Page 33 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“Creates a natural barrier,” I finished, impressed. “Plus, better flow for foot traffic.”

We spent the next hour reworking the layout, transforming the festival grounds into a fortress disguised as a celebration. Each entry point would be monitored, and every dark corner would be lit. The community’s protectiveness wrapped around Pine Haven like a shield.

When Tom and Marie left, Amelia sank into one of the deck chairs, looking overwhelmed.

“I never expected...” she gestured vaguely at the plans, showing how many people were willing to fight for her family’s legacy.

“Of course, they’re fighting for you.” I kneeled beside her chair, taking her hands in mine. Her fingers were cold despite the warm evening. “You’ve spent years fighting for them.”

She smiled tremulously. “We’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.” I brought her hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “And Amelia? They’re right. We protect our own.”

Her eyes darkened at the possessiveness in my voice. “Is that what I am? One of your own?”

The question held weight beyond the festival, beyond the threats. I stood, pulling her up with me. She came willingly into my space, her eyes holding questions I desperately wanted to answer.

“You’re everything,” I admitted roughly.

She swayed toward me, and this time I didn’t hesitate. My lips found hers, soft and sweet. She melted into me, her hands sliding up my chest as I pulled her closer. For one perfect moment, the world narrowed to just us, to the feeling of finally having her in my arms once again—

“Ms. Horton!” Sophie burst onto the deck. “Someone’s broken into your father’s room at the hospital!”

We broke apart, both breathing hard, the urgency of Sophie’s news pulling us back to reality. But the warmth of the kiss lingered, a reminder of what we were fighting for.

***

The hospital corridor felt longer this time, Amelia’s hand gripping mine as we rushed toward her father’s room. Security guards milled around, taking statements from nurses. Each face we passed held questions we couldn’t answer.

Arthur sat upright in bed, looking annoyed rather than frightened. “It’s nothing,” he insisted as Amelia flew to his side. “They were searching for something.”

“Searching?” My instincts flared. “What were they looking for?”

“The letters you mentioned earlier,” Amelia said, turning to her father. “The ones in Mom’s safe—is that what they wanted?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. “They won’t find them there. After what happened with Morrison yesterday... I had Michael empty the safe this morning. Brought everything here.” He gestured weakly toward the closet. “Thought they wouldn’t look in a hospital room.”

I moved to the small closet, retrieving a worn leather briefcase. Inside, a stack of yellowed envelopes sat untouched, smelling faintly of the cedar drawer where Margaret Horton had kept her secrets.

“Your mother...” Arthur’s voice carried the weight of secrets kept too long. “She knew things. About land deals, about accidents that weren’t accidents.” His eyes met mine. “About your father, Hunter.”

My chest tightened. “What about my father?”

“She was on the county board when Crystal Ridge first came to town. Kept records of everything that seemed suspicious. After the accident...” He broke off coughing, monitors beeping in protest.

“Dad, please,” Amelia squeezed his hand. “You need to rest.”

“No, you need to know.” He caught his breath, determination clear in his face. “All this time, I’ve kept them safe. But now...” He glanced at the briefcase in my hands. “Get them somewhere secure. They’re the only proof left.”

Amelia took the letters with trembling hands. As she did, a small key fell from between the envelopes, landing on the hospital floor with a tiny sound that seemed to echo.

“What’s this?”

“Safe deposit box,” Arthur whispered, his voice growing weaker. “Your mother’s final insurance policy. Everything she couldn’t put in letters... it’s all there.”

The implications hit me hard. All this time, the evidence we needed had been within reach. Evidence that might explain what happened to my father.

A nurse appeared, frowning at Arthur’s elevated heart rate. “He needs rest,” she insisted.

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