Page 107 of Wishing Hearts

Chapter 29

Harrison

“Ugh, thanks, Harrison,” Deborah says, giving me a chagrined look as I meet her in front of her house. “I can’t believe I locked myself out.”

“Happens to the best of us,” I say, handing over her spare key.

She snorts at that, unlocking her door and beckoning me in. “Ever happen to you?”

“Well,” I hedge.

“That’s what I thought,” she huffs. “C’mon. I’ve got some homemade snickerdoodles in the kitchen.”

“I won’t say no to that,” I reply, following Deborah into her kitchen. She opens the container of cookies, and I practically salivate when the cinnamon smell smacks me in the face. The two of us take seats at her table, two plates and the cookies between us.

“So,” she says, waiting until I’ve taken a bite to speak. “How’re things goin’ with that hunk of man you call a boyfriend?”

I shake my head, a smile on my face. “What, we’re gossiping after hours now, too?”

“Give it up, Harrison,” Deborah chides with a smirk. “Abbott and his delicate sensibilities aren’t here to offend.”

I wait until I’m done chewing, making Deborah sweat it out a little. By her eye roll, I can tell she’s not impressed.

“He wore chaps,” I finally say. When Deborah just cocks her head a little, I add, “A cowboy hat and chaps. That’s it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then my friend is laughing, her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Harrison,” she manages to get out. “Don’t you give that boy up.”

I don’t plan to.

She wipes a tear from her face. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see that.”

“Not a chance,” I shoot back. “He’s all mine.”

Deborah’s smile turns soft. “So when’s the wedding?”

I choke on my cookie, and Deborah laughs, patting my back. It’s not until a good thirty minutes later that I’m finally leaving my friend-slash-coworker’s house, a big grin on my face. The first thing I do when I get in my truck is grab my phone to text Sam that I’m on my way back—a good bit later than I thought I’d be. But my fingers freeze when I see the barrage of missed calls and texts from both Sam and my mom.

Pulse racing fast, I skim the notifications, but when I see the words “hospital” and “Winnie” in the same sentence, I immediately dial Sam.

He picks up on the first ring. “Harrison, I’m so sorry,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice shaking. My hands aren’t much better. “Is Winnie okay?”

“She hurt her foot or ankle, but she’s okay,” he says quickly, and all those worst-case scenarios I’d been entertaining ease away, replaced by a far less terror-inducing concern. I close my eyes, blowing out a breath as Sam continues. “She fell climbin’ down from the treehouse. We just arrived at the hospital”—he pauses to say something off-phone—“and your dad is checkin’ her in now.”

“Which hospital?” I ask, turning the ignition. My truck roars to life as Sam rattles off the info. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Harrison, I’m so sorry,” he says again, but I shake my head.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, all right,” he says.

I plunk my phone into my cup holder and pull out of Deborah’s driveway, my heart racing the entire way to the hospital in Houston. I do my best to breathe evenly and remind myself that it’s okay—Sam said it’s okay—but my body doesn’t seem to get the memo from my brain because I can’t quell the disquiet, no matter how hard I try.

My feet feel heavy as I make my way inside the building from the parking garage. I follow signs to the ER, and when I get there, the receptionist informs me Winnie has already been taken back to a private room. I have to show my driver’s license before she allows me through, but then I’m being directed down the hall to the third door on the right.

The moment I step into the room, I see Sam standing in the corner, wringing his hands. His gaze shoots to me, and his face, drawn tight in concern, shifts into something sadder than I’ve ever seen from the man. Sitting in a chair closer to the bed is my dad, and lying atop the small hospital cot is Winnie, an ice pack over her ankle.

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