Page 54 of Before You Can Blink (Rust Canyon #4)

Jett

March

“Picking up an order for Sullivan,” I told the teenage girl—one of the late Doc Stevens’ great-granddaughters, though I couldn’t recall her first name at the moment—at the hostess stand inside the Range.

“Sure thing, Mr. Sullivan.” She gave me a polite smile before heading to the kitchen to retrieve our dinner.

As I looked around this space, my chest hollowed out at the realization that this was no longer my ma’s place but mine, her share in the ownership having transferred to me after her passing.

Even a year later, it still hadn’t completely sunk in that she was gone. I half expected her to emerge through the door leading to the office, a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue, along with a reminder to still tip the staff even though I wasn’t sitting down for my meal .

When that very door began to open, I held my breath, only to have it rush past my lips on a surprised exhale. Instead of the silver-haired matriarch of the Sullivan clan, it was her protégé.

“Grampa!” Reagan cried, rushing forward to throw her arms around my middle.

My heart swelled. “Hey, beautiful girl. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Naomi lets me come after school to practice Meemaw’s recipes.”

“Does she now?” Naomi Saddler was getting up in years herself, about eight years older than me.

And with no children to pass this place onto herself, I worried what might happen to this Rust Canyon establishment when she decided to retire, since I certainly didn’t have the capacity to keep it running. I was spread thin enough as it was.

“She’s a quick study.” The woman who’d spent over forty years owning and operating this restaurant joined us.

“And she definitely inherited Betsy’s passion for tweaking a recipe just enough to make it her own.

” Naomi ruffled Reagan’s hair. “I bet she’s smiling down on your twist on the cast iron skillet mac and cheese your Aunt Bex loves so much that we had to put it back on the menu when she moved back to town. ”

Reagan peeked up at me with a proud smile. “It’s hot sauce.”

I chuckled. “Bet your daddy put you up to that one, didn’t he?” Mac was obsessed with Naomi’s signature barbeque sauce, which featured a dash of hot sauce to give it a little extra zing.

“Nuh-uh.” Her dark brown curls bounced when she shook her head. “That was all my idea.”

An impressed hum vibrated my chest. “Okay, then. Maybe one of these days you can pop over to the big house and make a batch of your zesty mac for me and Gramma.”

Big brown eyes lit up. “Really? ”

“Sure.” I nodded. “But fair warning, we don’t have any of the fancy pans like your meemaw got you.”

“That’s okay. I can bring my own!”

“Mr. Sullivan, here’s your order.” The Stevens girl had returned and offered me the bag containing our dinner.

I tossed a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar up front. “Thank you kindly, darlin’.”

To Reagan, I said, “I’ve gotta get this food home before it gets cold, but I’ll set up a date with your mama for you to come cook for us soon, okay?”

“’Kay. Love you, Grampa!” she chirped, skipping toward the kitchen.

Left alone with Naomi, I asked, “You sure it’s not too much trouble having her underfoot?”

“She’s well behaved and eager to learn.” A wistful smile lifted her lips. “If I’d had a daughter of my own, I would have wanted her to be like Reagan.”

I ducked my head. “That’s mighty kind of you to say.”

“It’s true.” She took my hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re very lucky, Jett.”

“Don’t I know it,” I agreed before we said our goodbyes, and I headed home.

There was no doubt in my mind that my family was my crowning achievement. Both of my children and their spouses had made a positive impact on this community, and already it would seem that the next generation was set to follow in their footsteps.

The Sullivans had lived in Rust Canyon for over one hundred and fifty years. And while there had been a time when I’d wanted nothing to do with it, now I couldn’t imagine anything better than my descendants calling this town home for the next century and a half and beyond .

June

It wasn’t often I got out to ride anymore, so as my newest horse, Blackjack, trotted across the open range, I gritted my teeth to contain my grunts as the shockwaves from each hoof meeting the earth sent bolts of pain shooting down my spine.

The only reason I’d been able to sneak out was because Aspen and Penny decided to treat Daisy to a day of pampering.

While I would never complain about becoming my wife’s primary caretaker, I could admit that I was not the type of person who liked being cooped up indoors.

And that’s pretty much all I’d been—either inside our house or a hospital—for the better part of three years since Daisy’s diagnosis.

But now I was seriously rethinking my chosen method of getting fresh air.

Thankfully, Aspen and Mac’s house came into view, and along with it, the sight of Mac’s SUV parked beside the structure, indicating he was home.

