by Piper James
She pulled me back into a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her middle, squeezing her tight. Janice Jones was all sugar and spice—ice cream with a shot of habanero sauce—and I loved her. I wrapped her long, mostly gray pony tail around my fist and gave it a little tug, and she released me with a laugh.
“So, I suppose your dad sent you here to check up on me.”
“No, not at all,” I hedged.
“Jessa Maddox, you’re a pure soul and a terrible liar. Never change.”
I laughed. “Okay, maybe he sent me to check on things, but just because he wanted to make sure you weren’t working yourself to the bone.”
She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the already spotless bar. “I told him, I’m fine.”
“Well, no wonder he sent me down here to check up on you,” I laughed.
She shook her head. “Not in a teenage-Jessa, ‘everything is fine,’ grumpy-assed sort of way. I’m really okay. You know I love this place.”
I did know that. Janice had been working here for more than two decades, and I was fairly certain she’d never leave.
“You know, you could just marry Dad, and this place would be yours,” I teased.
“Oh, honey, it’s already mine,” she said, a slight blush staining her cheeks.
“He wants me to stay and help you run the place until he recovers,” I said, my tone growing serious. “What do you think?”
“I think you need to do what’s right for you, Jessa. I’d love to have you here with me, but not if it means putting your life on hold. If it’s not right for you, I can handle it on my own.”
“I know you can.”
“That being said, I know Greg would love to have you stick around for a while. That’s his main motivation, you know. It’s not me, or whether or not I need help. It’s you. He misses you.”
7
Rafe
I can do this. I can go inside, keep things strictly professional, check my patient, and get out.
I gave myself the pep talk after parking by the curb outside the Maddox home. It had been a couple of days since I last saw Jessa—I meant Greg—and the caretaker inside me was pushing me to check in on him.
If things took a turn for the worse, and I didn’t realize it because I was avoiding a woman, I’d never forgive myself. And there was no valid reason for me to avoid Jessa Maddox. Sure, she was a beautiful woman, but I could appreciate that without acting on it, just as I had with all the other attractive women I interacted with in my daily life.
And I’m totally going to pretend like I never jacked off in the shower to thoughts of her on her knees. Nope. Never happened.
I climbed out of my car and walked briskly up the front steps, rapping my knuckles against the front door before I changed my mind. I tapped my fingertips against my thigh as I waited, my body filling with nervous energy.
This was stupid. What was I afraid of? Before I could answer the question, the door swung open, and there stood the reason for my uncertainty.
“Hey,” she said softly, one eyebrow raising in silent question.
“I just came by to check on your dad,” I blurted, lifting my medical bag and jiggling it, as if doing so somehow proved my motives were pure.
Shrugging, she moved to the side and waved me in. “He’s in the shower. You’re welcome to wait, if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said, following her into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.
“Can I get you something to drink? A beer?”
“I don’t drink,” flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.
I waited on bated breath for “the look.” That questioning, bewildered expression people got whenever I told them I don’t do alcohol. They usually assumed I was a recovering alcoholic and blubbered out apologies like they’d somehow tempted me to fall off the wagon just by mentioning booze.
But Jessa’s expression didn’t change. She just asked, “How about a soda? Or water?”
“No, thanks. I’m good,” I breathed, relieved that I didn’t have to delve into an explanation about my life choices. Maybe she just assumed I was on the clock.
“How’s he doing?” I asked to fill the silence after she plopped down onto the other end of the couch.
“Same,” she said, frowning. “I assumed he would improve every day, but he’s still coughing a lot. His breathing is shallow, and he doesn’t seem to have very much energy. Is that normal?”
“Everyone heals at their own rate,” I said. “Any fever?”
“No, not since I’ve been here.”
“Well, that’s good. I’ll check him out when he’s done in there and let you know if there’s any cause for concern.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, and a thick silence fell between us once again.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her cheek against them. My eyes locked onto her wiggling bare toes before slowly travelling over her calves and thighs, exposed by the short shorts she was wearing. Her bra strap was peeking out from beneath her tight white tank top, and seeing it reminded me of the first time I saw her…which reminded me of her dropping to her knees in front of me.
I shifted my weight in my seat and silently ordered myself to get it together.
“About the other night,” she started, and my head snapped up to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I rarely drink, and when I do, I usually call it quits after one shot. I was feeling…out of sorts with everything that’s going on and forgot what a lightweight I am. And how strong my dad’s tequila is.”
“It’s okay,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. But then again, why would she lie? Because I’m a doctor, and everyone lies to their doctors about their alcohol consumption? That’s probably it. “You’re a grownup,” I added with a smile, reminding her of her own words.
“Yeah,” she said, laughing, “and apparently I’m pretty mouthy when I get sloshed, too. Anyway, I’m not usually like that, and I just wanted you to know.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal and fought the urge to reach out and touch her. To see if her skin was as soft as it looked. I shifted my weight again, looking to ease the pressure building in my pants.
