Page 51 of Tame Me Daddy

"Like you can’t believe. You're not broken, Cherry. You're whole in a way most people never manage to be—honest with yourself about what you need, brave enough to seek it despite the cost."

He drew me closer, his arms encircling me. In his embrace, the world felt briefly right again, the confusion and shame receding.

"I love you too," I whispered against his chest. "I think I have since the first time we met."

We stood there in the quiet, the horses occasionally shifting in their stalls, the night sounds of the ranch surrounding us. Grant's heartbeat under my ear was steady and strong.

I leaned into him, drawing strength from his certainty. The decision still loomed, but for the first time since my parents' arrival, I felt a glimmer of the confidence I'd built at Warwick. The person I'd become here was real. The acceptance I'd found was real.

*

I pulled on my boots with deliberate movements—left foot, right foot, tug the tabs, stand. My ranch clothes felt like armor—worn jeans, flannel shirt, leather belt with the buckle Maya had given me after my first month. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. Not because I'd changed so much, but because for the first time, I was seeing all of me at once—the capable ranch hand, the woman in love, and yes, the little girlwho sometimes needed care. All of me, integrated and whole. I grabbed my hat and walked out to face my family.

The morning air held a bite that matched my mood—sharp and clarifying. Maya waited outside my door, leaning against the railing. She straightened when she saw me.

"You okay?" she asked, falling into step beside me.

"Not yet," I admitted. "But I will be."

We walked together toward the main house where my family's car sat packed and ready. My father checked his watch as we approached, his impatience visible even from a distance. My mother stood with her purse clutched to her chest like a shield. Amber hovered nearby, her expression torn between hope and resignation.

I felt eyes on us from all directions. Word had spread through the ranch like wildfire—the boss's new hand was being hauled away by her family. Ranch drama better than any soap opera. Ryder stood by the equipment shed, arms crossed, watching with unveiled interest. Two stable hands paused in their morning duties, whispering to each other. Mrs. Hernandez observed from the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand like a scepter.

The audience should have made me nervous. Instead, it steadied me. These people had seen me work, had accepted me based on what I contributed, not who my family thought I should be.

My father's face brightened with expectation when he spotted me. "Good, you're ready. We should get on the road."

I stopped several feet away from him, planting my boots firmly in the Texas dirt. "I'm not going with you."

The words came out clear and steady, surprising even me with their certainty.

My father's expression darkened, familiar lines of disapproval etching themselves deeper. "This isn't a negotiation, Charlotte."

"My name is Cherry," I corrected him firmly. "And you're right—it's not a negotiation. I'm an adult telling you my decision."

The simple declaration hung in the air between us. Behind me, I heard Maya shift her weight, a silent presence of support.

My mother stepped forward, her eyes pleading. "Sweetie, you're confused. These people don't know you like we do."

A laugh nearly escaped me at the absurdity of her statement. "That's where you're wrong," I replied, finding strength with each word. "They know me better than you ever tried to. They see all of me and don't demand I cut away parts of myself to be acceptable."

The confrontation drew more attention. A few more ranch hands drifted closer, pretending to check equipment while obviously eavesdropping. I felt exposed, standing there with my family drama on display, but I continued anyway. I was tired of hiding.

"What I am—who I am—isn't something to be fixed or cured," I said, my voice growing stronger. "My little side isn't a disease. It's just part of me, like being right-handed or having hazel eyes."

My father's face contorted with disgust. "You're parading your perversion in front of all these people now?"

The word hit like a slap. Perversion. I flinched but held my ground. "It's not perversion. It's just another way of being human."

He looked around at the gathered ranch hands, his eyes narrowing. "Is this the influence of someone here? Who's encouraged this sickness?"

The moment stretched taut as a wire. I opened my mouth to defend myself again when a deep voice cut through the tension.

"I have."

Grant stepped forward from the main house doorway where he'd been watching. His posture was commanding, shoulderssquared, chin lifted. Every inch the ranch owner—but his eyes, when they met mine, held something else entirely.

"I've encouraged Cherry to accept herself," he continued, moving to stand beside me. "All parts of herself."

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