Page 52 of Before You Can Blink (Rust Canyon #4)

Jett

September

My world had narrowed to caring for my wife. If we weren’t in a hospital for treatment, appointments, or testing, we were in the car driving there.

But there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for Daisy. Not one.

Dr. Pierce hadn’t been kidding when he said finding a match would be complicated.

In the months since that meeting, when Daisy was added to the transplant list, I’d learned that the donor having the same blood type was only the first hurdle.

After that, there were six different antigens in the blood that needed to line up.

You didn’t need all six to line up, but the more that did, the smaller the risk of Daisy’s body rejecting the transplant.

So far, we hadn’t gotten that call that the perfect kidney was waiting for my wife, and I silently suffered with the debilitating anxiety that the clock was ticking on the time I had left with her. Each day that passed was one closer to the one where I would lose her .

And I couldn’t lose her. There was no place for me in a world where Daisy didn’t exist.

“Mm.” With her eyes closed, my girl let out a soft moan as my fingers massaged her scalp, spreading the shampoo through the damp strands. “You know, I’m not sure I’ll be willing to give up this type of pampering if I ever get that transplant.”

The only bright spot in this whole mess was that Daisy remained upbeat; even when she was obviously suffering, she never let it get her down. I was in goddamn awe of her.

Chuckling, I turned on the faucet of the kitchen sink to rinse the suds away. “Who says you have to give it up? I’ll keep washing your hair for as long as you want me to, Daze.”

A smile tipped up on her lips. “I’d like that.”

Squeezing all the excess water from her hair, I wrapped a towel around her head and helped Daisy sit up.

“Aspen texted this morning. I guess Reagan is pretty excited about a chapter book she checked out of the school library and was hoping to come over and show off her reading skills this afternoon if you’re feeling up to it. ”

While Daisy loved all of our grandchildren equally, she had developed a special bond with our eldest over books. The eight-year-old had struggled when Daisy got sick and their everyday after-school routine of reading together came to an abrupt halt.

My wife’s smile reached her eyes. “I’d love that.” Her gaze was full of affection when she remarked, “She’s so smart, Jett.”

Nodding, I agreed, “They all are.” Pressing a kiss to her cheek, I added, “I think we both know where they get it from.”

She swatted at my arm. “You always sell yourself short.”

“Nah. Just stating facts. I barely made it out of high school. ”

Arching an eyebrow, she shot back, “Getting good grades isn’t the only determining factor in a person’s intelligence. You’ve been incredibly smart in business. Not many could take a piece of land and turn it into a thriving ranch like you have.”

“Eh.” I lifted one shoulder. “Was more luck than anything else.”

Daisy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, it was luck that had you busting your ass from daybreak ’til dusk. I forgot.”

“All right. All right.” Both of my hands came up in surrender. “You win.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I did that long ago when I married you.”

My eyes lifted to the ceiling as I shook my head. “All these years later, I still can’t believe you agreed to that.”

Wrapping her arms around my waist, my wife snuggled into my chest. “And I still can’t believe you proposed to me while saying ‘I love you’ for the first time in the same breath,” she teased.

Holding my most precious possession close, I whispered against the top of her head, “That boy had no idea how much deeper that love would eventually go. But I’m so damn glad he got the chance to find out.”

December

Christmas was chaos when dealing with six little ones ripping open packages at the same time.

Tiny voices exclaiming in joy layered over one another as our grandchildren uncovered the treasures that lay hidden beneath the festive wrapping paper.

The flurry of motion on the living room floor made it impossible to focus on any one child in particular, and it was a wonder none of them dissolved into a fit of tears, because the whole situation bordered on overstimulating for me, and I was a grown man.

It was a stark contrast to the Christmas mornings in this very room when Tripp and Aspen were little.

For starters, back then, there were very few packages set under the tree. Not because we didn’t want to spoil them, but because we simply couldn’t afford to be frivolous with our spending. Every penny needed to be carefully accounted for, and it made my skin crawl just thinking of those days.

Because there were only a handful of gifts, we would stretch out the morning by requiring them to take turns opening one at a time.

Daisy made it a whole production when a present was unwrapped, asking them to pose with each toy for a picture.

The kids never complained about having so little, probably because they didn’t know any different.

Now that we had the means, it was far too easy to go overboard with our grandchildren.

There was nothing I loved more than seeing their little eyes light up in wonder when they landed on the massive bounty set beneath the tree.

