“There,” he said, pushing the mug toward me, his eyes warm with amusement. “Try it.”
I lifted the cup to my lips and took a cautious sip.
The taste bloomed on my tongue—rich, warm, slightly sweet. It was unlike anything I’d ever had before.
Jack watched me expectantly. “Well?”
I set the cup down, savoring the lingering warmth. “Yes. Very much so.”
Jack beamed. “Excellent. I’ll make bacon and eggs next.”
As he bustled about the kitchen, the sizzle of cooking filling the air, he peppered me with questions.
“You’ve brought me much joy, son. My Olivia is alive.” Jack’s voice was thick with emotion. “And you seem like a stalwart young man.”
His expression darkened slightly as he cracked an egg against the pan. “I never liked Tristan.” His jaw tightened. “I knew there was something evil about him. I felt it in my gut.”
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting his words settle.
Jack had been right about Tristan.
And now, he would pay.
Jack poured a golden stream of eggs into a pan, the mixture hissing as it met the heat.
“Stalwart?” I took another sip of coffee, savoring its richness. Heaven.
“It means hardworking… loyal… dependable,” Jack explained, stirring the eggs with quick, practiced motions. “You seem to possess those attributes.”
I nodded. Yes. Hardworking. Loyal. There was no question about that.
“And where is Tristan now?” I asked.
I already knew what I would do when I found him. Kill him. Swiftly. Then, I’d return to Olivia with the news that her betrayer had been vanquished.
Jack frowned, deep lines creasing his forehead. “We don’t know. He’s been missing since the night he shot me. No one can find him. Not Lee, not me, not even the local authorities. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. That was not what I wanted to hear.
Jack retrieved several slabs of meat wrapped in a strange, flimsy transparent material. With practiced ease, he unwrapped them, placed them onto a flat pan, and slid them into the oven.
Soon, the welcome scent of sizzling pork fat filled the kitchen, teasing my senses.
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked.
Jack scratched his jaw. “Oh, maybe two weeks.”
I stiffened. Two weeks. Lost.
He continued, his tone laced with something unreadable. “You woke up a few times—took water, some food—then fell back into a deep sleep. Lee insisted we keep you out of the hospital. He kept me out of the room while he did his mumbo-jumbo Native rituals on you.” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “But I was afraid you’d perish without proper care.”
He paused, eyes searching mine.
“I imagine waking up in my bedroom was a shock.” A small smile lit his face. “I think you’re on the healing path now, though.”
Healing path.
I frowned and took another gulp of coffee, the sweetness grounding me.