Jesus. What is wrong with me? I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake.
“So, do you make house calls to check on everyone you treat in the E.R.?” she asked, distracting me from my growing problem.
“Not all, but some,” I said, my body relaxing a bit. My work ethic is a much more comfortable topic. “It’s kind of obsessive, I know, but I worry about my patients—especially the ones who can’t or won’t make a follow-up appointment with their regular doctors like I tell them to. I just need to make sure they’re recovering for my own peace of mind.”
“Superhero complex,” she muttered, giving me a little grin.
“Are you a psychiatrist? Trying to psychoanalyze me, Miss Maddox?” I shot back.
“No, but close. I’m a bartender.”
My mind flashed back to the picture of her I found on social media. The tight little vest, the shot in her hand, and…shit. She was behind the bar, not in front of it. My brain had focused on her boobs overflowing that tiny vest—her uniform—and the shot glass in her hand and nothing else.
“So it runs in the family,” I said, nodding my head toward a framed picture of The Bullpen hanging on the opposite wall.
“I grew up in that bar,” she said as she stared at it, a wistful smile on her face. “Dad’s manager taught me how to mix drinks when I was a teenager, and I kind of loved it. I got a job bartending to pay my way through college, and that’s all she wrote.”
I cocked my head at her. “What was your major?”
The smile that broke across her face nearly paralyzed me with its brilliance. “Psychology.”
I barked out a laugh, and her smile grew even wider. My laughter ended with a grin, and the moment felt…epic. It felt like a beginning, an end, and returning home all mixed together in one happy, confusing bu
bble of time.
“Hey, sugar pie, who are you talking to out there?”
And with that, the bubble burst. I tensed up, and Jessa leapt from the couch like her dad just busted her teenaged-self making out with her boyfriend in the dark.
“It’s Dr. Walton, Dad. He just came by to check up on you.”
“Oh, yeah? Come on back, Doc.”
The invitation was punctuated by a coughing fit, and I climbed to my feet and hurried back to his room. Setting my bag at the foot of his bed, I helped Greg get situated and fluffed the pillows behind him before handing him a glass of water from the nightstand.
His gray hair was wet from his shower, and he was dressed in clean pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt. He was a strong, active, usually healthy person, so I knew being weakened by illness had to be driving him crazy.
“How have you been feeling, Greg?” I asked, pulling a temporal thermometer from my bag and running it across his forehead.
His temperature was normal, but the harsh coughing I’d heard concerned me. I pulled out my stethoscope to listen to his lungs.
“I’m doing good,” he said when I’d finished, nodding toward the door. “I’ve got the kindest, prettiest nurse taking care of me.”
I turned back to see Jessa hovering in the doorway, her look of concern melting away at his words. She rolled her eyes and then disappeared up the hallway.
“Don’t you agree, Doc?”
“What?” I asked, moving my focus from the empty doorway to my patient.
“I asked if you thought my nurse is pretty,” he said, giving me a knowing grin.
“Are you looking for my professional opinion on the matter?” I asked, arching a brow at him.
“Ha!” he shouted, then coughed a few times. “I knew it. She’s single, you know.”
“Dad!”
I whipped around to see Jessa back in the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot in those tiny little shorts, holding a fresh glass of ice water in one hand. She strode forward and set the glass down on his bedside table. Some of the liquid sloshed over the side, but she didn’t seem to notice as she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a pointed look.
“Oh, come on, Jessa. I was just kidding around.” He looked around her to meet my gaze. “You know I was kidding, don’t you, Doc?”
His eyes were pleading with me to agree, and for a moment I toyed with the idea of messing with him. But my so-called superhero complex pushed to the forefront, and I nodded. He was my patient. I was his doctor. I should have at least tried to keep our interactions professional.
“He was kidding,” I said, then turned back to Greg. “Have you been taking your antibiotics?”
“Yes, Doctor. Every day, twice a day.”
“All right, I should probably get going. Keep up with the meds and call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Greg said, shooting me a very conspicuous wink that Jessa totally saw, if her groan was any indication.
“Thanks, Dr. Walton. I’ll walk you out,” she said, and I turned just in time to see her shooting laser-hot daggers at her dad with her eyes.
When she saw me looking, her face relaxed, feigning complete and total normalcy. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to hear her laugh. I wanted to put my hands on her and never take them off.
I was in so much trouble.
8
Jessa
“Now, don’t look at me like that, sugar pie.”
“What did you think you were doing, Dad?”
I’d managed to get Rafe out the door without further embarrassment. Luckily for me, he didn’t feel the need to bring up Dad’s obvious matchmaking attempt. How humiliating.
“What? I was just letting a young, handsome, single doctor know that my young, beautiful daughter is single and ready to mingle. What’s wrong with that?”
“So. Many. Things. Dad. So many things.” I shook my head. “And please never tell anyone I’m ready to mingle, okay? I’m never ready to mingle.”