I knew from raising Tripp and Aspen how fleeting these moments were—when the magic of the holiday was still alive in their hearts—and wanted to soak up every minute of it with the next generation.

We’d attempted to keep the tradition of going slow and savoring each gift’s reveal, but the first time I saw Cash’s lower lip wobble while Reagan opened a gift, I caved. After that, it became pure mayhem, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And as always, amongst the pandemonium of happy, squealing children, the brightest smile in the room belonged to my wife.

This was her dream. A house full of children. A family we created with our love.

It was a dream I once hadn’t wanted, but I was so damn glad it came to life .

Reagan’s shrill cry rising above those of the others startled me out of my thoughts. There was a blur of motion before she flung herself into my ma’s arms, yelling, “Meemaw, you’re the best!”

“Thought you’d like that, darlin’.” A giant smile stretched across my mother’s face as she squeezed my eldest granddaughter tight.

Genuinely curious as to what kind of gift would elicit that strong of a reaction from an eight-year-old, I asked, “What’d ya get, Reagan?”

Curling into Ma’s side, Reagan looked to Mac. “Daddy, can you show Grampa?”

Mac eyed the craziness of the children he’d have to work his way past to get to Reagan’s gift pile with a grimace, but that man was powerless to say no to his baby girl, so he nodded. “Sure, honey.”

Though he navigated the battlefield of boxes carefully, there were still a few times when he stumbled, cursing low under his breath before reaching his destination. Assessing the items at his feet, he lifted one that was most definitely not a toy.

“This one?”

“Yes!” Reagan nodded enthusiastically.

“Uh.” I hitched a thumb toward the full set of ceramic cookware. “Ma, you know she’s eight, right? Maybe a play set would have been more appropriate than the real thing.”

My granddaughter’s face twisted into a scowl as she huffed, “I’m not a baby, Grampa.”

Holding up both hands, I was quick to say, “Never said you were.”

“’Course I know she’s eight.” Ma tsked. “Just like I know your mind’s been elsewhere lately.

” Her eyes darted to where Daisy was seated in my recliner, Ellie tucked to her chest, the pair of them fast asleep.

“As it should be,” she added. “But while you’ve been busy dealing with the hand life dealt you, I’ve been working with Reagan in the kitchen. ”

My eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Ma grinned at the little girl. “Gotta pass on all my recipes before I cash in my ticket to visit the pearly gates.”

I hated thinking about our mortality—especially these days—but the reality was that we were all getting older.

My kids were on the verge of entering their forties, Daisy and I were well into our sixties, and my mom was eighty-six.

More than half her life had been spent living without my father, and I could imagine there was some small part of her that longed to be reunited with him.

“Aw, come on, Ma, you’re gonna outlive us all.” I kept my tone light, not wanting to dwell on the fact that her time with us earthside would eventually run out.

Sympathy shone back at me in her blue eyes. “As much as you need that to be true, son, that’s not how it works. Only regret I have is that Milton didn’t get a chance to see the man you’ve become. He would be so damn proud, Jett. I know I am.”

Fuck. Was she trying to make me cry? On Christmas?

Thankfully, Reagan pulled my ma’s attention away before she could stir up any more emotions. “Who’s Milton, Meemaw?”

Ma smoothed a hand over the girl’s dark hair. “That was your Pawpaw’s name. We’ve talked about him before, remember?” Reagan nodded, so my mother continued. “He passed away a long, long time ago, before your mama was born, but that man could fix anything.”

“Like Grampa!” Reagan beamed at me.

Soft laughter fell from Ma’s lips. “Pawpaw taught him everything he knew, just like I’m teaching you to cook so that someday you can teach your granddaughter. Each generation passes down pieces of themselves, and that’s how we keep the memory of those we love alive, even after they’re gone.”

Brown eyes big as saucers, Reagan whispered, “Wow.”

Ma pulled Reagan close, dusting a kiss to the top of her head before saying softly to me, “You did real good, Jett. You and Daisy both.”

I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve a rare moment when she wasn’t saying something outrageous that got under my skin, but instead of questioning it, I chose to simply enjoy it. Who knew if I would ever experience another?

Relaxing in my seat, I gazed upon the display of youthful innocence set before me, relishing that all the pieces of my heart were currently settled under my roof and wishing like hell it could stay that way forever.