Hitched(65)

And while I cry, the pent-up energy that seems to follow me everywhere slowly leaks out too, until I’m a bone-weary mass of uselessness catching my breath on a riverbank while Blake strokes my back and whispers that he loves me, that we’re okay, that I’m okay, and that he’ll always be here for me and my animals.

Finally, I force myself to sit up and inspect his injury. But I’ve barely had time to see that the blood seems to be slowing when something crashes through the woods next to us.

“There you three are,” Ryan says, emerging from the underbrush onto the riverbank, where Chewy is calmly grazing on the tender green grass poking up from between the rocks. He squints across the river and grins. “And I see Clint has everything else in hand.”

On the opposite riverbank, Clint’s sitting on Dean while three sheriff’s deputies hack their way through the weeds to reach them.

Blake pushes into a seated position with a groan, but Ryan and I quickly ease him back again. “Lie down,” I say. “And don’t move until we know it’s safe.”

“You gonna live, little brother?” Ryan asks.

Blake lifts a middle finger while his lips hitch up.

Ryan grins. “Yep, gonna be just fine. Paramedics are on their way though.”

“Oh good, but how did you know where we—” I start, but Ryan cuts me off with a nod behind me.

The boat.

Holy crap.

It’s drifted back into the river, in flames, and is sinking while smoke plumes billow from the carnage.

“Just followed the smoke,” he says. “After calling for backup, because I’m not a moron who rushes into things without thinking first.”

Blake flips him off again.

And then Chewy leans over and licks him.

And we all laugh and the last of the fear gripping my chest fades away. Blake’s right, we’re going to be okay. Better than okay.

We’re going to be a family.

The best family we can be.





Twenty-Seven





Blake





* * *



By the time we get back to Hope’s house a few hours later, my head is still throbbing, but my heart is happy and full.

Chewpaca is safe.

Hope is safe.

And I’m home.

We’re all home. Together.

Hope and Chewpaca and all the animals and me.

She ushers me straight to the bedroom, and I smile, because I love this bedroom. The happy sunshine coming in through the breezy curtains. The soft quilt on the four-poster bed that looks like someone’s grandma made it, even though I know Hope’s grandma wouldn’t have, but still, it feels like love went into it. The romance novels on the nightstand. The way her limited jewelry scattered on her dresser looks like it’s arranged in a smiley face.

Yep.

I love this bedroom.

And that’s not the painkillers talking.

It’s because this is Hope’s room, and I’m welcome here.

“I’m going to make sure the animals are okay, and I will be right back to pamper you and take care of you, understand?” she says as she makes me sit on the bed and bends to pull my wet boots off.

My clothes have mostly dried, but my boots—those are probably shot.

That’s okay.

Boots are easy to replace, unlike one-in-a-million alpacas and one of a kind women like my wife.

“I’ll come help you,” I say, trying to rise from the bed only for her to put her hands firmly on my shoulders.

“Barefoot?” She arches a brow. “I don’t think so, pooky. Leave this room, and I’ll give you a matching injury on your other eye with Dildo Shaggins.”

I grin. “I love you, snookums.”

Her beautiful brown eyes soften, and that sweet smile shoots an arrow of happiness straight through my heart to my soul. “I love you too. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay? Lie down. Rest.”

I want to argue, but my head does hurt.

Who knew Dean was master of the head-butt?

Now he’s master of the orange jumpsuit.

I almost giggle, but I don’t, because that would be unmanly and I’m not that delirious yet.

Still, it’s good to know we helped put a thief behind bars. The sheriff found evidence that he’s been involved in a string of robberies all across Georgia, and all of his private eye credentials were falsified.

I’ll be talking to Kyle about his shit taste in PI’s later.

And then I’m going to talk to Hope about taking her clothes off and snuggling me naked.

That would make my head feel better.

It’s the last thought I have before the sun is suddenly slanting low through the windows.

I wake up disoriented, my head not throbbing quite as much, with a warm body curled up next to me. I gingerly touch soft hair and smooth skin, and Hope squeezes me tighter.

“You’re awake?”

I pet her hair again. “Good girl. Good beta alpaca.”

She goes stiff.

I try—and fail—to squelch a low chuckle.

“You—you—” she sputters, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Ah-ah, Mrs. O’Dell. Five nice things about me, remember?”

She doesn’t speak. Instead, she pushes up just far enough to lean her face in to mine and press a soft kiss to my lips. “One,” she whispers.