Chapter Twelve Wade

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wade

"I ' ll leave early, but I'll be back every day by noon to make sure you get lunch and then again by dinner. I'll let everyone know in the morning that you'll be away for the rest of the week. I'll handle everything you were supposed to do for the next few days. This is your space, I'm just down the hall but you shouldn't hear me on this side of the cabin," I say as I follow Ivy to the other side of the living area.

She's using the crutches we grabbed from the big house and they do fit her perfectly. The second bedroom and bathroom at the end of the short hallway are neutral, spacious and useless to me. In years past, other bosses have had kids that needed the space. For me, it was a space my mother could go to town on, testing out her hand at making it look like it belonged on some decorating show she watches.

"This is so pretty," Ivy says, sounding surprised and taking a glance out the window. "I'll do all the things this brochure says," she adds, holding up the pamphlet the doctor gave her. "I'll be out of your hair in no time, and I will be ready for next weekend. Even if I'm still on crutches." She smiles at me, a rueful smile.

"I'll show you the bathroom," I say, averting my eyes from hers like an awkward motherfucker. It's fairly large for a second bathroom, redone by Cole like the rest of the cabins a couple of years ago. The shower is spacious and has a comfortable shower bench built right in and a removable sprayer for her to use. The glass door will allow easy access. It really is the best place she can be this week.

Ivy's temporary room is all soft blues and creams in the bedding and curtains, with a wrought iron bed frame surrounding a comfortable bed. There's a tiny antique desk in front of the window looking out to Sugarland Mountain in the distance and our pastures, as well as a small dresser and matching antique ivory mirror, and a wingback chair complete with throw cushions and a fuzzy blanket strewn over the arm.

"This is perfect." She breathes out a sigh of what I can only guess is relief, then sits down in the chair in her room.

"If you need anything, just let me know—as much as possible, especially for the first day or two."

She places a hand on my forearm. "Thank you, Wade, I mean it. Thank you."

I nod and pull my arm away, looking to the living room like a nervous teenage fool.

"Let's get your things from your cabin in the morning. Right now, you need some pain meds and some sleep." It's after midnight, she must be wrecked, and I'm wrecked after being awake for almost twenty hours.

"Stay put, I'll be right back," I say to her.

She looks up at me with tired eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, but if you leave me here too long I might fall asleep right in this chair." She yawns as she finishes her sentence.

I make quick work of grabbing a few necessities. Some ibuprofen, a cold bottle of water, one of my t-shirts, a pair of my sweatpants that will be way too big for her but they'll be warm in my chilly old cabin, my brush, and a hairdryer I don't even think I've ever even plugged in let alone turned on.

When I return, she's sniffing quietly, looking out the window and crying, which is the last thing I am ever prepared to deal with. I hate when women cry.

"I just … haven't had anyone offer to take care of me for a long time … I don't know what else to say, it just hit me that you didn't hesitate," she says, keeping her gaze fixed out the window.

How long has it been since someone cared for her? Fucking hell.

"Well, around here we take care of each other."

She smiles through her tears as I bend down to look into her eyes. "You may be a slight pain in the ass right now, and way sappier than usual, but no burden on account of the ankle," I say, offering her the bandana from my back pocket to dry her tears, which she takes eagerly and nods.

She blows out a raspberry. "Nothing like a mushy sweet pep talk from Wade Ashby to make a girl feel better," she says.

At least her sass hasn't left her with her injury.

"Alright, the sappiness is over. Just get me to bed," she adds.

I say nothing else, ignoring that statement fully. I just wait awkwardly, turning on a lamp and closing her blinds as she dries her tears and pulls a brush through hair that's so thick it's still a bit damp as she pulls it from her scrunchie, then I help her into the bathroom so she can blow-dry it and get ready for bed.

Ivy leans on one crutch while drying as I grab her a washcloth and fresh toothbrush. She attempts to stand freely to do the back of her long hair then winces, settling back down on the crutch, muttering a few cuss words on the way as she can't get into the right position.

"It's fine, the rest will just dry while I sleep." She smiles at me.

