12. Ellie
ELLIE
Me: I’m on my way over! Boone told me what happened. Are you okay?!
Logan: I’m fine, just twisted my ankle. Nothing a little ice and relaxation won’t fix.
Me: Well, make sure your door is unlocked because my hands are going to be full
Logan: I’m not going to deny you coming over but really, I’m fine and I’ll be back ranching tomorrow, pinky promise
Ikicked at the front door of Logan’s house, announcing my arrival the only way I could, since my hands were full of everything I thought he might need and he never unlocked his front door.
Ice packs. Ace bandages. A leftover splint I’d had tucked in my closet at home since Boone sprained his ankle a few years ago. And dangling from my arm was a bag filled with Logan’s favorite snacks and drinks. If I was going to play nurse, I might as well do it right.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, each passing second making the load feel heavier.
Finally, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Logan stood there, leaning on one side, his other foot barely grazing the ground. I glanced down to find his ankle swollen, angry, and red.
“We need to get you off that,” I said, pushing past him without waiting for permission.
The door clicked shut behind me as he let out a dry laugh. “Hi to you too, Ace.”
I dropped everything beside the couch just as he limped behind me, making his way over like a wounded cowboy too stubborn for his own good. From one of the bags, I pulled out a little bouquet of flowers with a “Get Well Soon” balloon tucked in the wrapping. I turned and held it out with both hands.
“For me?” he asked, mock-gasping as he took it with exaggerated grace.
“Men deserve flowers too,” I said, smirking as I planted one hand on my hip.
“I appreciate all the effort, but I’m totally fine,” he said with a laugh.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take care of you tonight. Someone’s got to make sure you stay off that ankle and actually let it heal.”
“Well then.” He grinned. “I guess there’s no denying your pampering.”
“Sit,” I ordered, pointing to the couch.
Logan and his new flowers hobbled over and eased down. I dragged the coffee table closer, set a pillow down on top, and gently lifted his leg, adjusting it until his ankle was propped up just right.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t complain.
That was Logan.
Tough as nails, calm as ever, and yet somehow still the softest place I’d ever landed.
He wouldn’t admit it, but I knew even a twisted ankle would slow him down more than he wanted, even if only a little. And whether he needed me or not, I was here because I wanted to be.
That was the thing about us, we were stuck together.
Over and over, we’d shown up for each other, and more times than I could count, he’d carried me through when I couldn’t find my way.
Logan didn’t talk much about what bothered him—he held it all in, buried it deep.
Meanwhile, I wore my heart on my sleeve and often found myself neck-deep in situations I had no business being in.
So, as trivial as it was, I’d be here to change his ice packs and keep him company on his semi-bum ankle.
“Did you eat?” I asked, standing over him as he leaned his head back against the couch. His eyes drifted lazily over me, and mine did the same to him—arms crossed, head tilted.
Shirtless.
He wore that lazy grin, the one that often made my stomach do somersaults.
His blond hair was a mess of soft curls, tousled like he’d come home, ditched the day, and immediately thrown on pajamas.
“Did you even shower?” I asked next, eyeing the faint smudges of dirt still on his jawline and neck.
“No and no,” Logan admitted, unapologetic. “I came home, changed, and collapsed here. Haven’t had the energy to stand in the shower.”
I wrinkled my nose and took a dramatic sniff of the air. “Ew.”
He laughed, rolling his eyes. “You’re a brat.”
“And you smell.” I smirked. “But seriously, you need to shower. It’ll help the ankle. The cold helped bring the swelling down and now we need some heat.”
Years of being Boone’s sister and my dad’s daughter had taught me a thing or two about patching up stubborn men who refused to rest.
I held out my hands to help him up, but Logan didn’t move. He stayed sprawled on the couch, head tilted back, eyes on me.
Warmth spread through me, my heart even kicked up a few notches, which was new given where I was.
His pajama pants hung low on his hips, and the thin trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband made my throat go dry.
I looked away and cleared my throat.
“El, I really just want to rest.”
“If you want me to stay, you need to shower. I’m not sitting here next to you while you smell like that,” I said, fanning my nose like I was wafting away his stench.
With an exaggerated groan, Logan grabbed my hands and pulled himself up like it required too much effort. “You are very persuasive.”
As we walked toward the bathroom, I slowed our pace, watching him limp gently on the injured ankle.
