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“Would you like to choose one? It’s best to choose something that would be unlikely to come up in a scene—so something like ‘stop’ wouldn’t work.”

“What about Vermont?”

“Perfect.”

The care he was taking knocked loose something inside me. A knot I hadn't known was there began to unravel.

"Now, I want you to take a few deep breaths with me to prepare. Center yourself."

He demonstrated, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I matched my breathing to his, feeling the tightness in my shoulders begin to ease.

"That's it," he murmured. "Now, I need you to understand why we're doing this—really doing this. The yearlings were just thecatalyst. This is about your habit of retreating into your little space when you're overwhelmed instead of facing challenges head-on."

I flinched at the term "little space" spoken so openly, but Grant continued as if he hadn't noticed.

"There's nothing wrong with that part of you, Cherry," he said firmly. "But there's a time and place. And using it to avoid difficult situations isn't healthy for you or safe for the ranch."

"I know," I admitted, the words heavy on my tongue. "I just—it's easier sometimes. To slip away."

"Easier, yes. Better? No." His eyes were kind but unyielding. "What we're doing today is going to help you stay present, even when it's difficult. It's going to help you find a balance between the responsible ranch hand I hired and the little girl who needs care and structure. In time, if you wish, we can explore Little Space together. But not as part of your working time on the ranch. Understood?"

The way he spoke about both sides of me with equal respect made my chest ache. No one had ever talked to me this way before—like all of me was valid, even the parts that needed guidance.

I nodded.

"Now, for each spank," he continued, his voice matter-of-fact, "I want you to count and reflect on why we're here. Not just the yearlings, but the pattern of behavior. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded, then remembered his emphasis on verbal communication. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good girl," he said, and those two simple words sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

Grant patted his thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Come here, Cherry."

My legs felt like they belonged to someone else as I crossed the few steps between us. I'd never done this before. Butsomething in his steady gaze told me I could trust him with this vulnerability.

He reached out, his hands confident but gentle on my shoulders. There was nothing inappropriate in his touch, but I felt a strange intimacy in the moment nonetheless. His hands were warm through the fabric of my shirt.

"I'm going to help you through this," he promised, his voice soft but certain. "Every step of the way."

Standing there, with his hands grounding me in place, I felt a surprising calm settle over me. For the first time in years—maybe ever—I felt seen.

Grant guided me across his lap with confident hands. I didn't fight it, though my face burned hot enough to start a prairie fire. My jeans felt too thin as I settled over his strong thighs. Embarrassment churned in my gut, but underneath it lurked a strange feeling of rightness that confused me even more. I'd never been in this position as an adult, but some part of me recognized it like coming home.

His large hand rested at the small of my back, warm and heavy. The other settled on the back of my thigh. Neither moved, just anchored me in place.

"Remember why we're doing this," Grant said above me, his voice deep and steady. It rumbled through his body into mine. "This isn't just about punishment. It's about growth, about facing fear, about trust."

I nodded, my hair falling around my face like a curtain.

"I need verbal responses, Cherry," he reminded me, his tone gentle but firm.

"Yes, sir, I understand," I managed, my voice muffled against his leg.

His hand lifted from my back, and I tensed. Despite my mental preparation, the first spank caught me off guard. It wasn't the force—it was firm but not brutal—but the shock of it happeningat all. A small gasp escaped me, and I was left with a burning sting on my buttock.

"Count, please," Grant instructed. "And tell me what this is for."

I swallowed hard. "One. For . . . for letting the yearlings escape."