The afternoon would have been amazing. John’s and Cara’s relationship hadn’t been horrible before Kayce returned but with his merge back to the fold, their relationship had more than improved. It had nearly healed, completely, overnight. It didn’t hurt that Monica had finally gone too far and Kayce and she had gone their separate ways for good. Obviously, he knew she loved him now and he realized he loved her, too. They were still working on their relationship and moving it all forward but everything fell into place. Everything was okay.
Except it wasn’t. The Dutton clan was in the fight of its life for land and limb. There were too many enemies to name and too many snakes in the grass…
Cara coughed. Wet. Crimson splashed the pockmarked macadam to the left of her cheek, dribbled down her chin. Pale blue greys fluttered open and closed and open again. Her halter style topped sundress with an off white background, small poppies in muted red dancing between lilies of the valley and daisies all over the entire bodice and skirt; it was such a small print, so soft, and it was ruined with her blood and mottled with holes where the bullets from the automatic weapon punched through it and her. Those pale orbs finally got a look around. As weak as she was, Cara was strong. Her spirit was willing. The woman was dead and the kid, the kid was nowhere to be seen. John Dutton leaned against the back wheel of their truck, clutching a phone that had already given up its ghost as well… “Daddy…” She rasped, choking again and rasping through, trying to get her voice louder. “Daddy!”
John’s eyes looked to her; breathing was difficult. He had been shot as many times as she had. The same spray, the same arc. Chest and belly. Center mass. “Save yer strength, Chief.” He chuffed, barely managing.
The way he called her that, in the moment, had tears crowding her vision until they slipped over her bottom lids and trailed streaks of salt down her dirty bloody face. “Daddy…” She cried, reaching for him. “Ah’don’ wanna die…”
“You won’. I won’…I won’ let ya.” His hand found hers. A firm squeeze of her fingers. “Think about Kayce. Yer future. Everything…everything you ever wanted is nearly here.”
She didn’t know how much time had passed. She fell in and out of consciousness with her father at her side. At some point he slid down on his side next to her, a message pressed and dragged through the dirt and on the macadam in blood. North bound. Blue van. Two tone. Another cough barely spluttered past her lips. Wheezing. Blood settled somewhere poured like sludge down her lip, her chin. Another truck approaching. Her vision swam. She’d know that truck anywhere…
“Rip…” A feeble hand reached for him as he ran up to the scene. “God…”
He saw John. He had to have. Yes. But he picked her up in his arms first. Bridal style. Full support. “Stay with me, now. Gotta get yer daddy.” As weak as she was in the moment, nearly gone, her fingers fisted in his jacket. “I know. I know, Chief. I got you now. I’m gonna call Kayce.”
“Kayce…” She murmured his name like a vow. If the Lord let her pull through this, she would never waste another day with him again. And one last time, the black obsidian nothing swallowed her whole.
