The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Oh, she’ll be just fine. Her injury’s bark was worse than its bite. They’re keeping her overnight, just for observation and due diligence. They said you can leave whenever you’re ready, but I said we aren’t going anywhere. Not until we hear about Weston.”

“No, we aren’t,” I agree. “Thank you, Gram.”

“Save your gratitude for the man of the hour. He was always the first one to jump in to save you, and I see some things never change,” she says with a slow, far-off smile.

I wish she was wrong.

This time, he could’ve died. His near-sacrifice brings stinging tears to my eyes.

“There, there, now. That boy’s too stubborn to let a little scrap of metal shorten his days. Almost as bullheaded as you are sometimes, Shelly Bean.”

I nod, but deep down, I’m terrified that’s not true.

What if something goes wrong in surgery?

Weston is my protector for life—and he’s proven just how much I need him these past few weeks, even when I thought I hated his guts.

He’s saved my life twice in one season.

I could’ve gotten him flattened by a front-end loader the first week I came home. Now, thanks to me again, he’s lost God only knows how much blood.

Go ahead.

Call it insane because it absolutely is.

I don’t go looking for trouble. It just finds me.

And so does Weston McKnight, this strange, gorgeous guardian man who’s always had a gold compass to my heart.

“Hey, Shelly, how you holding up?”

I look up to see Marty tugging the curtain aside, concern etched on his face.

“She’ll be fine with a few days’ rest,” Gram answers for me.

Marty kisses my forehead, rubbing my shoulder like he wants to convince himself I’m really okay, truly still in one piece.

That makes me want to start bawling all over again.

“Thank God, Gram. I was worried to death when I heard how that semi rolled and how West got tore up. Without him and that pig, I don’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened...”

“Pig? You mean Hercules?” I bolt up, ignoring the groaning muscles in my lower back.

Marty chuckles. “Grady says he’s fine. They brought him over to the Barnet’s place tonight to stay. Weston had him sniffing you out like a bloodhound. He got a little shaken up in the showdown, but he’s fine otherwise.”

Holy bananas. Saved by a wild pig and a wilder man.

With a nod, I sink back down on the bed, happily deflated to know one little thing went right tonight.

“Say, are you up for talking to Drake? He needs an official statement. Probably good to get it down while your memory’s fresh so we can slap those pricks with abduction charges, too.” Marty grins at me. “Don’t forget to tell him where you got the nettles. That was pretty clever.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I say with a snort. “And yeah, sure, I can talk to him whenever. The weed was dumb luck. I meant to throw it away, but forgot when I saw the ambulance for Faye. It was still in my pocket when I caught Carson messing around.”

“Save your voice,” he says, patting my shoulder gently. “I’ll go grab the sheriff.”

* * *

The next hour is a disembodied whirlwind.