Page 66 of Before You Can Blink
I twisted my lips to the side, giving them a tap with my finger. “You know, now that I think about it, that pretty purple room is for Tripp.”
Her lips parted in shock a split second before she realized I was teasing. She shoved at my shoulders, chastising, “Daddy.”
I tickled her sides, relishing the sound of her squeals. Once she was breathless, I granted mercy, hugging her to my chest with a smile. If wealth could be measured in happiness and love, I was the richest man in Rust Canyon, no question.
When she had sufficiently recovered from my tickle attack, Aspen shouted, “Mama, come see!”
I set her down and she raced over to Daisy, grabbing her free hand and tugging her toward the stairs. My wife went willingly, laughing as if our daughter’s enthusiasm was infectious.
Trailing behind them, I propped my shoulder on the doorframe of the room I’d painted purple for Aspen, content to simply watch as she bounced from the twin bed to her basket of toys already transplanted fromthe cabin to the Jack and Jill bathroom that connected her room to her brother’s.
Daisy caught me silently observing with my heart about to burst. Softly, she said, “You did good, Jett.”
I swallowed roughly, giving her a silent nod.
Since the accident, I’d been trying to do right by my family, and today was the first time it felt like I was taking a step in the right direction.
December
Main Street was packed. Storefronts showcased festive displays, lampposts featured wreaths, and at the end stood a large fir tree, ready to be lit before the crowd and decorated by those who called this town home.
The annual Christmas tree lighting was in full swing.
Aspen was perched atop my shoulders, while Daisy kept Tripp nestled close to her chest. At nearly seventeen months, that kid still flipped his shit anytime someone other than his mama—or Penny—tried to touch him. As a result, Aspen became my little buddy, and our bond was stronger than ever.
“How does cookies and hot chocolate sound?” Daisy shouted the question over the Christmas carols amplified through speakers along the street.
“Yes!” Aspen cheered, clapping her hands.
Daisy smiled at our daughter before turning to me. “Divide and conquer?”
With two little ones, that seemed to be our strength these days—working together but separately for a common goal.
Nodding, I agreed to her plan. “I’ll get the ornaments and meet you out front of the Range.” Naomi always dragged some high-top tables outsidefor this event, so there would be a place for my wife to safely rest the trio of hot beverages until my return.
We split up, and I mumbled “pardon me” on a loop as I made my way through the mass of bodies congregated in the middle of the street. Even though I wasn’t the least bit claustrophobic, I still breathed a sigh of relief when I finally reached the stall taking donations for ornaments.
Sliding Aspen off my shoulders but keeping her in my arms—this chaos was no place to let her run free—I asked her, “Which one do you like, darlin’?”
Pursing her little lips, she surveyed the selection before declaring loudly, “The horsey!”
I chuckled. There was no denying she was my daughter with her love for horses.
Rose Crawford was quick to lift the horse-shaped ceramic figurine, handing it to Aspen and warning gently, “Careful you don’t drop it, sweetheart.”
Part of me wondered if my girl had even heard her. She was so transfixed on the snow-white horse with a painted gray mane in her tiny little hands that she murmured, “Pretty horsey.”
Jostling her on my hip, I prompted, “What do you say to Mrs. Crawford?”
Suddenly shy, Aspen burrowed her face into my chest, her “thank you” muffled in the fabric of my coat.
“You’re most welcome.” Rose beamed at my daughter before lifting her gaze to meet mine. “She’s a beautiful little girl, Jett.”
“Thank you.” My chest puffed with pride. There were still days when I couldn’t believe I’d helped create something so perfect.
If memory served, Rose had a daughter around Aspen’s age herself, so I asked, “Where’s your little one tonight?”
Rose hummed. “Caught a little sniffle, so Nathan kept her home.”
