Heal Me, Daddy (Montana Daddies Book 8)

by Laylah Roberts

  He had no intentions of being a fool again.

  So he needed to not care about Caley. About the fact she lived in an isolated cabin, that winter approached and she didn’t have a good supply of food, a decent truck or enough firewood.

  Nope, he wasn’t going to care.

  He moved to the bedroom to grab his phone.

  He wondered if there were any firewood suppliers who could deliver in the next week.

  7

  Caley stared at the blank page on her laptop screen. That rarely ever happened. She might not know what to say to actual people, but the characters in her head always spoke to her. She never had blank pages. Sure, they might take her on journeys she didn’t realize they were going on, but they always spoke to her. Where were they?

  She groaned. This is what she got for stopping in the middle of a scene. No, this is what she got for answering her phone.

  One of the few punishment spankings she’d received had been when she left the house without her phone. Dave had been a pretty indulgent Daddy. Most of her punishments included time-out and chores, both of which she detested. More than once she’d have thought she’d prefer a good paddling.

  Not that she’d earned many punishments. She’d usually done everything he’d asked. She’d been young when they’d gotten together, and she’d looked to him a lot for guidance. She wondered what he’d think of her now. What he’d say if he knew she’d brought home two strange men?

  She sighed. Let’s face it, the real reason she couldn’t concentrate was due to the two men on the other side of the door. She hadn’t really been upset about the comments regarding her food choices. Hell, if she hadn’t taken umbrage over Dr. Cranky’s grumbling about her lack of a jacket, her truck or the fact that he’d tidied up her house, then she wasn’t going to be that annoyed over remarks about her cooking.

  But she’d needed a break.

  And now that she was in here…she kind of wished she was out there.

  Plus, her tummy was grumbling.

  She glanced around, her eyes settling on her train set. Maybe a bit of play would settle her. But what if they walked in and saw her?

  Not worth the risk. Even though a lot of adults had train sets, it wasn’t just the train she enjoyed playing with. No, she didn’t want them discovering her secret.

  She knew all too well how cruel people could be when faced with something different, something they didn’t understand.

  Stretching, she slumped back in her chair. She had a small headache that she knew was due to lack of sleep and food. She tilted her neck from one side to the other. God, what she would give for a massage. She rubbed her hands, which almost constantly ached. Probably she should rest them more. Or learn how to use dictation. Except she’d tried that before and it had annoyed her so much, she’d actually thrown her one and only tantrum.

  Thankfully, no one had been around to see it.

  She needed to stop thinking about Dave. It was just making her sad and she couldn’t function if she was sad. After his death, she’d gone into a deep depression. If it hadn’t been for Murray and his partner, Geoff…

  That was part of the reason she’d gone to help these guys. Because she owed Murray and Geoff so much.

  A knock on the door made her frown.

  She stood and moved to the door, opening it. “What do you want?”

  That’s a little rude, Caley.

  From the way Archer narrowed his eyes, a slight chill filling them, he agreed.

  Yikes. She’d sensed some Dom vibes from Isaac, although she wasn’t certain if that was just his personality, but until now Archer had been nothing but polite and warm.

  But those eyes were filled with disapproval.

  She took a breath, let it out slowly. “Sorry, I’m not used to visitors. I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s an infliction that appears to be going around.” He looked over at his brother. “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re working. I know it’s an imposition to have us here.”

  Now she just felt awful. She really wasn’t good at this.

  “No, I’m sorry. Really. Can I help you with something?”

  “I was trying to heat us up some dinner, but the microwave doesn’t seem to work.”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s a trick to it.” She glanced over at Isaac as she slipped past Archer, moving towards the kitchen. He was sitting, frowning down at his cell.

  “Should you be on your phone?” she asked turning towards him. “Doesn’t that hurt your head? I can’t imagine it’s a good idea for someone with a brain injury.”

  Isaac sighed and looked up at her. “No brain injury. Just a scratch.”

  “He’s fine,” Archer told her, lightly touching her shoulder. “I, on the other hand, am starving. Microwave?”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry. I get distracted easily.” She moved towards the microwave again.

  “What is this trick?” Archer asked.

  “You just do this.” She thumped the top of the microwave twice with her fist. Then she did the same on the right side. Then she grabbed it and pushed it back and forth a few times. Which wasn’t easy, considering it was a huge, clunky thing.

  It lit up and she gave Archer a big smile. “See?”

  He looked at her then the microwave. He appeared a bit pale. “Are you okay?”

  “I…ah…”

  “He’s fine,” Doc called out. “He just isn’t used to using kitchen appliances. I’m surprised he knows what a microwave even is.”

  Archer turned to scowl at Doc. “Just because I don’t cook often doesn’t mean I can’t. And I know what a damn microwave is.”

  She got a feeling that if she left them to it, they could snipe at each other all night long. She cleared her throat and opened the microwave door, saw the roast beef meal sitting there and then closed the door and set the microwave for five minutes.

  “There you go.”

  “You have to do that every time you use the microwave?” Archer asked.

