Grumpy Cowboy: A Hot Single Dad, Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Max Monroe

The front door opens, and Joey’s laugh precedes her as she comes running down the hall.

  With big blue eyes, blond hair and dimples, my granddaughter is the kind of adorable that has the power to win anyone over. She’s the apple of my wife’s and my eye and has become a constant source of joy for everyone around her since the moment she made her debut into this world.

  “How’s Grandma’s girl?” my wife Jenny coos as Joey slams into her with a hug. I fold the paper and set it down on the table beside my recliner, crossing my ankle over my knee as Rhett comes limping into the room.

  “Good,” Joey says, her sweet voice turning into a laugh as Jenny gives her a tickle. Rhett smiles, a rare occurrence these days from my solemn son, and steps forward to give Joey a rub on the head.

  He’s been through a lot over the years; I know this much is true. Between giving up his dreams of the rodeo and the tumultuous situation with Joey’s mostly nonexistent mama Anna, shit hasn’t exactly been easy on him.

  But I know he’s a good man. A smart man. And he’s the only one who can handle stepping into my shoes and fully taking over this ranch.

  I just wish he wouldn’t be so damn dumb sometimes and do shit like ride a bronc in the middle of the night and screw up his leg for no other reason than feeding his fucking ego.

  I take a deep breath and stand from my chair as Jenny offers, “Come on, food’s almost ready.”

  “Actually, Jen, I need to have a word with Rhett first. You and Joey go on and get set at the table.”

  Jenny’s suspicious eyes narrow on my face, and Rhett tenses.

  I gentle my voice with my wife. “Please, Jen. It’s important.”

  She nods finally, but to say she’s unhappy about it would be a major understatement. Her current expression tells a story, and this age-old tale starts with Your ass is sleeping on the couch tonight.

  I sigh. I’d already figured as much.

  “Come in, son,” I say to Rhett as the girls retreat to the kitchen. “Take a seat.”

  He shakes his head, his mouth an unshakable firm line. “I think I’ll stand.”

  I nod. I figured as much on that one, too.

  “We need to talk about the way you’re handling yourself these days.”

  “No, sir. We don’t.”

  I shake my head. “Dammit, Rhett. Yes, we do. I should’a tanned your ass for pulling the stunt that got you like this in the first place, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t let my concern as a father get in the way of givin’ you the lashin’ you needed. What in the hell are you thinkin’, gettin’ on horses and runnin’ amok while your leg’s still like this? Dr. Namath fuckin’ told you you’re not ready for any of that shit. Are you tryin’ to ensure you can’t walk permanently?”

  “First of all, I’m bigger than you, Pops. So, tannin’ my ass would’ve provided quite the challenge.” He shakes his head before offering an infuriating smirk in my direction. “And secondly, I’m pretty sure I walked in here, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about. Don’t act like you’re dumb.”

  “No, Dad, you’re actin’ like I’m dumb. I’m a grown man, and I can do whatever the hell I want. I know my limits better than anyone.”

  “Bullshit. You know your ego. That’s all.”

  “Fuck this,” he says, turning and spinning like a top on his one good leg. I only wish he understood how ridiculous he looks trying to storm away right now.

  “Fuck nothin’, Rhett. You start actin’ smart, or I’ll make sure you do, you hear me?”

  He turns back around with a snarl. “And just what in the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means if you keep actin’ like you need a damn babysitter, I’ll fuckin’ get you one.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, when are you going to realize I’m not a child? I’m thirty-six fucking years old,” he snaps, and it looks as if any second steam might come shooting out of his ears.

  I can relate. “I’ll realize it when you start actin’ like it.”

  “It’s always the same with you. Same bullshit. Just a different day. I’m out of here,” he huffs, turning back around and hobbling toward the door in a hurry.

  I shake my head and sigh again. Pigheaded, prideful idiot.

  “Tell Mama I’ll be back for Joey in the mornin’!” he yells right before the screen door slams behind him.

  Jenny and Joey peek around the corner from the kitchen with wide eyes, and I lift a hand and shake my head. I’ll do what I have to do to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, but the truth of it is, the rest of it, he’s going to have to realize all on his own.

