Page 40 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“I’m a terrible patient,” she said glumly.

“You are,” Grayson agreed, which made Clint snort. “But you’re not the worst. Just rest, particularly this foot for two days, then you should be okay. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

His smile turned flirtatious again, and he patted Brooke’s thigh and pried his big frame off the couch. “I’ll check on you tomorrow and bring you some crutches. But it seems Clint is taking good care of you.”

“Oh, I don’t need crutches,” Brooke protested. “Really.”

“And I’m fine carrying her. I also have a fully-stocked first-aid kit, seeing as there are several accident-prone children in my life.”

Grayson snorted. “Ah, yeah, I remember those days with Celine. Went through a lot of Band-Aids the summer we took off the training wheels.”

“Don’t you have patients in the morning? Annabel Stone must be due any day now?” Clint asked, shifting his gaze back and forth a few times between Grayson and the front door.

Grayson’s smile was carefree and accompanied by a deep, rumbling chuckle. “Yeah, I do.” He headed for the door.

“You have a daughter?” Brooke asked, causing the doctor to pause with his hand on the doorknob.

Grayson grinned and nodded. “Yeah, Celine. She’s seventeen. She lives in Seattle with her mother, but she comes over to visit often.” He opened the door. “You two have a good night, and I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

Clint followed his friend onto the porch and closed the door behind him. As much as he liked the doctor, and Grayson was a friend, Clint was glad to see him go. The way Grayson kept looking at Brooke caused unsettling and acidic feelings to swirl in Clint’s gut. Jealousy was not a feeling Clint was overly familiar with. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt jealous about anything. But he couldn’t put a label on the emotion other than jealousy. He was jealous of Grayson and how he was hitting on Brooke.

He had a good life. And a great kid. In his opinion, nobody’s grass was greener. Or at the very least, he wasn’t hanging his head over the fence to check and compare lawn shades. He had enough on his plate. He was just trying to keep his own grass alive.

“Thanks again,” Clint said.

Grayson’s smile was knowing, like he knew exactly what Clint was thinking, and how badly Clint wanted Grayson to leave. “Careful, bud.”

Clint’s gaze narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Grayson’s chuckle was deep and raspy. “I see the way you’re looking at her. But you’re from different worlds. Like Eric and Ariel.”

“And they ended up together,” Clint blurted out, surprised at the defensiveness of his tone. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“After she sold her voice to the sea witch, and both of them nearly died. If she’s up for it, have your fun, but her world is glitz and glamour. Jet-setting, parties and red carpets. Your life is ...” He glanced around the property, bathed in the dusk light that filtered in through the trees, “your life is here and it’s great. But didn’t Jacqueline want something different, too?”

Clint cleared his throat. “Thanks for checking in on her. I’ll go make her feet a salt bath now.”

Grayson understood Clint was shutting down the conversation, and simply nodded. “You deserve a woman who wants what you want, my friend. We all do.” Then with that, he turned and headed back down the hill toward the parking lot.

Clint shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and watched his friend navigate the gravel hill for a moment, contemplating everything Grayson had just said. Then, when the buzzing sound of a mosquito came right next to his ear, he waved his hands around to swat it away before heading into the house.

Brooke still sat on the couch, the tablet in her hands, and the same frustrated scowl as before scrunched her delicate features. “What’s got you making that face?” he asked.

She sighed and shook her head quickly. “Just reading more articles about my death.”

He snorted. “Bet that’s not something you ever thought you’d say.”

“Nope, sure isn’t.”

He went to the closet under the stairs and pulled out a big, empty tote. Then he moved the coffee table out of the way and put the tote next to the couch. “Feet,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” She grinned as she unfolded her legs from their curled-up position, removed the bandages, and placed her feet into the big plastic storage bin.

He went to the kitchen and ran the faucet to warm, then filled up a few pitchers, bringing them over one-by-one and pouring them onto her feet. “Not too hot?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Just right.”

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