Page 60 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

Since he started helping me.

Dalton doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to know that’s what he means. He’s been overworking himself to make sure that my mistakes are fixed. That old friend guilt grinds down on my heart as much as my worry for the man in front of me does.

I reach across him to open the medicine cabinet above the sink. “Did Doc prescribe you anything? Muscle relaxers, pain meds?”

He reaches out and grasps my wrist, tightening his fingers around it gently. In control even when he’s in this state. “I don’t take drugs.”

The way he says it, I can hear the disdain in his voice.

“They’re notdrugs, Dalton. It’smedicationfor amedicalproblem you clearly have.”

He releases my arm and shakes his head, trying to hide a wince. “I haven’t taken that stuff in a very long time, and I don’t intend to, no matter how much Pops or Doc may try to push it on me.”

Which means that this battle’s been going on for a long time, far longer than he’s let me know.

It explains Pops’ reaction and warning downstairs, too.

And if Dalton won’t take anything to help ease his pain, then I’m going to have to try a different tactic.

I glance over at the large cast-iron tub in the corner, then push away from him and move over to it, cranking on the water as hot as it’ll go.

He follows my movements across the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Filling the bath for you…”

“Do I look like I take a lot of fucking baths?”

The tension in his voice and the way his legs continue to shake worry me enough that I walk over and wrap my arm around his waist to steady him in case his grip on the counter fails.

“No, and that’s part of the problem. If you’re not going to take any sort of medication to relieve what’s happening to you, then we need to calm those muscles down another way. A long, hot soak in that bathtub is going to help.”

He looks ready to argue with me.

I hold up my free hand, silencing him before he can even open his mouth. “Don’t even think about it. I might not be a doctor, but I worked in the emergency room for a long time, Dalton. Do you want to feel better or not?”

Our argument, or whatever the hell that was last month that created so much heated tension between us, rushes back, and I can see his eyes darken as he remembers it, too.

He might try to shut me out again, just like he did that night.

But his shoulders slump, as if he’s conceding defeat, and he reluctantly nods.

“Good. Let’s get you in.”

He mutters something under his breath I don’t quite catch, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, and I release my hold on him long enough to let him tug it up and off, exposing his muscled chest, abs, and back. “I don’t know if I can…”

His gaze drifts down to his boots and jeans like they’re Mount Everest and he has absolutely no hope of climbing it.

“I got it.”

This certainly isn’t the way I imagined stripping Dalton out of his clothes, and I’d be lying if I said Ihaven’tdone just that. Especially after the way he touched me in that hallway and the words he said that still linger the same way the rough brush of his fingertips does.

I nudge him until he turns and rests his ass against the counter, then I unzip his jeans and slide them down to the top of his boots. His hands slip under my arms, and I look up at him as he helps me lower myself to my knees to untie his boots because there isn’t any way I can bend that low.

Even in so much physical and mental distress, Dalton is still looking out for me, ensuring I’m okay when I should be the one taking care of him.

He lifts one foot, then the other, and I tug off the muddy boots and his socks, tossing them across the bathroom toward the open door.

Leaving him in nothing but his boxers—directly in front of my face.

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