The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Hmm, that would mean it’s a stranger. Maybe the guest we’re waiting on today. Lord, that would be dreadful. And after everything that’s come to Dallas the last few years, strangers and trouble have a sad habit of mixing too well.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Gram,” I say. “Maybe it’s nothing. Just a fender bender on the highway or something. No need to think it’s a shootout or mafia guys coming to raid Main Street.”

“Well, I think I’ll call the sheriff and find out.”

“Gram, you can’t just call Drake on a whim. That’s private business and if it’s serious, he’s probably busy.”

“Fair enough, I’ll wait. But it’s also public business,” she says, walking behind the desk to use the landline. “I can’t just sit here hearing sirens whipping right by...”

“I’m not sure sirens qualify as public business,” I say flatly.

But the sound of a vehicle pulling in has me hurrying to the door. I’m relieved to see my brother’s truck.

“Marty’s here! Maybe he knows something.”

My small relief dries up the instant he jogs to the house, throwing the door wide open.

He’s panicked. Casting me a severe look, he goes straight to Gram and tells her to sit down.

“Why, Marty? What’s going on?” she asks, sinking reluctantly into the chair.

Knowing it has something to do with the sirens, and that the news isn’t good, I step around the desk to stand next to Gram, ready to lay my hands on her shoulders.

“Gram.” Marty kneels down beside her chair, flashing me a worried look. “Weston just called. He found Faye on the floor at her house, basically unconscious.”

No! I was just there.

My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp.

“The ambulance?” Gram asks sharply. “Oh, no. No, no, no...”

Marty nods sadly. “They’re taking her to the hospital in Dickinson right now.”

“Was it her heart?” Gram asks, wincing and throwing her hands up. “The poor thing!”

Poor thing is right. She only left here early thanks to my rude mouth.

Guilt hits like an uppercut.

Sure, she’d accepted my apology only hours ago and insisted she went home because she had a lot to catch up on like that fancy new system Weston and Faulkner rigged up, but still...it’s partly my fault and totally shameful.

“No one knows for sure right now,” Marty says. “West didn’t stay on the line long. He just said she was bleeding. Like she might have fallen and banged her head or something. No one’s sure, though. Drake’s at her place now, scoping things out.”

Gram stands with a sigh.

“I have to see her. And someone needs to tell the McKnights the head trauma unit can be hit or miss—Dean Coffey wound up there last summer after that camel chucked him off its back.”

I try not to smile because this is no laughing matter, even if years of Dean’s half-baked antics around town are legendary.

“I’ll take you tomorrow, after we know more,” Marty says. “It’s too late for visiting hours tonight.”

“Rubbish! I want to be there tonight, even if I have to spend ten hours lounging in the waiting room. She’s my best friend and she worked her tail off for us, young man. We return favors in this family.”

“I know she did, Gram,” I say. “And Marty will take you to see her tomorrow.”

“Nice try. Do I have to break out your grandfather’s old Corvette and drive there myself?”

Marty and I look at each other in horror.