I grunt, done watching her struggle, and then move toward her.

"Let me," I offer. "I have no idea what I'm doing but how hard can it be?" I shrug.

Ivy looks at me stunned for just a moment and then hands me the brush, an unsure look on her face. "Have at it, boss." She smirks.

It feels like a challenge. She swivels her body around and I flick the blow dryer on. I pull the brush through her silky strands while fanning the dryer back and forth until her hair resembles a sugar-scented sheet that hangs down her back. Even the tanned tone of my hands is stark in comparison to her hair's raven hues, and the urge I have to run my fingers through it and bring it to my face once it's fully dry almost completely consumes me.

Once I put the dryer and brush away, Ivy fluffs her hair around her shoulders and smiles up at me. Oblivious to how she looks.

Downright fucking stunning.

"Bet you've never done that before." She giggles.

"Fuck no, but I'm pretty fucking good at it if I do say so myself," I say back.

"It's impressive, my hair isn't even frizzy," she says, running a hand over it.

I clear my throat and throw out a practical excuse.

"Can't go to bed with wet hair, you'll catch a chill," I offer.

She nods. I say nothing more, handing her the clothes, and passing her the toiletries I fetched for her earlier.

"I'll give you some privacy and I'll get your pillows set up. I'll stay out here just in case you need anything I might have forgotten," I tell her.

I set her bed up the way the diagram in the pamphlet shows, stacking a pillow between the sheets for her foot, to keep it elevated, and then I wait. I hear the water running for a few minutes and then it's just silence. Ten minutes goes by where I internally argue with myself about knocking. My conscience wins and I'm just about to knock when I hear the door open,

I help her with it immediately. It's when I pull it fully open, when I actually see her—in my sweatpants, the bottoms rolled up on her small frame, swimming in my t-shirt which looks way too good on her—that my breath involuntarily catches in my throat.

"The sweatpants are so big I couldn't balance without the crutches long enough to pull them up and pull the drawstrings tight and tie them, they kept falling down," she says and then shrugs. "It took me a few tries."

I act as non-affected as possible by the idea of her pants, my pants, coming down around her ankles. Making my way over to her, I begin to help her move to the bed. It's when we're right beside it that she snags one of her crutches on the area rug and threatens to fall right over.

I catch her, with perfect timing but not before we tumble fully onto the bed. Ivy gasps as I cage her in below me so she isn't jostled. This one second feels like a hundred with my arms around her, looking down at her below me, so vulnerable, so soft. Her lips pop open as she stares up at me. It's this precise moment that my cock takes notice she's pressed beneath me.

I clear my throat and separate from her before she can feel it, pulling her up to sit.

"Told you, accident-prone." She smiles in apology.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding. Did that hurt you?"

"No, just feeling highly and completely awkward, other than that I'm good." She grins as the words come out honestly. "I just need some more practice with the crutches."

"You'll get used to them, but maybe don't move around much when I'm not here, don't need you taking out the other ankle," I say. It comes out sounding more annoyed than anything, but fuck, in my defense I'm trying to will my cock to stand down and right now that's not an easy task with her sitting there looking like a goddamn snack in my clothes.

Five minutes later, she's actually in the bed, ankle elevated, and covered.

I nod once. "You good?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"Yes, very. This bed feels dreamy." She smiles. I don't tell her it's the same bed she has in her own cabin, I just shut her lamp off. She yawns, her mouth forming a perfect little O.

"You missed your calling, should've been a personal support worker," she says quietly. "Quick on the draw … good reflexes …" she says like she's counting off my qualities on her fingers.

I nod, trying to forget what it felt like to hover over her.

"Call if you need me," I say simply as I pull the door closed behind me.

"Night, Chief."

I make my way to the kitchen, and pour myself a stiff bourbon. I take a moment to breathe after all that. The last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was that Ivy would be sleeping down the hall from me tonight. I bring my drink to my lips, and as I do, I realize somewhere in the midst of all that brushing and hair drying, I ended up with another one of Ivy's scrunchies on my wrist. I shake my head and toss it in the basket, adding it to my growing collection.

Then, I get right to work.