  “Oh, not every time. Just most of the time.”

  Archer ran his hand over his face, looking tired and worried. She wasn’t sure what he was so concerned about. Unless it was his dinner.

  “Don’t worry, it still works perfectly fine. Although sometimes I do find the middle of my dinners are frozen while the outside is piping hot but then I just eat around the frozen bit and I…” she trailed off as she noticed him pinch the top of his nose. “Have you got a headache?”

  “Yes. I do.” He stretched. “Think I’m a bit stiff and sore from the accident.”

  “I’ll go get you some painkillers.” She moved into the bathroom. When she returned, Archer had his phone in his hand, looking at something online. They seemed to be rather attached to their phones. Doc had barely looked up from his.

  She shrugged and opened the bottle of painkillers, tapping a couple out and putting them on the table next to Archer’s elbow then she grabbed him a glass of water.

  “Thanks, love,” he muttered.

  She blinked, taken aback by the endearment. But then, lots of people called others sweetheart or honey or love. The microwave beeped and she moved over to it, pulling out the hot meal. She hissed as it burned the tips of her fingers.

  “What are you doing? Careful!” Doc grabbed her hand and inspected her fingers.

  “Is she all right? Did she burn herself?” Archer demanded and she looked over to see him standing, watching her with concern.

  “Just a little red,” Doc replied. But he still tugged her over to the sink and turned on the cold water, pushing her fingers underneath.

  “They’re fine,” she told him, drawing her fingers out of the freezing deluge. “I do that all the time. It’s not nearly as bad as the last time I burnt myself. I wasn’t watching properly when I was pouring the hot water out of a pot and it landed on my foot and I got a giant blister. Now, that hurt. This is nothing.”

  Doc scowled and pushed her fingers back under the
water. “Keep them there.”

  “But I have to get your meal into the microwave.”

  Doc muttered something under his breath and held her hand there himself as Archer placed another meal in the microwave.

  Finally, he turned the tap off and inspected her finger. “Are you gonna kiss it and make it feel all better?”

  She’d intended for it to sound sarcastic. Instead, it came out with a hint of longing. Doc eyed her but thankfully, he didn’t say anything. He simply pointed to the table. “Sit.”

  “Surely, he’s not always this bossy,” she said to Archer.

  “I could tell you that he’s not,” Archer replied as he set the cooked meal on a plate then put it in front of her. “But I don’t like to lie.”

  Doc continued to mutter under his breath as he returned with an oversized first-aid kit that she knew for sure wasn’t hers.

  “That’s the biggest first-aid kid I’ve ever seen.”

  “He likes to be prepared for everything,” Archer told her as Doc drew out a cream for her burns.

  By the time Doc finished with her finger, it had a huge white bandage around it that was going to make it damn hard to eat or type.

  “Umm, do you really think this is necessary?”

  “Yes,” Doc replied. He stood and grabbing the first-aid kit, walked back into the spare bedroom.

  Archer put another meal on the table. He grinned as he saw her fingers. She narrowed her gaze up at him. “It’s not funny. How am I supposed to eat? Or type? This is my dominant hand.”

  She’d likely make a complete mess if she ate her food with a fork held in her left hand. She reached for the bandage, determined to pull it off.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Doc told her, coming back and sitting next to her.

  “I can’t use a fork with my left hand. My food will go everywhere.”

  “I’ll feed you then.” He slid her plate towards himself then forked some up. Instead of pushing the fork towards her, he lightly blew on it. “Too hot. You’ll burn your mouth.”

  Okay, she should probably be weirded out by that. But it was something Dave would have done. And it sent a pang of longing through her. She stood.

  “I have to work.”

  “Sit down.”

  “I’m on a deadline.”

  “Sit. Down.” His voice grew lower.

  She glanced over at Archer, thinking he might be the voice of reason. But he was setting the last meal down on the table. He gave her a concerned look but didn’t say anything to rein his brother back in.

  Damn it.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Please don’t let her tummy grumble and make a liar of her.

  “Caley,” Doc rumbled.

  Jesus. Again with her name. Why did it sound so sexy when he said it? How was that fair? Her knees went weak and she found herself slumping into her seat. “Fine,” she muttered ungraciously. “But I’ll feed myself.”

  “But—”

  “Isaac,” Archer said warningly.

  Finally, he was speaking up. She shot him a look. He gave her a calm look back. “Eat,” he demanded.

  Great, she was surrounded by two bossy males. She didn’t have to do what they said. And the only reason she sat and ate the food was because she didn’t want to waste food.

  That’s what she told herself, anyway.

  8

  Was she ever going to sleep?

  Doc looked over at the door to Caley’s office. She’d retreated in there soon after dinner. At least she’d eaten. But she needed sleep as well. He looked at his phone to check the time. Nearly one in the morning. He’d convinced Archer to take the bedroom, claiming he didn’t sleep well anyway.

  But that was a lie. He’d just wanted the couch so he could keep an eye on her. Well, as much as you could watch someone when they were on the other side of a door.

