Memaw’s face popped out from behind the Mess Hall kitchen door. “Louanne, call for you! Get in here, honey. The way this fella is breathing into the phone sounds like he’s gonna have a heart attack if you keep him waiting much longer!” The door swung shut and she disappeared.

Georgia looked at me curiously. “Who could that be? I assumed everyone who needed to call you has your direct line.”

I shrugged, wiping my hands on my napkin. “Once in a while we get a call from someone who found our number in the phone book. The ranch kitchen is listed as our main number.”

Bridgette scrunched up her nose, helping herself to another piece of garlic bread. “What’s a phone book?”

“It’s like the internet but with yellow pages. Brody insisted we list our number in there. It’s the only way people could contact him back in the Stone Age when he opened this place and there was no such thing as cell phones.” I sighed, standing from my bench. I hated to leave behind Memaw’s baked spaghetti, but lunch would have to wait.

I hurried into the kitchen, brushing past Memaw as she grumbled, “Took you long enough,” and picked up the phone receiver from the counter. Stretching its cord to its maximum length, I tried to find a quieter corner of the room.

“Hello? Louanne Dixon speaking,” I said, leaning against the wall and twirling the cord around my hand.

A heavy breathing came through the other line. In between heaves, a blunt voice demanded, “Is this the wedding planner?”

My nose wrinkling, I answered, “Uh... yes. This is she.”

“Brian. Brian O’Malley. Pleasure to,” his introduction was cut off by a coughing fit, “make your acquaintance. I’m a reporter from the Little Peak Times. We’ve gotten word that you have quite the wedding operation going out up there at the ranch.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. We feel that marriage is the—”

“I’ll stop you right there, little missy. I was married for thirty years to the love of my life. God rest her soul. I’ve been a bachelor for ten and I’m perfectly happy—I’ve no need for your services. The real reason I’m calling is the Top Ten,” he said.

“Oh, so you’ve heard we made the list?” I asked, trying to sound surprised. The day the T & D article on the ranch hit, everyone in Little Peak had called to congratulate us. Memaw threatened to take the phone off the hook if the calls didn’t slow down.

The article doubled as an engagement announcement. At the end of the spread there was a small information box with a pretty floral border. Within it were the words, Wedding planner extraordinaire, Louanne Dixon and her groom, Hayes Jenkins are planning their own wedding. It’s sure to top all others. Stay tuned with Travel and Dining for a special release covering the lovebirds’ nuptials.

That Sunday, the Little Peak Baptist Woman’s Guild threw us a surprise shower after church, making our engagement feel official. I was told, more than once, “We’ve been waiting for this day since you two were in high school!”

Brian spoke loudly. “Yes, of course I heard you made the list!” His excitement caused his breath to quicken. “Who hasn’t? I think the news made it all the way to Jackson. Anyhow, I’d love to come do an interview with you for the paper about your wedding planning business. How about two p.m.?” he wheezed.

My brows rose in surprise. “Two o’clock, as in two o’clock today?” At four o’ clock I was meeting with a family who was considering throwing a sweet sixteen ball at the ranch, and I had blocked off the entire afternoon to prepare.

“Yes, today. We’ve got to hit this news while it’s still fresh. Trust me, the people of Little Peak are salt of the Earth—but they have an extremely short attention span. What do you say, Louanne? After your taste of fame with T & D, don’t you want to see your name in print again?” he asked.

“I mean, I don’t care about my name in print, but I’d hate to pass up an opportunity for the ranch—”

“Two o’clock it is! See you then.” He hung up the phone so quickly I wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid giving me time to change my mind, or if he needed to go find an inhaler or something. Memaw hadn’t been exaggerating about the man’s breathing.

At two o’clock on the dot, there was a knock on my office door. Standing and smoothing my skirt, I called, “Come in.”

The door opened and a stout man in a tweed suit let himself into the room. His suit jacket was buttoned, the material straining around his barrel-like torso. He took a few deep breaths, then grabbed my hand. His palm was sweaty as he pumped my arm up and down. “Louanne Dixon, you’re as pretty as a picture. Brian O’Malley. A pleasure to meet you in person.” He plopped himself down on one of my buffalo-checked club chairs, throwing a notebook on the table.