“I’m always right too,” I said with a wink, flicking on the bathroom light. “Sit. I’ll get the shower running.”
Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, bad ankle loosely resting over the other as he watched me reach in to test the water.
“I can do this myself, you know.”
I shot him a look over my shoulder. “Will you quit it and just let me help?”
Accepting help wasn’t exactly Logan’s strength. He’d always been his own protector. Forced to grow up fast, to rely on himself. That kind of survival made asking for help feel like weakness.
But it wasn’t. Sometimes we all need a helping hand.
“Fine, fine.” He sighed. “Thank you for coming to help me.”
I nodded, hand still under the stream as I waited for the temperature to even out. “It’s not black-and-blue, so it doesn’t look broken.”
“Nah. Just twisted it when my foot got caught in the stirrup.”
“Noob,” I muttered under my breath, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
“Louise jolted back the same second I tried to dismount. Not my fault—Ryder spooked her.”
The temperature finally hit that perfect sweet spot, and I pulled my hand back from the water, flicking the excess droplets from my fingers.
“You’d better be careful,” I said, my voice softer now, tinged with a note of worry. “I’d hate to see something worse than a twisted ankle happen to you.”
It only takes one misstep on a ranch—one wrong move near a piece of heavy equipment, one startled animal—and everything can change in an instant.
Logan straightened from where he leaned against the counter and took a slow step toward me, the faintest limp in his stride.
“No need to worry, Ace,” he said, voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That one sentence bloomed warmth across my chest. Security. Steadiness. He meant it, and I knew it. Logan had always been the one constant in my life, the one who never wavered.
I gave a quiet nod, acknowledging the weight of that truth between us.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” I said gently, brushing my fingers against his bare chest in a light tap before turning toward the door. The soft click behind me, followed by the rhythm of running water echoed down the hall.
While he showered, I figured I’d pull together something for him to eat.
As I rummaged through the plastic bag, I spotted something tucked in the bottom—a small baggie of lavender and eucalyptus shower melts.
I’d tossed them in last minute, not because I expected him to shower while I was here, but because I thought they might help him relax the way they always helped me.
Smiling to myself, I grabbed the baggie and jogged back toward the bathroom before he got too deep into the shower to use them.
“Logan?” I called, giving the door a quick knock before easing it open.
Steam spilled into the hallway, fogging the mirror and filling the space with heat. Logan peeked his head out from behind the curtain, blond hair slicked and dripping, his eyes hidden behind strands he quickly shook from his face.
He held the curtain low over his hips, chest bare and glistening, skin damp and flushed from the hot water.
“Use these,” I said, handing over the baggie quickly, my voice only slightly higher than usual. “Drop one on the floor, maximum relaxation, guaranteed.”
Logan grinned as he accepted the bag, the curtain dipping even lower.
A flicker of warmth rushed through me. Must have been the steam from the shower.
I shook my head and took a deep breath.
“You came prepared,” he teased, laughter in his voice.
“I told you my hands were going to be full,” I replied, backing out of the bathroom like I was escaping a landmine.
I needed to collect myself, collect my thoughts, before I started reading too much into things. Tonight felt like a test, and I didn’t need another one. Life had been full of them lately.
In the kitchen, I busied myself with preparing dinner. Mac and cheese, his favorite. I plated everything, set out drinks and snacks on the coffee table, and queued up our favorite movie. The lights were dimmed, and the illumination from the TV was the only thing lighting the space.
I was mid-scroll on my phone when the sound of feet on the hardwood caught my attention. Logan rounded the corner, his hair still damp and curling slightly at the edges, a new pair of pajama pants riding low on his hips.
“So?” I asked, locking my phone and turning to face him. “Feel better?”
“Actually…” He eased down onto the couch beside me, the limp in his step less noticeable now. “I do.”
I smiled, resting my cheek in my hand, elbow on the back of the couch. “See?” I pointed to myself and mouthed, always right.
Logan laughed, reaching out to tap my knee. “Never denied that, Ace.”
“I made you dinner,” I said, rising to grab the bowls and returning with two warm servings of mac and cheese.
We ate side by side, our conversation easy, laced with familiar silences and the comfort of each other’s presence. As the movie played, I kept sneaking glances to make sure his ankle stayed elevated.
But my eyes lingered far longer than needed to check only his ankle.
I was used to the stillness with Logan, the comfort his presence brought, and yet something about tonight felt different, more charged in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.