  She should be sleeping. Surely, she didn’t need to work this late at night? What work did she do? He scowled and forced himself to stay awake. He was growing soft in his old age.

  There wasn’t even anything he could use to distract himself. There was no television and the internet reception was patchy at best. Although he had managed to find a local firewood supplier. He’d give them a call in the morning, arrange for a delivery after they’d left. It was just a thank you for giving them a place to stay.

  Same as the microwave he was certain Archer had ordered earlier.

  Suddenly, the door to her office opened. He forced himself to remain relaxed. He didn’t want to give her a fright. The fire let out a soft glow, but there wasn’t enough to light up the room so unless she got up close, she shouldn’t notice he was awake.

  He heard her shuffle. A yawn. Had she fallen asleep in there?

  That wasn’t good. She should be sleeping in her bed where she would get some real rest.

  There was a thump then a low cry of pain. He sat up immediately, spotting her hopping around, holding her foot.

  “Caley? You okay?” He jumped up and walked over to her.

  “Ouchy. Sorry. I banged my foot on something. Ouch. Crap. Damn.”

  “Here, let me help.” He looked down with a wince, noting that she had banged into the wooden base of the armchair.

  He picked her up and carried her over to the sofa. She stiffened in his arms.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “Carrying you.”

  “Yes…but…”

  He set her down on the sofa then perched on the coffee table. Grasping her foot, he brought it onto his lap and inspected her toes.

  “Wiggle them for me.”

  She moved them back and forth. “They’re okay.” She winced as he pressed on them.

  He grunted. “You should have turned a light on. You could have really hurt yourself.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “Wasn’t asleep.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, is the sofa uncomfortable? It’s probably too short, isn’t it? I could sleep out here. You can have my bed. I’ll change the sheets.” She tried to stand, and he placed his hands on her shoulders to keep her sitting.

  “Stay there. You’re not changing the sheets.”

  “Oh, I suppose you could just sleep on top of the bed.”

  “Girl, I am not taking your bed. You are not sleeping on the couch.”

  “I don’t mind,” she told him. “Sometimes I sleep out here because it’s warmer.”

  He clenched his jaw. He didn’t like that. Not at all.

  Not your business. She is not your responsibility.

  But the idea that she was so cold that she needed to sleep on the couch really annoyed him.

  “You are not sleeping on the couch. If you need more blankets; you can take mine.” Seemed he also needed to order her a heater for her bedroom. He stood and reached out a hand to help her up. She slipped her hand into his and he noticed how chilled it was. He also saw that she’d removed the bandage he’d put on there earlier.

  If she was his, she’d be in big trouble.

  “You’re freezing,” he muttered, reaching down to grab the blanket he’d had sitting at the end of the sofa but hadn’t been using, seeing as he was lying right next to the fire. He wrapped it around her. “Sit back down until you warm up. Why didn’t you open the door to your office to let some heat through? Although you should have been in bed hours ago. What work involves staying up so late at night?” He couldn’t stop the scolding note. It was part of who he was, taking care of those around them. Even if he didn’t always show his caring in the most thoughtful way.

  “I’m a writer. And once I get going, I don’t like to be interrupted. If I lose my flow of words, it can take me a while to settle back into a rhythm. I usually don’t stop until the words do or my body tells me I need a rest.”

  “So you do listen to your body?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Eventually. I once gave myself a…ahh, actually, you don’t nee
d to know that.”

  He stopped himself from insisting that she tell him. Not his sub. Not his responsibility.

  “Think you need to listen to your body a bit earlier, girl. Before you turn into a human popsicle. It’s not good to work so late at night. Your body needs rest.”

  “I had to finish what I was doing.”

  “Uh-huh. What do you write?”

  “Romance.”

  “Guess you believe in happy-ever-afters then, huh?”

  “Don’t you?” she asked curiously.

  “Nope. I don’t think there’s any such thing. Nothing lasts forever.”

  “I guess not.” She sounded sad and he immediately felt bad.

  “For me, anyway,” he told her. “I’m sure for you it might happen.”

  “I’m not looking for, uh, anything.” She attempted to stand again. “I’m tired now, I’m going to bed.”

  Way to make things awkward.

  “Wait. I, ahh, I didn’t mean to sound dismissive.”

  She looked at him. “Some people react oddly when I tell them I’m a romance writer. As though they think romance is a dirty word. Or that I can’t be very good, or I’d write something important like sonnets or something.”

  His lips quirked. Shit. He was starting to wonder if he had a tic or something. “Sonnets? Do people still write sonnets?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. But I like to read romance. I like to write romance. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

  “No, girl,” he told her in a soft voice. “There’s nothing wrong with that at all.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she gave him a tentative smile. “I should go to bed. You need some sleep. Is your head all right? Would you like some more painkillers?”

  She really was sweet.

  “I’m fine, girl,” he said gruffly. “Get yourself to bed. Sleep in tomorrow. I don’t want your ass out of that room before ten a.m.”

  “Seriously. How has no one murdered you already?”

  “It’s a mystery for the ages.”

  As she walked into her bedroom, she was aware she was smiling.