Page 132 of Before You Can Blink
“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.