  It’s the way my daddy made me learn, and the same thing his daddy did for him.

  We Jameson men are a little like mules…you’ve gotta kick the stubborn right out of us.

  “You and Joey go ahead and eat, darlin’,” I say to Jenny. “I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  And a favor to ask.

  I pick up the rotary phone on my desk, carry it over to my chair, and spin the old dial to a number I know by heart. I know it’s rare these days to still be using relics like this, but there’s just something about it that feels so much better than a fucking cell phone. Plus, we don’t get any damn service out here anyway, so a landline or a radio is the only form of communication you can count on.

  Frank Kaminsky is an old and dear friend. When we were teenagers, he worked this very ranch with me and my grandfather, stomping on chicken shit in the back of a spreader as we used it as compost. And now, he’s the owner of the Salt Lake Slammers professional basketball team and one of the smartest guys I know.

  It rings twice in my ear before he answers. “Tex Jameson,” he says fondly. “To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?”

  I laugh slightly, but with the way the whole situation with Rhett’s got me feeling, it’s not with a ton of humor.

  “Ah, cut the shit, Frank. You quivered when you saw my number on the screen.”

  He chuckles. “Only a little. Years of summers spent with you have dulled my sensitivity a good bit.”

  I smile. “That’s good. Most people find me incorrigible.”

  “Don’t worry,” he remarks. “That’s only because you are.”

  Sounds about right.

  Sighing heavily, I dive into the meat of why I’m calling in the first place. “Listen, I need your help. My son hurt himself real bad about a month ago, and as you’d imagine, he’s not great at following the doctor’s treatment plan.”

  Frank laughs. “Mm-hmm. Good to hear he’s like you.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know. But it’s the younger, more stubborn version of me, and both of us know what a problem that can be.”

  “Damn straight,” Frank agrees.

  “I thought maybe with your players gettin’ ortho injuries and such, you’d know of someone I could reach out to for individualized treatment. His doctors here are fine and all, but none of ’em are willin’ to do a home health plan and oversee it in person. And Rhett needs the kind of rigidity he can’t escape. Any recommendation would be appreciated.”

  “I tell you what, Tex, I’ll do you one better. The team just hired a new secondary physician. She’s smart as a whip but could probably use some training in showing these big old guys who’s boss, too. I can’t think of a better crash course for either of them than throwin’ them together.”

  “He’s got a broken patella and a torn patella tendon, Frank. Had surgery to repair it, but it’s the whole rehabbin’ the fuckin’ leg that’s causing the problem. I’ll probably need her expertise full time for about two months. I’m willing to compensate her well, but the biggest question is, do you think she can handle it?”

  Frank laughs. “Definitely. She’s smart as all get-out. Top of her class and came highly recommended from her previous employer. I think she’ll do exactly what you need her to.”

  “And you think she’ll be okay with a grumpy cowboy like my son?” I question on an exasper
ated sigh. “I mean, are you sure she’s prepared for what she’s walkin’ into?”

  “Not at all,” Frank says. “But I’ve got a feelin’ that’ll be at least half the fun.”

  I smile. “Call me if you have any problems talkin’ her into it. The sooner she gets here, the better.”

  “You bet.”

  “I owe you one, Frank.”

  “Nope, buddy. This just makes us even.”

  I hang up the phone and scrub my hands over my face.

  And hope like hell that this girl finds a way to be exactly what Rhett needs.

  June 14th, Monday

  Leah

  The small plane comes to a stop on a dirt runway, and I look out the window to a vast Southwestern Utah view. Giant cliffs sit off in the distance, surrounding us on all four sides.

  To my right, a large meadow filled with yellow flowers contains giant cows with big-ass horns, grazing on grass.

  And when I glance out the window on the opposite side of the plane, I note what looks to be the peak of a large, rustic building, possibly a lodge, nestled down a hill.

  Holy shit. No wonder Frank Kaminsky let me take one of the small team planes out here. This place, the location of my new but temporary job, is in the middle of nowhere.

