“Of course I’m serious.”
Galen’s hand landed on my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. All it did was irritate me further. “She was really worried about you,” he started.
“I get it,” Wesley said. “I’m fine.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Galen stopped me with a headshake, focusing on Dr. Anderson. “How is he?”
“He seems okay,” Anderson replied. The quirk of his lips told me he was enjoying the argument. “He’s no longer dehydrated. There’s no bleeding in his brain, which was our primary concern.”
“I’ve seen a lot ofGrey’s Anatomyepisodes,” I interjected. “I know for a fact that brain bleeding might not occur on initial scans so a second set should be taken in a few days.”
“You learned that fromGrey’s Anatomy?” Anderson asked.
I bobbed my head.
“You do realize it’s a television show?” he pressed.
“Yes, but I’ve seen interviews. They based all their cases on real life events.”
“Isn’tGrey’s Anatomythe one where the doctors had to deal with a hospital shooter?” Wesley asked.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “That was a riveting episode.”
“And one of their doctors was run over by a bus.”
I had no idea where he was going but I nodded again.
“And a bunch of their doctors were in a plane crash,” Wesley continued. “One of them put her hand in a man’s body with a live bomb?”
His knowledge ofGrey’s Anatomywas creepy. “How — ?”
“Your grandmother likes to watch reruns,” Wesley replied to my unasked question. “You must get it from her. I just kind of tune it out.”
“It doesn’t sound that way,” Galen countered.
“Fine. I don’t mind the show, but once they get to the plane crash it’s ridiculous. I’ve never known a group of doctors to face so much violence in my life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I argued. “What matters is that you might not be out of the woods. You should stay with us until you are.”
“He’s fine,” Anderson countered, earning a glare from me. “Galen is right. If you’re going to be busy working elsewhere it’s better Wesley be at his ranch. He’ll be more comfortable — no climbing to his bedroom — and he has a lot of men who will dote on him.”
“Barry Hutchinson’s wife is even talking about cooking me some soup,” Wesley said. “Marianna is a masterful cook.”
That was a slap against a naked cheek. “I can make soup,” I grumbled.
“Campbell’s isn’t the same,” Galen said.
My fingers twitched to wrap around his neck. “Wesley,” I said.
My grandfather shook his head solemnly. “You will never win this argument. I want to go home. That’s where I belong. That’s where my heart is.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I wasn’t trying to be emotionally manipulative.
“Oh, don’t do that.” Wesley wagged his finger. “Why are you doing that?” he exploded when I sniffled.
“It’s been a very emotional few days for her,” Galen replied, sliding his arm around my shoulders. “We’ll fill you in on a few things we’ve discovered during the ride to the ranch.”
“They can come get me if you don’t have time to take me home,” Wesley offered.
