Serve and Protect (McIntyre Search and Rescue #6)

Chapter 1 – Jennie Lopez

I wake up in the middle of the night, my pulse racing. I’m drowning in sorrow. My throat is tight and clogged with unshed tears. It takes me a frantic minute to orient myself.

It’s just a dream.

One that I have often. I cherish it even as it shatters my heart into a million tiny pieces.

It’s my wedding day, and I’m wearing a beautiful white gown. All my friends are here—Maggie, Ruth, Hannah, Maya, Gabrielle, Robyn—as well as Granny and Grandpa, and of course my parents. Everything’s perfect.

My dad walks me down the aisle, and Mom, Granny, and Grandpa wave from the front row of pews.

And standing at the front of the church, looking so handsome in a black tuxedo, is the love of my life—the guy I’ve loved since I was eight years old.

The way he looks at me—his smile, the intensity of his gaze—takes my breath away.

Even from this distance, I can see the sparkle of tears pooling in his eyes.

Beside him stands his best man—our best friend—Micah Jackson, who squeezes Chris’s shoulder in a show of support.

Everything is so perfect, I could cry.

And I don’t mean shed a few ladylike tears. I mean I could release a torrent of breath-stealing, heart-pounding, soul-shredding sobs.

Because it didn’t happen.

It never will.

And it’s all my fault.

It will never be anything more than a dream because my parents died when I was eight years old, my granddad passed nearly a decade ago, and the love of my life is beyond my reach.

I missed my chance with him long ago because I was young and afraid and stupid.

I let other people’s opinions control my life, and I tossed away my chance for real happiness.

Out of loneliness and desperation, I ended up settling—and that turned out to be a colossal mistake.

I must fall back to sleep because the next thing I know, my 6 AM alarm is going off, dashing the cold water of reality in my face.

I hit the snooze button, giving myself nine precious minutes of alone time before I have to get up and face the world and all my responsibilities—most importantly, Granny. And, of course, the diner.

The birds perched in the blossoming tree outside my bedroom window sing loudly and joyfully, welcoming this Wednesday morning in early May. Spring in Colorado is well under way.

Our male orange tabby, Pumpkin, saunters through my open bedroom door and jumps up on the bed. His squeaky purr is energetic as always.

“Good morning, Punky.” I scratch behind his ears, and he eagerly headbutts my hand. “Yes, I know. You want your breakfast. Give me a minute.”

My big, chunky boy walks across my belly, his feet somehow knowing exactly where my bladder is located.

“Not the bladder, Pumpkin!” I gasp as I gently relocate him onto the mattress. “I need to pee.”

My alarm goes off once more, indicating my snoozing window is over.

With a groan, I shove the covers off, sit up, and swing my feet to the floor.

I linger at the side of the bed for a full minute, giving myself a chance to wake up and gain my equilibrium.

My mom always did this when I was little, and I thought it was a funny thing to do—something only old people did.

But I’m just twenty-eight, and I don’t consider myself old.

Not yet, at least. Ironically, Granny is eighty-four-years old, and a spry little thing.

When she wakes up, she’s out of bed and on her feet in seconds.

I walk barefoot down the hall to the bathroom to pee and brush the tangles from my dark, chin-length hair. Pumpkin, my little shadow, rubs against my shins, purring loud enough to wake the neighbors.

I reach down to scratch behind his ears. “Shh, buddy. You’ll wake Granny.”

After taking a quick shower and drying my hair, I return to my room and dress in a nice pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt bearing the white Jennie’s Diner logo. By the time I make it to the kitchen, I find Granny seated at the small table for four.

As Pumpkin races over to greet my grandmother, I switch on the kitchen light. “Good morning, Granny.” I make my voice as chipper as possible because she takes her cues from the people around her. I stop to kiss her soft, wrinkled cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

She glances up at me, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “Hello, dear.” She smiles. “My, aren’t you pretty? I like your T-shirt. I used to own a diner.”

“Thank you, Granny.” I go check on the programmed coffee maker. “Would you like some coffee? It’s ready.”

Her brow knits in confusion. “Are you Sandra, my daughter?” she asks in her soft, sweet voice.

Hearing her say my mom’s name causes a knot to form in my throat. “No, Granny. I’m Jennie, your granddaughter. Sandra is my mom.” Or, rather, she was.

There’s no point in reminding Granny about the loved ones she has lost, like her husband and her daughter. If I tell her, she’ll experience the heartbreak all over again. She’ll be devastated. And ten minutes later, she’ll forget entirely. If I can spare her that heartbreak, I will.

