Challenging. But good. Maya's been really helpful."

"And the cattle? Still afraid of them?" His direct question caught me off guard.

"How did you know I was afraid?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, softening his stern features. "I've been doing this a long time, Cherry. I can tell when someone's uncomfortable around the animals."

Hearing him use my first name sent an unexpected shiver through me. It sounded different in his mouth—more significant somehow.

"I'm working on it," I admitted. "They're just so . . . big."

"They are," Grant agreed, crossing his arms and studying me with that penetrating gaze that made me feel simultaneously seen and exposed. "But ranch work isn't just about physical strength. It's about confidence, trust—in yourself and with the animals."

I nodded, clutching the wooden horse as if it were a talisman. "I want to be good at this," I confessed, startled by the truth of my own words. Despite the difficulties and my fears, I did want to belong here. “I need a home.”

"You’ve got one," Grant assured me with a certainty that warmed me from within. He straightened, his movement indicating our conversation was ending. "Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow will be just as demanding."

"Yes, sir," I responded automatically, wincing at the formality, though I sensed that Grant didn't mind. In fact, something in his expression—a brief softening around his eyes, a subtle approval—suggested he appreciated the respectful address.

"Goodnight, Cherry," he said, his voice gentler than before.

"Goodnight . . . Grant," I responded, testing the familiarity of his name on my tongue.

As I left the barn, the wooden horse safely tucked in my pocket alongside the toy car from the creek, I felt a confusing mixof emotions. Fear that my little side might be more visible than I thought, hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Warwick Ranch could be a place where I might eventually belong, and an undeniable pull toward Grant Warwick himself—not just physical attraction, though that certainly existed, but something deeper and more dangerous: a recognition of something in him that called to the most vulnerable part of me.

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