Page 322 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

“What’s going on?” the cashier asked as she came up behind them wheeling Tabitha’s abandoned cart. She took one look at the wallet in his hand and turned on Willow. “What’d you do? Did you steal that woman’s wallet?”

The teenager gave her both middle fingers and walked the other way.

“Hold up,” the cashier called. “May as well put these back too.”

“No, no.” Stopping her, Jeff quickly claimed the cart, pulling it around until his hand was firmly on the handle bar. “I’ll take these.”

On second thought, he stopped mid step and swung both he and the cart all the way around. Winking at the cashier, he said, “I think I’m going to get her a few more things.”

He started all over, not just with his shopping, but hopefully also with Miss Markle. To her incredibly unhealthy food choices, he added bananas, blueberry muffins, a quarter of a watermelon wrapped up tight, strawberry jam for her peanut butter sandwiches, and all the proper toiletries a young woman who just stepped off the prison bus would need, especially if she was going to live in Travis's motel.

He got her a pack of cards, a few of the most popular magazines, and a puzzle book to help her stay occupied. He doubted if she'd have a TV. He was pretty sure Travis would have sold those off, even if they were provided by the state upon purchasing the old motel.

Starvation wasn't on the way to anywhere, which is why the highway didn't even go through here. Basically, the highway was closer to the prison than it was to here, and although Jeff was more than fine with the quiet and solitude, he was well aware other people might go stir-crazy just thinking about this small town. Which was likely the State's line of thinking when they first decided to put their halfway houses here, instead of in a bigger city. Mostly, it was the teenagers and young offenders that ended up here. Shoplifters, drug users—basically anyone whose infractions involved too much intoxication and not enough common sense.

He wondered what Tabitha's offense was.

Standing in the deli aisle, he picked up meat and cheese for sandwiches and tried to tell himself it wasn't any of his business. But he already knew he had a problem with her that he hadn’t ever had with any of the other ex-convicts that were discarded here after their release. He shouldn't have followed her through the store like he had. Yes, he was off work now—sort of. Sheriffs of small towns never really clocked off, but he had learned by hard experience that folks fresh off the prison bus went one of two ways. They were either so glad to be out and so determined not to go back to prison that they minded every step they took and every word they said, causing zero problems. Or they went the exact opposite direction, with a chip on their shoulder and an attitude to match.

Jeff could have sworn she'd looked right at him before she'd crossed the street, as if all but daring him to say something to her. It was the kind of stupid stunt that teenagers pulled when they were determined to let no one be the boss of them. Adults did the same thing, but usually only those running a little light in the intellect department.

Tabby didn't strike him as stupid. She had been annoyed to get a ticket, something he wasn't going to do until she’d mouthed off. After that, he'd grabbed a cart and fallen into step behind her as a way of letting her know that he was here, and he would be watching, and if she wanted trouble, then he could provide it.

Then she'd fallen and he'd shoved that micro inch too vigorously to get his cart out of the way so he could catch her. Standing over her, he'd lost sight completely of the attitude she'd been shoving at him, and all he’d seen from that point on was a very little, very lost, and very scared young woman. She'd tried so hard not to cry where he could see it, but he'd seen the watery shimmer in her eyes when she turned and limped out of the store. He felt bad.

He felt beyond bad.

And then to lose her wallet only to have it found again without any cash in it...

He had no idea how much she’d had, but five cases of ramen pretty much said it all. As far as cheap food went, one couldn't get much cheaper than that. One couldn't get much worse nutrition-wise either, unless one switched to an all-candy diet. Which made him smile, because he'd had more than one girlfriend in the past do exactly that, if only just to get his attention. He shook his head, thinking about the last little girl he'd dated. She'd been a full-blown brat all the time, and although not more than he could handle, in the end taking care of her needs had started to feel more like a second job than a loving Daddy Dom/little girl relationship.

He'd hated feeling like that. But while he still had a fond spot in his heart for bratty Littles, the sad realization had finally crept up on him that he dealt with enough misbehavior at work. He didn't want to have to be the sheriff, constantly laying down the law, at home too.

He wanted a Little who needed cuddles first and foremost. He wanted someone who wouldn't look at him as the source of endless spankings and who only looked at rules as things to be broken so they could go over the knee again and again and again.

It had been a long time since he'd had someone like that, which was probably why, for just a smidge of a second, while Tabby had sat heaped on the messy grocery store floor, clutching her ankle and rocking, he thought he'd seen through her near non-existent tough-prison-girl exterior to the very sad Little trapped within.

She'd cried. She'd railed at him. She'd stormed off with her cart to the checkout counter and from there, she'd walked all the way back home in defeat after discovering her wallet gone.

He didn't know half of what her day had been like, but the slump of her shoulders had said it all loud and clear, and his first instinct had been almost more than he could control. Every twitching nerve in his back and shoulders was tightening, the Daddy side of him longing to spring into action, but this was not his Little. She might not even be a Little at all; he might just be seeing what he wanted to see, but he didn’t think so. More importantly, he wasn’t about to risk his job or his reputation in this town by losing track of his senses. She didn't need him to wrap her in a blanket. She didn't need juice boxes, stuffie time, and coloring books spread out on the floor so she could lose herself for just a little while in simple enjoyments. She for sure didn't need him pulling her in for a reassuring hug while he kissed the top of her sun-warmed reddish-brown head until she felt all right with the world once more.

He grabbed a bottle of milk, stopped himself preemptively before adding apple juice boxes to the cart, and made his way to the checkout lane before he did any more damage than he'd already caused.

He paid for both his and her groceries, and the whole time he was loading them into the back of his all-terrain squad truck, he told himself that he was all done picking on Tabitha. He may not have started out with the intent of doing that, but there was no denying he'd hurt her. He wasn’t going to do that again.

More than anything, he needed to get himself back to a spot where his Daddy Dom didn’t trigger when he looked at her.

Shutting the door, he shook his head at himself, adjusted his hat before returning both carts to the store, and finally hopped into his vehicle. He caught up with her only a few blocks down the road. She wasn’t limping anymore. It was worse; she was wiping at her face with both hands.

Please don’t let her be crying, he prayed as he slowed the truck to roll up beside her. Rolling the window down, he gently called, “Come on, Miss Markle. Get in. I’ll take you home.”

She didn’t answer, or even look at him. She didn’t stop either. Hiking her chin, she stiffened her back and walked faster.

“Tabitha,” he coaxed. “Look, I am sorry for what I did. I thought you were trying to provoke me, and I reacted badly. I am seriously, truly sorry. Please, may I give you a ride home? I really don’t want you to aggravate your injury because of me.”

At least she looked at him this time. Her face was red, her breathing hard and her frown said with certainty, she’d rather walk than forgive him. No matter how hard he tried, all he could see in the stubborn lines of her body as she tried to outpace his truck, was the hurt, angry Little he absolutely did not need complicating up his life right now.

He was the sheriff, for crying out loud. She was fresh off the prison bus. At the very least, even just coaxing her to accept a ride could be construed into an abuse of his office.

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