“Oh!” She smiles. “I’m so glad you could come visit me. I hope you can stay a while.”

“I would love to,” I say as I pour myself a cup of coffee and add French vanilla creamer from the fridge. “Thank you.”

There’s no point in reminding her that we’ve lived together for the past two decades, since I was eight years old. That was the year I became an orphan. The year she and Grandpa took me into their home and into their lives.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I ask.

“Yes, please, dear.” She smiles at me. “You’re so kind to ask. I’m sure George would love some, too.” She glances around the kitchen. “I haven’t seen him this morning. Have you?”

My throat tightens like it always does when she mentions Grandpa. A heart attack took him from us ten years ago, and yet she asks about him every day. “I believe he went to the store to pick up a few things.”

Granny smiles. “Of course.” She reaches down to pet Pumpkin. “Good morning, my sweet boy.” Then she turns her attention back to me. “He probably went to buy cat food. You know how much he loves Pumpkin.”

At the sound of a quiet knock at the kitchen door, I unlock the door knob and both deadbolts to let Dawn Keller in. “Good morning, Dawn.”

“Morning, Jennie.” Dawn shuts the door behind her and secures all three locks. The extra deadbolt is so high up, Dawn has to rise up on her tippy toes to turn it. Granny can’t reach that lock.

Dawn takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Good morning, Ms. Rosie.” When she sees the empty placemat in front of Granny, she asks, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Granny looks at Dawn, studies her a moment, and then smiles. “Are you my daughter?” And then, speaking to no one in particular, she says, “I have a daughter, you know.”

Dawn doesn’t miss a beat as she smiles at Granny. “I’m Dawn, your neighbor. I’m here to visit with you today while Jennie goes to work.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Granny says.

“How about a cup of coffee, Ms. Rosie?” Dawn asks. “I’ll even put some of that yummy French vanilla creamer you like in it.”

“That sounds nice,” Granny says. “I think I will.”

While I pour a cup for Granny, Dawn asks her, “Would you like some toast to go with your coffee? That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, it does.” Granny nods. “Thank you.”

After setting Granny’s French vanilla coffee in front of her, I pop a slice of bread in the toaster.

Dawn reaches out to gently squeeze Granny’s hand. “Eggs go really well with toast, don’t they?”

Granny nods emphatically. “Yes, they do.”

Dawn rises from the table and heads to the refrigerator to pull out a carton of eggs. “Would you prefer your eggs scrambled or over easy?”

“Over easy, I think,” Granny says as she takes a sip of her coffee. “This is good.”

Thank you, I mouth to Dawn. She has such a way with Granny. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Dawn winks at me as she mouths back, no problem.

Dawn Keller has lived next door to my grandparents since before I came to live here.

I hired her about five years ago, when it became clear Granny couldn’t stay home alone.

She watches Granny on weekdays while I’m at the diner.

I come home for two-hour breaks between the meal rushes to spell Dawn for a bit, giving her a chance to go home and relax or run errands.

Fortunately, we live only two blocks from the restaurant, so it’s easy for me to come and go as needed.

Dawn gives me a side hug. “I’ve got this, young lady. You get going or you’ll be late.”

I finish getting ready, and then, on my way out the kitchen door, I slip on my work shoes and grab a sweater. I head out on foot for the five-minute trek to the diner.

As I pass my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Robinson, who’s outside planting pansies in the front garden of her Victorian home, I say good morning. Mrs. Robinson watches Granny on Saturdays while I’m at the diner for half a day. I take Sundays off so I can spend a quiet day at home.

Next door to the Robinsons are the Andersons. Years ago, I babysat their kids. I say good morning to Mr. Anderson as he gets into his car to leave for work.

With its population a little over eight hundred, Bryce, Colorado, is a small town at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Everybody pretty much knows everybody. Sometimes that’s a good thing, and sometimes it’s not. News certainly travels fast.

I walk past two more houses on my street before I cross at the corner, turning west toward Main Street. There is one more block of old Victorian homes until I come up behind the strip mall where my diner is located.

I walk inside, flipping on all the lights as I go. I pass my office on the left, and the storage room on the right.

As I approach the kitchen where my head cook, Robert, is hard at work prepping for breakfast, I can smell the biscuits in the oven. “Good morning, Robert!” I say as I pass by the open kitchen door and continue into the dining room.

“Mornin’, Ms. Jennie,” he calls after me in his deep, baritone voice.