I needed a break, some water, and possibly a pain reliever before I could even consider the trek back to the barn.

As it stood, I was strongly considering calling down to Tripp to retrieve the horse while I bummed a ride home from Mac.

All of the kids’ houses had hitching posts in the yard, so I hopped down from the saddle and tied off Blackjack’s reins.

During the thirty-yard walk from where I’d left my horse to the front door, I rolled my left shoulder, rubbing against the ache where the pins from the repair on my collarbone break decades ago were located.

It must be getting ready to rain soon. That was pretty much the only time I dealt with discomfort from that old injury. Though when I looked up at the clear blue sky, there wasn’t a single cloud to be seen .

Strange.

As I lifted my arm to knock, a pained cry rolled up my throat to match the agony tearing through my chest.

My fist never got the chance to meet the wood before it was pulled open to reveal a concerned-looking Mac on the other side.

“Jett? What’s going on? I heard a shout.” His eyes did a visual sweep over my body from head to toe.

There was a mounting pressure beneath my sternum that felt like it was crushing my lungs, but I managed to croak out, “Chest hurts,” before I collapsed on the front porch.

“Shit.” Mac reached out to break my fall, and though he was strong, I was dead weight, so we both crashed to the ground.

Each breath became a struggle, similar to how it felt when I was in the midst of a panic attack, and the edges of my vision darkened. But not before I saw the terrified expression on the face of nine-year-old Bentley as he watched on from just inside the house.

“Grampa?” His voice sounded far away as I struggled to remain conscious.

“Bentley, bud,” Mac called out to his son, doing his best to keep his tone calm so as not to scare my grandson further. “I need you to be a brave boy and grab my phone out of my back pocket so I can call for help.”

The little boy shook his head as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Bentley, now!” Mac’s voice grew firm. “Grampa needs help.”

Reluctantly, the child stepped closer, skirting where I lay to follow his father’s instructions.

My eyes slid closed, but sprang back open when I was jostled violently. “I need you to stay with me, Jett,” Mac commanded.

I opened my mouth to protest that I was too tired, but no words came out .

Vaguely, I caught some of the words my son-in-law spoke over the phone. When he said heart attack, I remember thinking, Oh, that makes sense , considering I’d confused my earliest panic attacks with that life-threatening cardiac event.

Mac kept shaking me, begging me to stay awake while we waited for the ambulance. I just couldn’t resist the heavy pull of darkness.

And right before it finally dragged me under, there was only one person on my mind.

Daisy.

I prayed she knew how much I loved her and would miss her when I was gone.

Soft sniffles sounded nearby.

Why is there crying in Heaven?

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Daisy’s melodic voice, though laced heavily with grief, brought peace to my soul.

I’m glad you weren’t, baby. I wouldn’t want your last memories of me to be tainted with fear and sadness.

“But I’ll make sure to thank God every day that you were with Mac when you collapsed. Because if you hadn’t been . . . I can’t even bear to think about it.”

Wait, what?

By some miracle, did I manage not to die?

Focusing all my energy on opening my eyes, I groaned when bright light filtered in as I managed to lift the lids the tiniest fraction .

A sharp inhale accompanied a tight squeeze of my hand.

“Jett? Honey, can you hear me?”

The lining of my throat felt raw, and I swallowed against the roughness before croaking out, “Daze?”

“Tripp, go get a doctor. He’s waking up.”

“Lights,” I muttered.

“Oh!” Daisy instantly understood, and before long, the room grew dimmed, and I blinked a few times before my gaze landed on the love of my life’s face—a face I feared I’d never see again.

I remembered enough from earlier on Mac and Aspen’s front porch to surmise I’d had a heart attack, which made sense considering I was currently lying in a hospital bed with my wife perched on the mattress beside me, concern alight in her blue eyes.

It brought me back to the last time we’d been in this position, the sense of déjà vu hitting me square in the extremely sore chest.

My lips twitched, and I joked, “Is this the part where you tell me you’re pregnant?”

Laughter filled the air even as tears rolled down her face. “Sorry to tell you that ship sailed a long time ago, cowboy.”

“Just as well. Not sure Tripp could handle the competition of a younger sibling, anyway.”

“How did I get dragged into this?” Daisy shifted enough on the bed so that I had a view of my son leaning against the far wall, both arms crossed over his chest. Even from this distance, I could see the tension running through his body.