by Max Monroe
“You remember all that?”
“Of course I do. I want you to get better, Daddy. I want to make sure your knee gets all healed up so we can go horseback ridin’ together again. I miss it so much.”
Shit. If that doesn’t hit me square in the chest, I don’t know what would.
“I miss it too, Joe,” I answer, and once I down a few of the prescription-strength ibuprofen that Dr. Namath gave me after surgery—don’t worry, the bottle is childproof—I reach out my arms for her to sit in my lap. “C’mere, baby. How about we watch a movie before going to bed?”
“Frozen?” she asks, climbing into my lap and smiling up at me. “It’s already in the DVD player.”
Considering I’ve seen that movie more times than any human being should have to see any movie, I know it’s already in the DVD player. To be honest, I’m shocked the damn disk still works.
The man in me wants to say hell no, but because of a little something called unconditional love, the father in me says yes.
“Sure. Why not. Grab the remote and hit play.”
Once Joey gets the movie going, she cozies up to me with her arms around my neck and her head against my chest.
“Love you, Daddy,” she whispers as the opening credits start to play.
I smile down at her and kiss her forehead. “Love you too, Joe.”
It’s moments like these that make me certain I’m exactly where I need to be.
Sure, my original plan didn’t revolve around having a little girl or settling down at the ranch as a single dad. I’d wanted to stay on the rodeo circuit and ride broncs until my body couldn’t handle it anymore.
I’d loved it. Lived for it, even.
But the day Joey came into this world and the nurse placed this tiny human into my hands, everything changed.
I knew, right then, that I’d do anything for this little girl, even if it meant giving up my own dreams to make sure she had a good and stable and happy life.
So, yeah, even though I’ve seen Frozen one thousand times, I’ll keep watching this damn movie if it means I get to experience quiet nights like this with my daughter.
Thirty minutes into the movie, Joey’s tired yawns came quicker and quicker.
And even though she kept telling me she didn’t want to go to bed until the movie was over, about an hour in, her eyes grew too heavy for her to fight the sleep battle any longer.
With my daughter fast asleep in my arms and while bearing most of my weight on my good leg, I carefully ease myself to standing and carry Joey into her bedroom.
Luckily, she’s a tiny thing and it’s not much effort to limp the short distance from the living room, down the hallway, and into her bedroom.
Gently, I lay her down on her bed, and it’s only when her head hits the pillow that her eyes flutter awake.
“Daddy, I’m not tired,” she says, her voice sleepy and adorable.
“Baby, it’s time to go to bed.”
“But the movie wasn’t over.”
I grin down at her. “We can finish it tomorrow night.”
She nods and shuts her eyes again, but a few seconds later, those eyes of hers pop back open. “Oh no, I forgot to tell ya to take a hot bath.”
“What, honey?”
“For your knee, Daddy. The heat will help. Then ya need to ice it again before you go to bed.”
“Baby, it’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”
“No, Daddy, you gotta promise me you’ll do it,” she responds and starts to sit back up in bed. “We can’t go ridin’ if your leg doesn’t get better.”
I smirk down at her. “We’ll figure it all out in the morning,”
Joey glares. “No, we’ll figure it out now.”
Christ.
“Okay, Joe. How about this? If you promise me you’ll go to bed now, I’ll take a hot shower and do some more ice before I go to bed.”
“Deal.” She nods, then yawns, and not even a minute later, those eyes of hers are closed tight and her breaths are coming out in soft, deep waves.
A low, amused chuckle spills from my lips as I reach down to remove her shoes from her feet.
First, her right boot and sock, but then, when I take off her left boot, a crinkled-up piece of paper falls out onto the bed.
I furrow my brow and pick it up.
Once I have it unfolded, I see that it’s a handwritten note—half of the handwriting is my daughter’s messy scrawl, and the other half is very legible and feminine in nature.
supar Sacret Leeah an Joey plan
Put Daddy’s knee on a pillow.
ice it wit frozen stuffs
Have Daddy take his medicine from Dr. Namath.
tell hims to do buble bath
A surprised, albeit exasperated-as-fuck, laugh falls from my lips.
And here I thought my Joey was just being sweet and wanting to make sure my knee was healing.
Looks like the joke’s on me.
Dr. Leah Levee has now wrangled my baby girl into helping administer her medical dirty work. Less than two weeks on my fucking ranch and the doctor has managed to get everyone on her side, including my own kid.
Well, everyone but me, that is.
I’m still hoping that city girl will eventually get the point—that I don’t need her damn help—and head on home.
Ha. That’s rich coming from the man whose fucking knee hasn’t felt this good since before he fell off that bronc…
June 26th, Saturday
Leah
The screen door swings open, and Rhett steps inside wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, a pair of well-worn Levi’s, and boots.
He’s shirtless and slightly sweaty, and I’m not sure if I should thank the rising summer heat in Utah for making it a frequent occurrence that Rhett spends the better part of his day showcasing the rippled muscles of his abs and chest or if I should be annoyed that the man who seems to thrive on making my life difficult looks that damn delicious with his shirt off.
