“They’re expensive, and ain’t nobody needs to see all of my insides,” Kit grumbled. “It’s invasive and unnecessary.”
Meanwhile, Trip was sawing his jaw back and forth as he tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. After a beat, he softly answered, “I just haven’t had any good experiences with MRIs.”
Sam wrapped his lanky arms around his husband’s waist. “Baby, I know. But it’s important, and I know your mom would hate it if she were the reason you weren’t taking care of yourself.”
Damn, that’s right. His mom died of cancer. Bet he’d taken her to a few scans.
Before I could reassure him, Kit stepped in. “I hear what you’re saying, man,” he said to Trip, then looked over at me. “But I’ve been paying attention, and according to Skylar, a joint like that only gets worse with time. It’s not typically the kind of thing that resolves itself. He’s pointed out all the old cowboys walking around funny, and I know it’s because they didn’t want to go to the doctor. I sense Sam is not about to allow you to become one of those men. So, while Sky’s here, you might as well let him see what he can do to help you feel better now. Hell, I know MRIs are tough for you, but he might convince you that the imaging is important.”
Trip raised his brow at Kit and gestured at his knee. “You get that thing looked at yet?”
“No, but I’m older and way more stubborn.”
Sam snorted while I struggled to keep my face neutral. I wasn’t about to remind Kit of his appointment, nor was I going to let him know how much Sadie and I were colluding to make it happen.
Sam smiled up at his grumpy husband. “You know he’s right.”
“Even if he is a hypocrite?”
I crossed my arms and gave Kit my besttold you solook, and he once again had the grace to avoid eye contact.
“Fine,” Trip said to Sam, then turned to me. “My mother did raise me to be more welcoming. I just . . .” He crumpled his baseball hat between his large hands. “I apologize.”
I waved off his concern. “You’re not even the orneriest cowboy I’ve dealt with today,” I said, surreptitiously thumbing a gesture at Kit and his knee brace.
Trip laughed, and Kit’s mouth fell open. I reached out and touched his chin. “Don’t want you to go catchin’ flies now, cowboy.”
Sam caught my eye. I lifted a shoulder.
I don’t know what to tell you about this one.
By the time we went back inside, all the hands had taken off to get the day started. We sat at the kitchen table and talked through Trip’s symptoms, and I spent a little quality time on the joint while Sam and Kit hung back and talked about their kids.
Sam and Trip suspected their little boy, Jayden—who they’d adopted a couple of years ago—was on the autism spectrum, though it was tough to tell because of his past trauma. His symptoms definitely differed from Reed’s, but Kit was kind and explained how that sort of thing was tested to avoid a misdiagnosis. He gave Sam the name of Reed’s therapist and assured him that, even though their son’s case seemed milder than Reed’s, it was good to know where they stood so he can get help sooner, and so he could understand himself better.
Right as I was explaining to Trip that he had a frozen shoulder and would benefit from a corticosteroid injection—as opposed to the shoulder transplant he’d been envisioning—a familiar man walked into the house.
Why do I know who he is?
“Luke McCall?” Kit asked, hopping up.
Well, as much as one can hop up in a brace.
“Holy hell, Kit Baker. What’re you doin’ here?” the Luke guy asked, quickly closing the distance. I couldn’t remember why I knew the name, but then I recognized that wiry build. This had to be one of Kit’s old rodeo buddies.
Realization struck, and I turned to Trip. “That’s the Rodeo King.”
“One and the same. Though you’ll embarrass him if he hears you call him that.”
Trip, it turned out, was not nearly as grumpy as he’d initially seemed. As soon as I mentioned that we could probably square him away with a simple injection, I was suddenly his favorite person.
“So . . . we can get this done now?”
“Yep. Though you really shouldn’t use the shoulder for at least twenty-four hours. No heavy lifting, maybe avoid getting on a horse for a day or two.”
Trip started to protest, but Sam clapped his hand over his beloved’s mouth. “Sounds great, Skylar. I’ll make sure the guys know not to let him lift anything, and we’ve got a Mule he can use to get around.”
Sam removed his hand, and Trip thinned his lips, but sent me a begrudging nod.
