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“You sure do.” Picking up the bag, he carries it over to the bed. “That’s why I took the liberty of tossing more than one set of clothes in this bag. Aunt Faye packed it, so you have enough clean underwear for at least a week. I’m sure you can buy whatever you need beyond that.”
“A week?” I ask as I look at him warily.
A slow grin crawls across his face.
“I knew you’d get your head in the right place, and when you did, you’d be mighty restless. So, I have you booked on a flight leaving Bismarck at six o’clock tomorrow. Couldn’t get a direct flight. They all have a layover in Minneapolis, but it’s less than an hour. You’ll be in D.C. before midnight with the time change.”
Heart pounding with excitement, I unzip the bag.
“You’ll give me a lift to the airport?”
“Nah, I’ll make you hitchhike,” he answers jokingly while walking to the door. He opens it and grabs a set of crutches.
I stop and stare.
“The doc said he’d give me a cane...”
“I know, but I told him you need crutches,” Grady replies. “I told the airline you needed a seat in first class because of your injury. Crutches will prove it’s serious, a cane won’t.”
“Works for me.” Even as I battle back a smile, I shake my head at my uncle. He’s like a badass guardian angel sometimes. Too good at making me see things from a new perspective, which is usually the right one. “Thanks...for everything. Oh, and Hercules—”
“Already on it,” he says. “Ridge and Grace have plenty of space for him in their stables for a few more days. I told ’em I’d stop by personally to look after him.”
“Perfect. Oh, and I, uh, sort of promised him his weight in bananas and peanut butter if he helped me out,” I explain. “He may not understand, but I never would’ve found her without his bloodhound nose. I’m gonna live up to my word.”
Grady’s smile grows. “Got it. He’ll get a couple PB-dunked bananas every day you’re gone.”
I nod gratefully, rifling through the bag for my clothes.
“Remember, I’m not the only one who loves you, Weston,” he says carefully as I meet his eyes. “You just have to let her know. Show her it’s okay to finally love you.”
“You’re right. Then again, you always are,” I grumble.
I can’t deny giving him a metric fuck-ton of credit.
I’ll have the evening and several long hours of traveling tomorrow to figure out what to say to her, how to convince her I’m done being a jackass, and we need to be together.
I’m so up in my head, I jump when he hands me a crutch.
“C’mon, boy. Let’s get you out of this place and cleaned up at home.”
27
This Little Piggy Went Home (Rachel)
Sirens wail outside my apartment for the tenth time today, lost and mournful.
Welcome back.
I’ve been “home” in this city for just a couple days, and I already miss Dallas’ peace and quiet worse than Gram’s strawberry shortcake.
Actually, it’s the people I’m missing most—along with one very special pig.
Let’s not mention a particularly pigheaded man.
Technically, I could call the hospital anytime, or his phone, assuming it wasn’t destroyed in the showdown.
Of course, I can’t do that because it’ll blow my entire plan to smithereens. I set my phone on the counter and finish scraping my stuff together, binders of old papers and a couple worn books about the Old West given to me by an awesome professor.
