Instant Gratification by Jill Shalvis

real dad, for that matter.
    “You were sweet to me,” Serena said through her teeth as Emma worked. “One of the few. Which is why I’m not going to yell and scream but holy shit—”
    “Done.” Emma wrapped up the toe, gave Serena her instructions for care, and then was pleased to accept actual money.
    And the brownies.
    Yeah, she might have once been a sweet kid, but she’d changed. She’d changed greatly. Sweet didn’t get the good jobs and sweet didn’t always help her patients. And sweet would not help her father’s practice.
    That’s why she was here, to help him. To run his business. She’d have liked to do more but he’d made it fairly clear that this was enough.
    Fine.
    She could understand and appreciate that. Sure they were blood related, but that was about it. Besides, she had a life, a great life.
    A busy life that didn’t include screwball romantic comedies and a different casserole every single night.
    Her life.
    Which she couldn’t get back to until he was better. Dammit. At five o’clock she peered out the window, relieved that the rain had stopped and closed the Urgent Care. Spencer had come back with the truck and was happily cooking away in the kitchen. She went to the freezer and grabbed a stack of casseroles, the healthy ones she’d been saving over the past two days.
    She got into the truck, eyed the sky, and gave herself a pep talk as she began driving. She knew in winter that these ten miles would be impassable without a snowmobile, and it boggled her mind, but her father actually liked it that way. Her great grandfather had built the cabin with his own two hands, her mother had told her so. It was how her father had talked her into living in it.
    For a week, darling. For one week .
    Right. At the one week mark, her mother had found a lone wolf spider in her bed the size of a man’s fist, and she’d packed up and moved them into the upstairs of the Urgent Care. That had lasted until Emma had turned six.
    Then Sandy had moved them to New York.
    Emma was getting a little taste of how it’d gone down as she attempted to navigate the road, muddy from all the rains. She had to stop twice, once to let a group of deer finish crossing in front of her, and another to gather her courage to drive through a low running creek that was of questionable height.
    She made it, barely. With a sigh of relief she finally pulled up to the cabin thirty minutes later.
    And sat there in disbelief.
    Just to the side of the cabin was a three-story tall rock that had been shoved here courtesy of the last ice age. Free-climbing the face was a group of teenagers, and her father. Not taking it easy. Not resting.
    Climbing .
    At his side, doing the leading was one soon-to-be-very-dead Stone Wilder.

Chapter 9
    W ith that inexplicable and annoying awareness tickling up her spine, Emma got out of the truck and strode to the rock. Up close, it wasn’t as tall as she’d first thought, maybe only twenty feet, and the kids were only about halfway, which meant that their feet were just about head level. Her father was slightly below the kids, Stone above them.
    “Are you kidding me?” she asked, eyeing the kids on the rock and thinking of cracked skulls and broken bones, all of which would be utterly needless injuries. “Where are the safety ropes?”
    Stone twisted around to look down at her, his jeans going taut across his butt.
    It was quite the impressive butt.
    In fact, everything about him was impressive. Arms and legs stretched out, muscles tight and strained, he was spread-eagle, holding onto what appeared to be nothing more than tiny crevices in the rock.
    “We use ropes on the higher climbs,” he said.
    “It doesn’t look safe.” Not the rock, and certainly not you.
    Her father began to work his way down toward her while Stone stayed with the kids. Stone’s faded gray t-shirt was snugacross his broad shoulders, loose around his waist, gaping out enough to reveal a tanned, sleek back. He was no