Free Coming Home by M.A. Stacie

had been herself. The problem rested with her, and when the
reality struck home, she reached over, taking her father's hands in
hers. "There have been parts of my life I never wanted to share
with you. Not because I didn't trust you, but because I preferred
to keep them hidden. I would have been mortified if anyone had
found out. Living in Sacramento meant I could keep my secrets
hidden." She exhaled gently, softening her tone. "Obviously, that
wasn't the only reason I left, but it's why I rarely come back. The
longer I stay here, the more chance there is my secret will be
uncovered. I guess I'm seeing I should have never done that. I
didn't need to keep things from you, did I, Dad?"
    "Not one damn reason for it," he replied, his
voice gravelly. "So give it to me. I can take it."
    Her heart pounded fiercely and she battled
the urge to turn tail and run. Her head told her to do it—to run as
fast and as far as she could, but for once, her heart overrode
it.
    “My job. Dad, I'm not a journalist."
    "Don't you dare tell me you work in some fast
food dump. I'm not havin' you runnin' miles away only to serve
morons food."
    Sydney laughed, the tension easing slightly.
Her father would never change. He would always tell it straight.
Sometimes she wondered if he'd ever possessed a verbal filter, or
if that had faded with age.
    "No, I don't work in a restaurant."
    "Those places ain't no restaurants ."
    "Dad, listen, please. I still write, just not
for a teen magazine. Um, actually I write books. I've written a lot
of books."
    Jack nodded, taking in her news, though he
didn't comment. "I suppose you're wondering why I want that to be a
secret, huh?"
    He nodded again and waited. The butterflies
in her stomach started to go crazy, and no amount of deep breathing
helped. She wouldn't feel better until she confessed, so she
purged. "I write erotic fiction, books with sex in them. Usually a
lot, and most of the time there's more than two people
involved."

Chapter 10
    Sydney sat on the grass, staring across the
field at the horses. The breeze skimmed her body, ruffling her
T-shirt and skirt, and the grass tickled her bare feet. She fell in
love with the seclusion again, just as she had many years ago.
Living in Sacramento meant she'd become accustomed to a busy life,
but she never felt the same sense of calm as she did here.
    Her father had taken her news of her real
career far better than she could ever have expected. He'd admitted
her revelation hadn't been that much of a surprise, given the
notebooks he'd found when she was seventeen. He'd also admitted to
seeing numerous books by her on the bookshelf in the main house.
However, he didn't know they had been by her at the time. He'd
merely commented to Pax and Caleb about how much they must really
like that particular author.
    Something flashed in her father's eyes at
that point.
    It had been a realization of sorts, but one
he refused to elaborate on. For a moment, she thought maybe he'd
figured out her other secret, but he denied the look had ever
existed, telling her she'd been imagining it. She hadn't, there had
definitely been something going on in his head at the moment, but
she dropped the subject. Knowing her father, he wouldn't budge and
discuss the topic until ready.
    She smiled, recalling the way he'd hugged
her, muttering how proud he was of her, even if she wasn't the most
conventional of people or the easiest to raise. His teasing made
her giggle like a child. Hugs from her father had been one thing
she'd missed terribly. Even at thirty, she still longed for that
kind of love—the kind only her dad could offer her.
    Feeling energized after purging her truth,
she'd brought her laptop up to the upper paddock, ready to do some
writing. Pax and Caleb had let the horses loose in the field
earlier, so she'd watched them gallop around for a short while
before inspiration struck.
    Time passed quickly and before she realized
it, she'd been sitting in the field writing for almost