Sigh. It’s quite the mental conundrum.
And, trust me, I know a thing or two about him making my life difficult. Today alone, I’ve done three free assessments on ranch guests and answered that woman who was worried about horseback riding’s medical questions about hypertension and diabetes.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?”
Those are the first words out of his mouth when he spots me sitting on his couch.
I flash a sugary-sweet smile his way. “Oh, you know, just waiting on my next patient to get home so I can treat his knee. Already finished up with my other four patients about an hour ago.”
He smirks, but then he scowls. “You do realize you already saw me this morning over at Barn Three, right?”
“I know, but see, this whole treating your leg thing is actually a full-time job. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
This morning, I tracked him down over at the stalls and managed to get some ice and ibuprofen down him. I also managed to get him to do some stretching.
And sure, I might’ve left him with the impression that I was done for the day, but I wasn’t. I knew he’d be taking a lunch break at his house this afternoon and made damn sure I could capitalize on it.
And today’s afternoon task is incredibly important. It involves attempting to finally get my hands on that leg of his and administering a deep tissue massage so I can get a good feel for what state those injured tendons of his are in.
“So, what?” he questions, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the coffee table. “You’re breakin’ in to my house now?”
“Nope,” Jenny answers for me, stepping into the living room from the kitchen. Her smile is knowing. “I let her in.”
Rhett lets out an exhale and moves his irritated focus to his mom. “And why are you here?”
His mom is completely unfazed and puts a hand to her hip. “Because Joey met a new friend while she was horseback riding this morning and wants to go swimming at the lodge pool. So, we had to stop here to get her suit.”
> Right on cue, Joey comes running down the hallway with a pair of goggles and a yellow bathing suit in her hands. “Daddy, I met a new friend today! Her name is Kayla, and she’s staying in the lodge with her mama and daddy until Monday morning!”
His daughter’s exuberance eases the tension from his face. “That’s great, baby,” Rhett says with a soft smile and reaches out to feather her hair with his hand.
She giggles and jumps out of his reach. “You want to go swimmin’ too?”
He shakes his head. “Not today, but you have fun, all right?”
“Y’all set, Josephine?” Jenny asks and Joey nods.
“You betcha!” She wraps her arms around Rhett’s waist and hugs him tight. “Love ya, Daddy!”
“Love you too, baby,” he says, and that soft smile is back again. But when his eyes meet mine, the slightest hint of a scowl starts to replace it. “Did you ask Leah if she wanted to go swimmin’ with ya?”
“She can’t.” Joey shakes her head. “She’s workin’.”
Rhett tilts his head to the side and places both hands on his hips as he looks down at his daughter. “Workin’? She doesn’t look like she’s workin’ to me. She looks like she’s just sittin’ on my couch.”
“Because she was waitin’ for you, silly,” Joey answers and rolls her eyes. “And she’s here because she’s gotta help get your knee all better. Duh.”
With that, she stomps her little boots over to me and proceeds to not-so-quietly whisper into my ear.
“Don’t worry. Last night, I got him to do almost everything on our list.”
I lean back and smile at her, whispering, “That’s fantastic.”
Her responding smile lights up her face. “The only thing my daddy doesn’t like to do is take a bath, but that’s probably ’cause he thinks baths are for little kids and women. Not big, strong men like him. So, he took a shower instead. That’s okay, right?”
I have to laugh at that, and I lean forward to whisper into her ear, “That’s more than okay. I’m very proud of you for helping your daddy get his knee better.”
Joey surprises me by wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me tight.
And then she’s off on her cowgirl boots again, running over to Jenny, who is now standing at the front door.
“Let’s go swimmin’, Granny!”
“See y’all later,” Jenny says with a smile as she opens the screen door, and it’s not long before both she and Joey are walking down the front porch steps and toward the Volvo station wagon that sits in the gravel driveway.
Once they start to pull away, Rhett turns his attention back to me.
“You know, last night, I found the strangest note crumpled up inside my daughter’s boot,” he states, and his eyes narrow with insider knowledge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?”
I tap my finger on my chin dramatically and shrug. “I don’t think I do…”
“Liar,” he retorts and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to use my own daughter to do your dirty work. Gettin’ an innocent five-year-old to do your job? You should be ashamed of yourself, darlin’.”
I snort. “Oh, let me be the first to assure you that there is absolutely no shame in my game, cowboy,” I retort. “Your constant unwillingness to follow my medical advice and let me take care of your knee has forced my creative hand.”
“Real creative using a man’s daughter against him.”
I shrug. “I never said I’d play fair.”
He huffs out an incredulous laugh and heads into the kitchen.
And I waste no time getting off the couch and following him.
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and sighs when he turns around and finds me in the same room. “What are ya tryin’ to achieve here, Leah?”
“My job.”
He rolls his eyes and guzzles down half the bottle of water in three large gulps.
And I hate how my eyes fixate on the corded muscles of his neck, watching them flex as water slides down his throat.
