He could have lost them both. If Reggie hadn’t controlled the spin, if the other driver had hit her harder, if the accident had happened by a deep gully, they could both be gone. Just like that. With no warning, no way to change things. But Reggie had kept her head. She’d taken care of Harrison. She’d protected his son.

As had Belle. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the Great Dane leaning against Harrison, her expression still fierce, as if she would never back down. Harrison was her boy and she would never, ever let anyone forget that.

Reggie had never done the drug thing. Her idea of wild was a second ibuprofen if she pulled a muscle. But she had to say, whatever the hospital was giving her took the edge off her pain and gave her a nice internal buzz.

The wooziness had passed, and her vision was focused again. She still felt a little spacey, but that was probably because she had a concussion. Plus, you know, the drugs. Her parents and sister hovered around her bed.

“They’ve towed your car to the shop,” her dad said, watching her anxiously. “We’ll wait for the adjuster to give the okay to go ahead and start repairs. If it’s totaled, then I’ll come over to Seattle with you to help you buy something.”

Reggie thought about pointing out she was perfectly capable of buying a car on her own, but knew her father wouldn’t want to hear that. Not tonight. He was showing her, in his way, that he cared and was worried.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Her mother fussed over her, wincing when she saw the stitches and tutting at the bruises.

“You could have been killed,” Leigh grumbled. “The other driver should have his license revoked. Going too fast when we just had our first snowfall! Who does that?”

Reggie reached out and squeezed her hand. “Mom, I’m fine. Go home. Have a glass of wine. Come back in the morning and bail me out.”

Her mother’s expression softened. “I should stay. They’ll give me a cot.”

Reggie shook her head, then wished she hadn’t. “Don’t even think about it. You go home and get some rest. Your wedding is in two days, and we still have to figure out what we’re going to do about my shaved head.”

Her mother’s gaze immediately went to the stitches on the side of Reggie’s scalp.

“I think the hair on top will cover it.”

Her father winked. “Or we’ll just tell the rest of the family you’re having a punk rock stage.”

“I’m kind of old for that,” Reggie said. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“You have a concussion.”

“A mild one, and the nurses here will check on me every thirty minutes. You’ve seen them do it. I love you. Go home.”