I was surprised by how much I instantly liked the strange man. Taking a seat, I smiled. “So nice to have you here today. My mother and I read the Times every Sunday.”

“The New York Times? Good for you,” he laughed.

“No, of course, the Little Peak Times. It’s charming and we enjoy keeping up with the happenings in our community.”

“Well, I appreciate it. We are a small paper but have been fortunate in the fact that Little Peak seems to be a place where time stands still. When internet papers came around, many other small-time presses came to a close, but the inhabitants of our town still like to hold that paper in their hands. Nothing like a cup of coffee and black ink smudges on your fingers while reading a good story,” he said.

“I couldn’t agree more.” I didn’t add that my sister loved that ink when she was a girl and stuck every kind of Play-Doh and putty to the paper, watching the ink from the black words magically transfer from the pages.

Pulling a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket, he unfolded the metal frame, balancing them on the bridge of his nose. He pulled a pen from the same pocket, then peered at me over the glasses. “Miss Louanne, if you don’t mind, I’ll get right down to the questioning. How many weddings do you host per year?”

“I plan and host events on the ranch every weekend, but weddings I keep to one a month—two at max if there is an emergency. I like to be sure to give the bride the attention that she deserves and that just isn’t possible if you are dealing with more than two brides at a time.”

His bushy eyebrows rose as he said, “Emergency?”

“Yes. Emergency as in one year I had already committed to an April wedding, but then this poor dear called me telling me her father was going to have surgery in May and there was no way he would be able to walk her down the aisle until after summer and she so had her heart set on a spring wedding. I managed to add her to the month. It was a busy one—I don’t think I sat down to dinner once, last April.”

“Couldn’t she just have gotten married the following spring? What’s the big deal?” he asked.

I held in a laugh. “That would be... unacceptable.”

He eyed me. “How so?”

There were two people in this world. People who understood brides. And people who didn’t. It appeared that Mr. O’Malley fell into the latter category. “Unacceptable to wait another year. If the engagement goes on too long, the bride irrationally begins to fear the groom will lose interest before the knot is tied. Or, that she will go crazy if wedding plans drag on another minute, much less another year. Or, she just can’t hear one more person rob her joy by telling her that she is too young to wed, or her groom’s ears stick out too far and does she want children with that problem as well, or that they will not be buying a gift off of her registry but instead will be giving her homemade potholders,” I heaved a Brian O’Malley-like breath and sat back in my chair. “I’ve seen it all.”

“Potholders, huh? Go figure. I’d think a dame would love a good set of potholders,” he shrugged, jotting down the word ‘potholders’ on his paper. “How many weddings have you done, total, Miss Louanne?”

“This next wedding will be my one hundred and twenty-fifth wedding,” I said.

His jaw dropped open.

“I only did a handful of those the first few years, but then the business really picked up,” I said.

“How do you keep up with it all? I mean, not only do you have the weddings, you have the other events, too.” He looked at me as if expecting an equation for building a rocket ship.

I shrugged. “Lists.”

“Lists?” he asked doubtfully.

“Lists,” I said. Standing, I walked over the long black file drawers that lined one wall of my office. I pulled out a drawer, revealing rows and rows of neatly marked file folders. They all held lists. Mr. O’Malley stood from his chair, plodding over to join me. “Each folder holds a bride—well, not a bride, a wedding. And within that folder is each and every list that I made for her special occasion. As I’m planning the wedding, I keep the current lists in a notebook in my bag—I take it everywhere with me, you never know when a list is going to hit you—then when the happy day is successful and over, I file them away here. I have a file for every event I’ve hosted as well. Those grew so large, Hayes had to move them into boxes and store them in one of the sheds on the property.”

“This is... unreal,” he said, his gaze roving over the drawer.

“Thank you,” I answered primly. “I pride myself on my organization.”

“So... uh... what’s a lady like you do for fun?” he asked.

Was he mocking me?

“This is fun.” Had the man never had the satisfaction of ticking off a box at the end of the day? Or organizing his chaotic ideas into neatly numbered rows? There was nothing like it in this world.

“Fun... huh? You’re so young though. Don’t you do stuff other than work?” he asked.

“Yes. I go to the salon. I take my mother to lunch. Oh—the other day I went to Bud’s with the girls for the first time,” I said in my defense.

His brow rose. “Bud’s is the only bar in town and you are just now making it down there for a drink?”