Why on earth did God think it was a good idea to give this stubborn bastard the golden ticket in attractive looks? I’m sure there’s a reason, some kind of lesson in avoiding temptation, but man oh man, the sight of this shirtless, rugged, muscular male specimen is quite the distraction.
Once he finishes off the rest of the bottle, he tosses it into the recycling and strides out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
Social manners and formalities should probably make it impossible for me to follow, but desperate medical treatment times call for desperate measures.
By the time he takes a right into his bedroom, I’m hot on his tail.
“Christ,” he mutters and runs a hand through his hair. “What are ya doin’ in my bedroom? And what the fuck is all this shit?” he asks, glancing around to see where I’ve already set up everything I need for the deep tissue massage.
“Take off your brace and pants, Rhett.”
His blue eyes go wide with surprise. “Excuse me, darlin’? You think maybe you should offer to buy me dinner first?”
“Not like that.” I roll my eyes. “I need you to take off your jeans so that I can massage your leg.”
“A fuckin’ massage?” he retorts. “My leg doesn’t need a trip to the spa.”
“Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?” I ask on a sigh. “Like, are you this obstinate all the time or are you doing this special just for me?”
He just stares at me.
“Look, Rhett, from the way I see it, you have two options here.”
When I don’t expand, he narrows his eyes. “Are ya gonna tell me the options, or am I supposed to guess?”
“Option one,” I elaborate. “You let me do what I need to do as your hired physician so that I don’t have to keep bugging you about it all day long.”
“And option two?”
“You can keep making everything incredibly challenging and ensure that I keep bothering you all day, every day, until I succeed in my task of making that knee of yours healthy again.”
“And I take it option one includes me taking off my pants.”
“Precisely,” I answer with a nod, pointing one index finger toward his bed that I’m going to utilize as my makeshift therapy table. “Take off your pants. Get on the bed.”
When he doesn’t make a move, I add, “If you would like me to step out for a minute so I don’t see anything while you get yourself situated, I can do that.”
He scowls at that. “Darlin’, I’m not insecure about you seeing me in my skivvies.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You,” he comments on a smirk. “You are my problem.”
“And the sooner you let me do my damn job, the sooner I can officially get out of your hair and be a distant memory.”
He huffs out a sigh, but eventually, he begins the process of taking off his brace before moving to his belt and jeans.
I wish I could say I remain completely professional during the whole process and don’t sneak a peek at what Rhett Jameson looks like in just a pair of black boxer briefs, but yeah, my far-too-curious eyes can’t seem to help themselves.
Thick but lean muscles highlight his thighs and calves, and it’s more than apparent that the bottom half of his body most certainly matches the top.
My goodness. All those hours doing hard labor on his ranch have certainly done his body good.
When my eyes locate a more-than-healthy-sized bulge beneath his briefs, my mind can’t stop itself from thinking, Holy huge packages. This cowboy is big…everywhere.
Oh. My. God. What is wrong with me? Quickly, I avert my eyes and stare at an adorable picture of him and Joey that sits on his dresser. Truthfully, the photo doesn’t make me feel any less dirty that I was just thinking about Rhett Jameson’s penis, but it at least distracts me long enough for him to get on the bed.
In the name of keeping my sanity, I walk into his master bathroom and snag a
clean bath towel from the shelf—even though I already set two towels out on his nightstand before he got home—and once I make my way back over to him, I waste zero time covering his body so that my eyes can only focus on his injured leg.
“Now what?” he asks, and I grab my bottle of massage oil from his nightstand.
“Now, you just lie there and relax while I do all the work,” I say, but the second the words leave my lips, my cheeks heat with a hint of irrational embarrassment.
I’ve massaged and stretched and worked with thousands of legs.
And a lot of them have been connected to adult men.
But why does the mere idea of massaging Rhett Jameson’s leg feel like I’m about to do something incredibly naughty?
Probably because you’re wondering what he’d look like without the towel or those formfitting black boxer briefs…
Immediately, I shake off the rogue thoughts.
I will not think about what he looks like naked.
But how about what all those muscles look like while he’s having sex?
No. No. NO.
I refuse to do anything but see this as a doctor treating a patient in a completely professional, focused way.
Considering you’re about to massage him on his bed with him practically naked, that’s a pretty big fucking ask…
“Mind explaining how you massaging my leg is going to fuckin’ help?” he questions, thankfully pulling me from my insane and useless inner monologue.
“Because during your surgery, they had to cut into the muscles and tendons around your knee joint, and that kind of trauma causes painful inflammation and muscle spasms,” I say and squirt some of the massage oil into my hands. “And deep tissue massage that focuses on the quadriceps and hamstring muscles in your thigh can help relieve the tension that causes the inflammation and spasms.”
“No offense, darlin’, but it all sounds like a bunch of fuckin’ hogwash to me.”
I ignore his comment and gently place my hands on either side of his hamstring and being to carefully knead my fingers into the tight flesh. It’s not long before I identify several knots that have locked themselves inside the muscle.