I watched my husband’s back as he left the house after several hours of planning with Justin’s security team, and although the view was familiar as of late, it wasn’t accompanied by all the angst and hurt of the past months.

This time I was nervous for him and praying that he would be safe.

But I wasn’t hurting.

For once I wasn’t hurting.

My heart that was. I grimaced, tucked my crutches under my arms, and hobbled back to my bedroom. My feet were screaming for another pain pill, and my brain wanted sleep.

I knew I probably wouldn’t get it, not with Rob out there, facing who knew what, backed by Justin’s former military comrade’s security team. I knew the men were capable, that they trained for just these matters. And I understood that Justin would never put his family’s safety—or mine for that matter—at risk. But that didn’t mean I would be able to relax until I saw with my own eyes Rob was all right.

So I put some boring documentary on Netflix and tried to ignore how slowly time was passing.

The kids would be up before I knew it and then I’d be suitably distracted, I thought as I broke a pain pill in half and took a sip of water to swallow it.

For now, binge-watching.

I must have dozed off during the documentary on Nixon’s impeachment in the seventies—riveting content I know—but then I was suddenly wide-awake.

I sat up in bed, pressing the button on my phone to see what time it was.

Blinking against the bright screen, I saw it was just after five in the morning. Barely two hours after Rob had left, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be a reason I was awake.

I grabbed my crutches and aided by the pain pill—which was only making me feel slightly high and squidgy . . . which I didn’t even know for sure was a word and was probably a sign that I was high as a kite—I made my way to the bedroom door.

It wasn’t the most graceful journey, but I got the job done.

Then I carefully made my way down the stairs. But since I was drugged and could practically hear Rob’s growling voice in my ear, I did it by sitting down and scooting on my tush the entire way.

No headers down the stairs for me, thank you very much!

I made my way to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients for a breakfast casserole. I was awake and might as well make the most of it. But just as I’d set the milk on the counter and was reaching for the carton of eggs, my new phone rang.

Loudly.

“Dang,” I muttered, realizing that I hadn’t programmed the settings on the new cell Danny had given me. I lurched for it, swiping my finger across the screen. “Hello?” I huffed, leaving my crutches for a moment and using the wall to make my way out the kitchen door and on to the back porch.

“Melissa!”

“Tammy!” I said. “Hi!” My voice was too bright, and I knew it.

So, apparently, did Tammy. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you out of breath? Oh, God. Did I interrupt something with that hubby of yours—”

“No!” I said quickly. “I hurt my feet is all.”

“Your feet?” she said, incredulous. “As in both of them?”

“Yes.” I waved a hand. “It’s a long story. I’m fine. Anyway, I was trying to go outside so I could talk without waking the house.”

I heard rustling, imagined her looking down at her phone to check the time. Then more rushing, and she was back. “Oh shoot, honey. I didn’t realize it was so early out there. Sometimes I lose track of the time zone thing. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

“Cooking?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“What recipe?”

I shrugged, silly that it was since she couldn’t see it, then said, “I wasn’t really going to follow a recipe. I was just going to make a breakfast casserole with bacon and potatoes and eggs.”

She swallowed, and I could practically hear the drool through the airwaves. My talk of bacon and potatoes was making me hungry too. Especially when she asked, “Cheese?”

I chuckled. “Of course.”

“Yum.” Then her voice went stern. “I’ll need pictures after you’re done of course and”—she laughed—“maybe to come visit.”

“You sound like Kelly now,” I said.

“Aw. How is your sister?” Tammy asked.

“Pregnant,” I said. “With twins.”

“What?” Tammy shrieked a little. “Omg! Those babies are going to be adorable.”

I sighed. “I know, right?”

“So right.” She laughed again. “I feel like I’m jumping all over the place here, but we always seem to get off topic when we talk, like we’re old friends just phoning for a chat.”

“I feel the same,” I told her.

“I’m glad. And doubly so because the network feels the same! They want to offer you a contract.”

“What?” My voice was shrill. Happy. Shocked. But still shrill. “Are you serious?”

“Do croissants have butter?”

“Oh my God!” I slumped back against the wall. “I can’t believe this. I—just—oh— This is amazing! Thank you, Tammy. Thank you so much.”

“You did it on your own, honey. I’m just happy to be part of the process,” she said. “I’ll send the contract over. Take a look then have a lawyer review it. I’d still like to use the ranch to film if possible, but we can talk more logistics later. I’m sure you want to share the news with your family.”

We said goodbye, and I leaned against the house for a moment, feeling almost numb.

Had that really happened?

Or was it the imagination of a drugged up brain?

I glanced down at my phone, saw that the incoming call was logged there, clear as the memory of the conversation with Tammy was imprinted in my mind.

The squee in my throat bubbled up, but I forced it down.

I was going to have a cooking show.

It was going to be amazing.

Already my brain was filled with recipes to try out, ingredients to drive into Denver for.

There was this awesome cheese store in the city, and I could make something with spinach and Gruyere or a dessert with green apples and white cheddar. Traditional, mid-west, but slightly more refined.

And Rob loved the Havarti from there. I could bake up some sourdough and then make fancy grilled cheese sandwiches with it. Bacon. Caramelized onion jam. Maybe some Swiss for tang.

I paused. I think I’d figured out what my drug-induced obsession word was this time around.

Cheese.

I was already thinking of the block of cheddar on the counter as I turned for the door.

But—

I rotated back around, trying to figure out what had pinged my brain, what had made my spine go ramrod stiff with alarm.

The sun was still behind the hills, the sky just the slightest hint of pink, readying for the day. The air was chilled, and the lawn appeared black.

So what was making the hairs on my nape stand on end?

And then I saw something that should be black and was decidedly not.

Light poured out of the open door to the barn.