The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

I shouldn’t have to face him and his prick of a mouth again.

But I know I must because I also know Weston won’t leave until we’ve settled this stupidity.

Snorting, Hercules waddles across the porch to the ramp when he sees his caretaker coming with what looks like a large leather dog leash clenched in one hand.

I draw in a fortifying breath before telling Carson, “Pardon me. That’s the pig’s owner. I need to have a word...”

Carson squeezes my shoulders one more time and whispers, “He’s a mean-looking guy. You need backup?”

Backup? From him?

I hold in a snort. He’s an odd bird for sure, even if he is cute, getting all defensive.

Or maybe I’m just dreading another run-in with West.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” I say.

“All right. Good luck, lady.”

He releases my arms and I draw in another deep breath before turning.

Weston waits near the bottom of the ramp, eyeballing Hercules, who slowly makes his way down with this scolded dog look that almost makes me laugh.

I take the stairs and arrive near Weston before the pig finishes moving down the ramp.

“You really need to learn how to keep him in one place,” I say, but Weston isn’t moving.

He folds his arms, staring straight ahead like he doesn’t even notice me.

I follow his glare and—oh, God.

It’s fixed on Carson, who’s slowly making his way to his car, this expensive-looking charcoal-black vehicle parked near the front.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” West says coldly.

“Sure did. He’s a paying guest here. A guest your delightful pig could have injured,” I say, my inner bitch creeping into my voice.

“A guest that you invited here,” he throws back, turning an angry look on me.

“Huh? It’s a bed and breakfast, Weston. Lending folks a room is kinda what we do. This guy had his plans in place with Gram well before I ever arrived.”

“Sure.” He drags his ice-blue eyes off me.

Like I’m the one who’s in the wrong here.

He can’t be flipping serious.

I press my teeth together, fighting to hold in my temper. I don’t need to embarrass myself again like at the rally, and he’s got no earthly right to be acting...I don’t even know.

Jealous? Is that what’s causing this temper tantrum?

Dear Lord.

It’s obvious that he saw the way Carson was holding me, rubbing my arms and shoulders, and he’s reading far more into it.

Let him.

I stopped caring what Weston McKnight thought years ago, ever since he cut himself out of my life and left without a single solitary goodbye.