“Well, you should be, Jessa. I’m an old man. This brush with death—”
“Brush with death? That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?” I interrupted.
“My illness,” he emphasized, “has really brought home for me how short life is. You need to grab it by the horns before it gets away from you. I’d like to see you happy and settled before I leave this world.”
“Oh, jeez, Dad. Come on, you’re sixty-five, not ninety. And I am happy. And settled.”
I said the words primly, like I was highly offended that he’d suggest I needed a man to be happy or settled in my life. I didn’t. I was perfectly fine on my own.
There’s that word again. Fine.
“Maybe I want a grandkid or two to bounce on my knee. Did you ever think of that?”
“I’m twenty-five years old, Dad,” I deadpanned, staunchly ignoring the sliver of pain that streaked through my chest.
I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about marriage and kids. And I was only twenty-five. I had plenty of time.
But there was a teensy-weensy part of me that worried it might never happen. People left the ones that loved them. I knew, from experience, that nothing lasted forever. So, I never let anyone get too close. I never let myself get attached, and I sure as shit never allowed myself to fall in love.
I saw the pain in my father’s eyes when he told me about Mom and why she left us. I watched as the years passed, Dad never opening his heart to another woman. He always told me all he needed was me.
And a couple of grandkids, apparently.
“I know how old you are, Jessa,” he muttered, bringing me back to the present. “I just want you to get the most out of your life.”
“I will, Dad,” I promised, softening my tone when I heard the sadness in his.
“Have you thought any more about staying and taking over the bar for me?”
My muscles tensed at the question. I didn’t want to disappoint Dad, but I wasn’t ready to abandon the life I’d built in Atlanta. I had an apartment…
Shit, what else did I really have? I had no real friends there other than a few casual acquaintances, no family, and—thanks to my dramatic exit—no job. I didn’t really have a valid reason to say no, other than the loss of my independence. Coming back home to live with Dad and take a job in his business reeked of failure.
“I’m still thinking about it,” I hedged.
He gave me a single nod, accepting the answer for the time being. But I knew it wouldn’t be the last I’d hear of it. The old man had a way of wearing me down, countering my arguments until I had no choice but to buckle under the pressure.
“As long as you’re considering the pros as well as the cons, I’ll take that. For now,” he said, giving me a pointed look that told me I was right.
No way was he going to gracefully accept defeat.
“You’re back.”
Those brilliant words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them as I opened the door wide enough for Rafe to enter. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he was here last, and I was more than a little surprised to see him again so soon.
“Yeah,” he said, accepting my silent invitation to come in. “I know it seems like overkill, but I was in the area and thought I’d swing by to check on him. Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
I hoped I wasn’t coming across as ungrateful. The fact that he was taking such a keen interest in Dad’s health was amazing, but it did strike me as kind of odd that he was making so many house calls. Most doctors took the “call us if you have any problems” approach.
Rafael Walton was a completely different animal.
I led him into the living room, then paused, letting my eyes wander over him. He was wearing green hospital scrubs like he’d come straight from work, and holy crap, did he fill them out nicely. Wide shoulders and a hard chest narrowed to slim hips. The muscles in one golden brown arm flexed as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.
His black hair looked mussed, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. My own fingers itched to feel the glossy strands, and I shoved them in my pockets to stifle the urge.
“Is he…awake?”
Heat rushed to my face at his stilted words. I had no idea how long I’d been standing here staring at him like some kind of freak, but it had definitely been too long.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I stuttered, spinning around to lead the way to Dad’s room.
I tapped lightly on the door and, at his call to enter, swung the panel open. Dad was sitting upright, reading his newspaper.
“Hey, Dad. Dr. Walton is here,” I said, stepping inside.
“Again?” Dad barked, and I turned to look at Rafe just in time to see some color riding his cheeks.
“I know I was just here yesterday, but I was nearby and thought it wouldn’t hurt to stop by.”
“No, no. Of course, not,” Dad said, waving him forward.
Dad’s eyes met mine with a mischievous twinkle. I narrowed my gaze, giving him a small shake of my head.
“Don’t,” I mouthed, but he just grinned and focused on Rafe.
“Thanks so much for coming by the check on me,” Dad said, stressing the word like he knew without a doubt his health was not what brought Rafe by.
Rafe set his bag down and rifled through it, coming out with a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff. If he heard the sarcasm in Dad’s tone, he’d decided to ignore it. Thank God.
“Take a deep breath,” Rafe said as he pressed the chest-piece of the stethoscope against Dad’s chest. “Good. One more.”
He repeated the instructions a few more times, moving the diaphragm of the chest-piece from Dad’s chest to his back as he listened intently. Pulling the ear-tips from his ears, Rafe nodded.
“Better than last time,” he said before picking up the blood pressure cuff and slipping it onto Dad’s arm.
“I’ve been trying to convince Jessa to stay and take over the running of the bar for me,” Dad said as Rafe pumped up the cuff. “Just until I’m fully recovered.”