“I’m about as certain you didn’t cause it as you are that you did.”
She frowns at me, but I see gratefulness in her eyes. “How about you, Wes?”
“What about me?”
She replaces the brush on the tack hanger and steps from the stall, closing it behind her. “What’s in here”—she taps lightly on the center of my chest—“that’s giving you so much trouble?”
My mouth goes dry. My weight shifts. “Nothing,” I say, my voice like sandpaper.
Her eyes fall.
I have the overwhelming urge to tell her, to split open my chest and release all the painful memories. “Dakota, I—”
“Wes!” Wyatt runs in. His eyes are terrified. “It’s Dad. He… he just…” He shakes his head, lowering his hands to his knees and sucking in a deep breath. “He was playing catch with the kids and he said he wasn’t feeling well. He sat down on the couch and then he fell over. Wes, he fucking fell over.”
Fear grips me instantly, but I make it a point to remain calm as I walk over to Wyatt. An emergency situation is hindered by hysteria. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I lift him until he’s standing upright. His eyes are wide and his skin is flushed. It reminds me of when he was six and terrified of how quiet the ranch was at night. Mom had to put a sound machine in his room to soothe him.
“Has anybody called 911?” I ask.
“Warner did. Mom was still on the phone with the operator when I left to run over here.” Wyatt looks at me with pleading eyes. He needs me to be the big brother, to assure him Dad will be fine.
And that’s exactly what I do. “Dad is too ornery to die, Wyatt, okay? So don’t go worrying about that. It might even be extreme heartburn. That can sometimes mimic the signs of a heart attack.” My own chest is tightening up right now, just thinking of a life without my dad. But I won’t allow myself to think that way.
Wyatt nods, more composed now. “Okay, yeah.”
I turn my brother around. “Let’s go.” I start off in a steady jog toward the homestead. I look over my shoulder when I get closer and only see Wyatt behind me. I glance left and catch sight of Dakota’s figure in the diminishing light. She’s going toward her car.
I yell her name and she looks at me. “I’ll be here,” she yells back, pointing at her car.
I nod my understanding and turn back to the house. I take the steps two at a time and rush through the front door. My gaze locks in on my dad, leaning back on the living room sofa, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He’s not clutching his chest or moaning in pain, not the way you see on TV. My mom sits beside him, body turned so she’s facing him, a phone balanced on her thigh. The screen is lit up with an active call, but the line is quiet.
“Mom,” I hurry over.
She swings her fearful gaze up to me. “Wes,” she whispers.
“It’s okay, Mom. Dad, I’m here.”
His eyes flicker my direction but his head remains upturned. “I know, Wes.” His voice is choppy. “I can still hear.”
I chuckle and look at Wyatt. “See what I mean? Too ornery to die.”
For a brief moment, my comment brings a small smile to my mom’s face, but it quickly disappears. I open my mouth to say something but I stop, halted by a distant, rhythmic chuffing sound of helicopter blades. I know it’s not a Blackhawk, but for the briefest moment, that’s what I think of. The sound is unforgettable.
The dispatcher’s voice fills the air. “Ma’am, the helicopter is four minutes out. Did you give him the aspirin?”
“Yes. Thank you,” my mom says, stress outlining her words.
A lot of being in the military is waiting.Hurry up and wait, we liked to say. But none of the waiting I’ve done before compares to these four minutes. Every second is an hour.
“Where’s Gramps?” I ask, looking around.
“He took Jessie out back. Or maybe Jessie took him.” Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “Your father didn’t want either of them here.”
I frown. We’re family, and no matter how scary something is, family sticks together. I’m sure in the moment when everything was first happening, everybody bent over backward to keep my dad’s stress as low as possible.
“Warner with the kids then?”
Mom nods. I glance at Wyatt. He’s sitting in the chair across from my parents, his head in his hands. The whirring of the blades is close now.