“I think working is fun,” I said.

“Sounds like a lot on your plate though. Can one person manage both events and weddings?” he said doubtfully.

“I have part-time help. I’m fine,” I protested.

“How many hours do you work in a week?” he asked.

“Is this a question for the interview?” I asked.

“No, I’m just curious how one person gets all this done. Are you like a robot or something?” He peeked behind my back as if looking for a control panel.

“Mr. O’Malley. I am a very busy woman... as you have already ascertained. Let’s sit down and finish this interview, please.” I was ready for him to leave so I could focus on food for a sweet sixteen party. My mind wandered to cotton candy machine rentals and milkshake flavors.

He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just that in all of my years of journaling, I’ve never met anyone... quite like you.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” After spending time with Eloise Smarts, I’d learned to just ask outright.

He chuckled. “A compliment, of course! You Jenkins women are an extraordinary breed.” His eyebrows waggled up and down. “Now what can you tell me about that Memaw. She’s a real hoot, isn’t she?”

When he left, I felt like I needed a nap. Instead, I energized with caffeine, chocolate, and Pinterest boards for sweet sixteen decorations.

* * *

A week later, Hayes came into my office, holding the latest copy of Little Peak Times and a slice of Memaw’s apple pie. He flashed me a smile, throwing the paper on the desk. “I’ll let you enjoy this on your own.”

“Oh, no, is it bad?” My stomach sank. But the pie looked good... I could still handle the pie.

“It’s... sweet. I just know that you like to process things alone. That O’Malley is quite a character.” He laid the plate and the paper on my desk. Giving me a kiss on the top of my head, he left my office.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the paper. There, on the front page read the headline, The Big Secret of CLAS Ranch.

Pie forgotten, my stomach tied in knots. Had Mr. O’Malley found out about the Spanked Wives Club? Was he going to out our daddy dom lifestyle to the public? White heat slapped me in the face and I began to perspire.

Everyone in Little Peak knows that at the top of town there sits a ranch. CLAS ranch. A place where people thrive on clean living and sunshine. A place that is home to a working cattle ranch as well as events.

The ranch has recently become famous for their five-star weddings. How does a cattle ranch in Podunk down in the middle of nowhere Wyoming find itself on the map of Top Ten destination weddings in the nation? It’s a secret. And one that I’m going to share with you today.

Her name is Louanne Dixon.

Through hundreds of thousands of lists, Louanne has created the most elegant, memorable events to help people celebrate the important milestones in their lives. Has a family member of yours won a prestigious award? She has a trophy-themed brunch for that. Turning fifty? She’ll throw you a black and white ball that will put your prom to shame. Overwhelmed by throwing your best friend’s baby shower? She’ll take over and make your friend want to have five more kids just to keep the parties coming.

Your little girl is getting married? Weddings just happen to be Louanne’s specialty.

Louanne loves brides. To her, there is no such thing as a bridezilla, just a misunderstood woman trying to navigate the stressors of planning her big day.

The amount of time, attention, and love that Louanne invests in the milestones of people’s lives is heartwarming. She finds joy in giving and in her mind if she hasn’t created one of the best days of your life, then she hasn’t done her job.

He retold a few of the stories I had shared with him. I teared up at the quotes he had included from some of my favorite clients. The article went on to showcase the other employees of the ranch and how they assist with events.

I read the entire thing twice, smiling at the praise he hailed for our small team. Afterwards, I celebrated a job well done with the slice of pie.

* * *

As the weeks went by, I flew through my work practically gliding on air. There was such a thing as cloud nine, and I was on it. I had yet to make any real wedding plans for Hayes and me, but I was in no hurry. We were just reveling in our love, our lovemaking, and our engagement.

During the day, Hayes and I worked closely with one another, the attraction and flirting between us delicious. Then, when we couldn’t take it anymore, we would sneak off for a rendezvous. We had discovered quite a few little hidden love nests on the ranch, indoors and out of doors. And of course, he had fixed the lock to my office.

Nights were spent doing much of the same, with a little eating and a few dates thrown in. We were both homebodies and were happy watching a movie on the couch together with takeout food.