  So much for your daily Starbucks runs…

  “Welcome to Shaw Springs Ranch,” Tom, the pilot who flew me out to No-Man’s-Land, USA, announces over his shoulder. “I’ve known the Jameson family for a long time, Dr. Levee, and I can’t deny this ranch is downright breathtaking. People come from all over the world just to enjoy the peace and serenity here. I’m certain you’re going to love it.”

  Love it? That feels like a bit of an overstatement for a woman like me.

  I mean, if I could choose my dream vacation destination, it would revolve around art museums and drinking expensive coffee at cafes in Paris.

  Not locations where the only place to land a plane is on dirt.

  But despite my inner concerns over Wi-Fi connectivity and wondering how I’m going to curb my caffeine addiction, I do manage a smile at his words. I might be a city girl through and through, but I can appreciate the beauty of my new surroundings.

  This is more than just taking a simple hike in a pretty park; this is nature personified.

  People take photographs of places like this and publish them in travel books.

  Hell, social media influencers create entire careers from traveling to beautiful spots like this.

  Tom unbuckles his seat belt, takes off his headphones, and opens the hatch on the door. “Tiny!” he exclaims the instant a burst of fresh air whooshes inside the plane.

  “Tommy Boy, how’s it hangin’?” a male voice responds. It’s jovial and warm and laced with a western accent that reminds me of melted honey.

  “Good. Good. Mr. Kaminsky keeps me busy, as you know,” Tom answers and gestures toward me with his hand. “Mind your head while getting out, Dr. Levee. You can go on with Tiny, and I’ll handle your suitcases.”

  I follow his instructions, unbuckling my seat belt and carefully exiting the plane.

  Once I clear the threshold of the door, I come face-to-face with the man I’m assuming is Tiny.

  He looks to be late fifties, has on a pair of worn-in cowboy boots with an equally distressed hat, and his clothing is covered with the kind of dry mud that makes it apparent he has no qualms about getting his hands dirty.

  “Dr. Levee?” he asks, a full-toothed, crooked smile encompassing his face.

  “Yes, but you can just call me Leah.”

  “Leah.” He tests out my name on his tongue while giving my current attire—a Pucci summer dress with yellow heels—a once-over. “Pretty name that matches the pretty, and very colorful, lady, but I think I’ll just call ya Doc.”

  I snort at that, unsure of what to say. “Uh…okay?”

  The man just keeps on grinning. “I’m Tiny, by the way. One of the ranch hands here at Shaw Springs.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Tiny.”

  “The pleasures are all mine, Doc,” he responds, and as I make my way down the small set of stairs, he holds out a gentlemanly hand to help.

  I take it without question, using his strength to avoid an embarrassing spill, but the second my yellow stilettos hit the dirt, I sink about an inch into the ground.

  Shit.

  Tiny doesn’t miss a beat. “You might wanna consider some different footwear, Doc,” he says, his voice teasing and his eyes staring down at my favorite heels in amusement. “Fancy-pantsy shoes like that will get ya in nothin’ but trouble ’round here. And that dress of yours is mighty pretty, but it’s at high risk of gettin’ ruined on this ranch.”

  “Well, Tiny, I’m one of those crazy types of women who can do just about anything in a fashionable outfit and a pair of heels.”

  “Whatever you say, little darlin’,” he responds, and his eyes crinkle around the corners with a smile when he meets my eyes again. “Just mind the cow and horse shit.”

  Cow and horse shit? Gross.

  All of a sudden, my heels and favorite Pucci dress—a gorgeous, short-sleeve shift dress with a mirage of yellows and pinks and purples and blues—are feeling…out of place.

  It’s safe to say I didn’t really think the whole “new job on a ranch” thing through when I got dressed this morning or when I packed my suitcases over the weekend for my two-month stay at Shaw Springs Ranch.

  But it’s not like I’m here to do hard labor. I’m here to help the ranch owner’s young son recover from a bad knee injury with personalized daily medical care.

