Page 342 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

It had been a long time since he'd taken on that role for anyone. God, it felt so natural to take her baby cues and just… respond. There were no first-time jitters or awkwardness. What protests she offered were baby protests that didn't last beyond his verbal correction. She wanted to be held, comforted, sheltered… and from the moment he'd found her sleeping in the grass because she was too wounded and exhausted to keep going, she had him. She'd roused the Daddy in the no-nonsense sheriff, the overprotective bear that felt nothing except the fierce determination to hunt whoever down and make them pay.

Whoever…

Travis. His brother, who had always skirted the law, even as he pretended to uphold it. There was no doubt in his mind that Travis was responsible for her feet. Sadistic bastard.

"Let's put your diaper on." He reached down to pick her up off the couch as she held out her arms.

"No diaper," she mumbled around the binky. Her exhaustion was winning the battle.

"Yes, diaper." He carried her down the hall to his room. He didn't need to worry about digging out his adult-sized changing table any more than he needed to dig out the crib. He tried to keep his head firmly planted in reality. This was a one-time thing. Tomorrow, a new day would dawn and she would come back to herself. Her Little side would retreat and she'd pull away from him. She might even stop talking to him and return to her arms-length mistrust, because God knows, anyone who spent time in jail—whether innocent or not—would have their reasons to avoid the police.

"I'm too growed," she insisted, resting her head on his shoulder. Her soft puffs of breath brushed the side of his neck, sending fingers of dancing titillation skipping up his spine. Every nerve he had was keyed to her nearness, the insignificant weight of her in his arms as he carried her down the hall and through the narrow threshold of the master bedroom.

"Are you too grown for your binky?" He set her down on his bed, laying her firmly on her back on the mattress.

Her legs draped over the edge, her bare toes hanging mere inches from touching the floor, she shook her head.

"Are you too grown to have nummies in your bottle?" He raised the hem of her oversized t-shirt to her waist. When his hands came to rest on her hips, he stroked her, letting her feel his non-threatening touch.

She shook her head, her worrying fingers drifting up to hold onto her makeshift nightie’s bottom hem. She made no effort to shove it down and re-cover herself from his sight.

"If you're just right for the bottle and the binky, then Daddy thinks you're just right for the diaper. I'll be right back. This time, I mean it." He tapped her nose again. "Stay right here like a good girl, okay?"

She nodded, but she also looked away when she did it.

She was going to move. He knew it just as surely as he knew why she'd do it.

It took less than two minutes for him to find the half package of diapers where he'd dropped them in the kitchen. Selecting a spatula from the utensil jar on the counter by the stove, he tucked it into his back pocket and told himself he wasn't being an ass about using it. Not when he was following her cues. Yes, her feet were cut, bruised, and sore. But if she was this determined to take on that 'I'm too bad to be loved’ persona she currently clung to, then he would deal with it. Now if he had to, though later would be both inevitable and better.

He walked back into the bedroom to find her standing at the bedroom window. She had opened the curtains. Hell, she'd opened the glass too, and where the screen had gone he wasn't sure. But his best guess had it sitting on or by the juniper bush right outside.

She couldn’t possibly think she was going to run away.

But at first glance he knew that was exactly what she had intended. Never mind her lack of dress. Never mind her bare feet either—she stood gingerly on the sides of them, trying to spare the bottoms from having to endure the worst of her meager weight as she stared out into the night.

He had no idea what had stopped her, but she had to know he was standing there. When she refused to acknowledge him, that was all the confirmation he needed to know the spatula would definitely need to come into play. Whether she was pushing to prove she really was bad, or because she felt so bad that a spanking was the only way she could become good again, it didn't matter. If he didn't put a stop to it, then she was going to keep pushing until she actually left, and then what? Who would take care of her? Who would find her next?

Daddies always had choices though. Even when they didn’t want to make them.

She had to have heard him come in behind her and yet she didn't turn around. Not even when he cleared his throat.

"Is that where Daddy told you to stay?" Although far more concerned than cross, he kept his voice low and grim.

Her shoulders slumped, but otherwise she didn't move. "No."

She answered him, that was new and he was more than willing to take that as a positive sign. Her willingness to crawl out the window wasn't.

Going to the end of the bed, he dropped the diapers on the blankets, followed by the spatula. With a sigh, he took off his utility belt and lay it on top of his dresser.

"Did you open the window because you needed fresh air?"

The screen was gone, and if she tried to lie to him, he was ready to call her on it. But she didn't.

"No, Daddy." Turning, she hobbled on the sides of her feet until she reached the bed. Crawling up onto the end, she lay down with her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Daddy can't protect you if you run away," he gently pushed.

She clutched her ear with one hand and popped her thumb back into her mouth.

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