And when we were home alone, that’s when I could really revel in being a daddy’s girl. Hayes would spoil me rotten, get me anything I wanted, rub my feet, dress me in soft pajamas. Call me baby girl, pretend I was being naughty, then flip me right over his lap for one of those sexy spankings that we both loved. They warmed my ass and had my pussy dripping by the time we finally made love.

The sexy spankings made me complacent. Made me forget about the other kinds of spankings daddies give their little girls. Soon enough, though, I would be reminded that if I didn’t do as Hayes said, I would pay the price.

It all started when Hayes came into my office, greeting me with a kiss on my cheek. He took a seat in one of the chairs across from my desk. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure. Let me just finish sending this email.” I typed my closing regards and my name and hit ‘send.’ Closing my laptop, I said, “What’s up?”

“It’s about the article O’Malley wrote in the Times. It got me thinking,” he said.

“That was weeks ago,” I said.

“I’ve been mulling it over since then. Reading the article made me realize how much you carry on your plate, between the events and the weddings,” he said.

“I love my job. I don’t mind the hours,” I said, brushing away his concerns with a wave of my hand.

“I’ve been thinking about the way we are running things—and how many hours you work. It’s no secret that you call pull a sixty-hour week some weeks and I think you need more help,” he said.

“You mean, more part-time employees?” I asked.

“No. A full-time person. You need to hire someone to take over the legwork of the events. Someone you trust, that you can oversee, to do the day-to-day setting up, taking down, grunt work. You would still do all the planning and executing, you just wouldn’t be the one completing the execution. It would allow you to work less hours and focus more on your passion—the weddings.”

Someone else doing my job? No way. Things would fall apart if I wasn’t the one carrying out my plans. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Hayes. I like doing everything myself.”

“You would still have some creative control over all events. But like I said, you would have more time on your hands and be able to focus on what you love the most,” he said.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that we are now together, and you want us to spend more time with one another?” I asked.

“Selfishly, as your daddy, I want more time with you, yes. But, as your boss, I see the number of hours you work and I see the amount of money you generate. There is plenty to hire you an employee and take some things off your plate. As you would be supervising a full-time person, it would also mean a raise for you,” he said.

I thought about it. It made perfect sense, one person to head up events, one to do the weddings. And before, I didn’t mind working fifty or sixty hours a week—I had no social life whatsoever to speak of. But now that Hayes and I were dating, it would be nice to have some more free time to spend with him. But giving up control? I couldn’t do it. “I see where you’re coming from, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Hayes. Let’s keep things the way they are, now. We can add another part-timer to the team, if you want to.”

The tone of his voice hardened. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. This is the way I am restructuring the events department. I will oversee you, and you will oversee this person.” His jaw clenched.

“Telling me as my boss, or my daddy?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

His brow rose, his jaw tightening. “As your boss and your daddy, little girl.”

I gave a nervous gulp as my panties dampened. “A little unprofessional, don’t you think?” I squeaked.

“Not a bit. It’s a family-run business. Lines get blurred,” he stated.

“Is that so?” I asked.

“It is. Jenkins men look after their own. In business and in romance,” he said.

“But I have your mom helping, and my sister, and at times, a dozen other part-time employees.”

“We need someone full time underneath you to help manage those part-time employees,” he said.

“What if I don’t want a full-time employee?” I asked.

“Then I can hire them, oversee you both, and you can be co-chairs. But I’m guessing that is not what’s best for you. Either way, we are hiring someone,” he said.

Co-chairs over my cold, dead body. I was either the queen bee, or nothing. This business was my baby—I had seen it from the ground up, implementing and improving upon Brody’s vision for the ranch with my own two hands. “Fine. But don’t complain to me if I can’t get along with someone else. I like things my way.”

“I will be happy to administer an attitude adjustment in this very office at any moment you need one,” he said.

I gulped. “So, if I don’t carry out your plan and make it work... you are going to s-spank me? Is that even legal?”

He stood from his chair. Walking around the desk, he took my hand, pulling me up from my chair. Wrapping his arms around me, he leaned down, kissing me. He whispered into my ear, “We have our own set of laws here at CLAS ranch, and yes, it is very legal. Now, I believe you have a job to post.” He kissed my forehead, patted my ass, and left my office.

I had other things to do. I still hadn’t uploaded the photos from the last wedding to our website, and I had a ton of tidying to do before the magazine arrived. I decided the posting could wait.