  Plus, I wear dresses and heels like this to work all the time. Even before I took my newest job as a physician for the Slammers basketball team, I’d wear pumps and stilettos while I was making ortho rounds at Salt Lake Regional Medical Center. And I just paired my favorite designer dresses and skirts and pantsuits with my white lab coat.

  Frankly, it wasn’t unusual for me to wear heels during surgery beneath my scrubs and protective booties.

  Basically, I like to wear clothes and shoes that make me feel good and confident, and I’m a strong advocate for all women being their version of fashionable in every situation.

  But I didn’t exactly picture dirt roads and cow dung as part of the deal when I agreed to come out here to help Tex Jameson’s son rehab a patella fracture and patella tendon tear that underwent surgery four weeks ago.

  Truthfully, I don’t know if I packed much of anything that would be considered good in conditions where horse shit is a thing.

  Although, in my defense, when Mr. Kaminsky called me about the opportunity, I only had a week’s time to decide, pack, and make sure my older brother Sam could keep my plants watered and mail organized.

  Hell, even my closest girlfriends—Carla and Taylor—only found out two days ago that I would be gone for the summer.

  And, considering we had planned on attending several summer music concerts together, they were none too pleased with my unexpected and last-minute absence from Salt Lake for the next eight weeks.

  I carefully adjust my feet to a harder spot of ground so I’m back to my normal five-foot-seven height, and Tiny gestures for me to follow him toward an ATV that sits just off the runway.

  Or is it a TTV? A BTV?

  Hell, whatever those four-wheel, all-terrain vehicles with a roof that are all the rage for the adventurous, nature-y types who like to go off-roading are called, it’s one of those.

  “Hop on in, and I’ll get your bag,” Tiny instructs, but then when he turns back toward Tom and sees that I have more than one bag—six suitcases, actually—he starts laughing. “How long you plannin’ on stayin’, Doc?”

  “Just the two months Mr. Jameson requested.”

  “Six suitcases for two months?” he asks, and I cringe.

  “I might’ve gone a little overboard on the packing.”

  Yeah, and it’s too bad you probably packed the entirely wrong wardrobe.

  Gah. Fingers
crossed that I at least packed my favorite pair of neon-pink Adidas running shoes.

  Tiny chuckles at my wide-eyed expression. “Well, Doc, how about I take you to the lodge so you can chat with Tex, and then I’ll come back for your things?”

  I nod. “Sounds good to me.”

  When he pulls away, I silently wonder if my luggage is just going to sit there in the dirt or if Tom is going to wait until Tiny comes back before leaving the ranch, but I bite my tongue because I’m certain that’s being pushy…and prissy for men like these two.

  Instead, I offer up a silent prayer that none of those big-ass cows makes their way over to my belongings. Those horns could do some serious damage to my favorite Kate Spade suitcases.

  The ride to the lodge is bumpy, and Tiny appears to have zero concern for avoiding holes or rocks or pretty much any-damn-thing, and my whole body—especially my boobs—vibrates with each rough jar of the vehicle.

  This situation is a perfect example of why it can be a real pain in the ass being a curvy girl with double D breasts. I feel like someone has put me inside a washing machine and set it to extra-fast drain and spin. At this rate, I’m liable to knock myself out with a boob-sucker-punch to the face.

  I glance around, trying to find a seat belt or something to, you know, prevent an untimely death, but when I come up empty-handed, I grip the edge of my seat as tightly as I can, in hopes it’ll prevent me from falling out of this thing.

  Goodness. There has to be a better mode of transportation around here…

  “Is this how you normally get around the ranch?” I ask, pushing my voice to a higher-than-normal volume so it can be heard over the whip of the wind.

  “I prefer my horse,” he answers, glancing at me out of his periphery. “You ride horses, Doc?”

  “Uh. No.” I shake my head on an awkward laugh.

  “Have you ever been on a horse?”

  “Also, no.” I shake my head again, but the movement forces pieces of my long brown hair to almost blow into my mouth. I grimace and try my best to readjust my face in a way that prevents me from eating my own hair the whole ride to the lodge.

  “Where ya from, Doc?”

  “Salt Lake City.”