Great and Precious Things

by Rebecca Yarros

“Mom kept all our baby teeth in those little memory boxes in her closet. Gross but useful.”

  “You did this without my permission.” He glared at me, but there was fear in his eyes, stark and sharp.

  “I did. But the lab doesn’t know that. The results are in there. Patients S, C, and A. Totally anonymous.” I waved the results again. “Don’t you want to know?”

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the envelope.

  “I could tell you. I read it.”

  His eyes jerked back to mine, wide and furious. “Don’t.”

  “Why? Don’t like to have your choices taken?” I asked. “I can make you feel better. I don’t have it.”

  His lips pursed. “How does that make me feel better?”

  “Other than knowing your little brother won’t be taken by early-onset Alzheimer’s?” I chided. “It should comfort you because no matter what that envelope says, I won’t be you. I’ll listen to you. I’ll give you the choices you won’t give Dad, because I don’t give a shit what people say or how I look to the world. I know who I am. I’ve made peace with my choices.”

  I thrust the envelope at his chest, and he slowly took it.

  “Make peace with yours, Xander.” His body tensed as I nodded, then turned around and headed back to my Jeep.

  “You’re not going to tell me as some kind of punishment?” he called after me.

  “It’s not my job to punish you, Xander. Not in anger. Not in jealousy. Not…ever. Read it. Don’t read it. That’s your choice, not mine.”

  I already knew what it said.

  …

  A week later, Dad’s guardianship documents arrived at the mine. Xander signed everything over to me, so we just needed an appointment with the judge to make it official.

  At the bottom of the stack was a signed do-not-resuscitate order.

  Thirty minutes after telling Dad, who thanked me and promptly hung up, I pulled into my driveway, smiling at the fact that the lights were on, which meant Willow was already here.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I called out as I walked in.

  “In the library!” she answered.

  I left the pizza I’d brought for dinner on the kitchen table and walked in to see her sketching at the easel. Her hands moved gracefully over Rose’s face, adding details as she tilted her head this way and that.

  “How was your day?” she asked, setting the pencil down and walking over to loop her arms around my neck.

  “I don’t have the Alzheimer’s gene.”

  “Okay?” Her brows lowered in confusion.

  “I had the test run because Dad’s is genetic. I don’t have it.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, still surprised all these months later that I got to do it.

  “Oh, good.” She leaned up and kissed me. “That’s a load off.”

  “Wait, you’ve thought about it?” I pulled back just enough to look in her eyes.

  “I figured if you wanted to get tested, you would, and if you didn’t, that was okay, too.” She shrugged.

  “And if I had it?” My heart clenched at the thought of not recognizing her one day.

  “Then, we’d make the best of the years we had.”

  I lifted her in my arms and walked to the armchair, adjusting her so she straddled my lap. “But now you have me for a lot of years.”

  “Seems like it,” she noted with a grin, throwing my very words back at me. “Did I mention that Walt called about you taking your dad’s seat on the Historical Society council?” she asked with a scrunched nose.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “No, I didn’t tell you, or no, you don’t want it?”

  I groaned, letting my head fall back against the couch. “Can no just be the universal answer?”

  “Not if you want to do some good.” She kissed my nose.

  “You’re my good.” I settled my hands on her hips and tugged her closer.

  Life was built from our choices. Mine hadn’t always been good, but not all had been bad. And I couldn’t bring myself to regret a single one of them, especially not the one in my arms.

  I kissed her deep and long, vowing to make every single one of those years worth everything that had happened to bring us here.

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  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, thank you to my Heavenly Father for blessing me beyond all measure.

  Thank you to my husband, Jason, for being my person. For always choosing us. You are the best choice I’ve ever made, and I love you beyond all measure. Thank you to my children, who roll with the deadlines, the signings, and the curveballs we’re tossed. To my sister, Kate, because we finally get to raise our kids together. To my mom for teaching me that a woman’s place is wherever she wants it to be. To my best friend, Emily Byer, for being my vault for the last twenty-plus years.

  Thank you to my dad for inspiring so much of this book and my life. For your love and overwhelming grace caring for Grandpa as he slipped away into Alzheimer’s. For raising me as a military brat and then a miner’s daughter. For your incredible love of mining history and your willingness to share your library. For always keeping your office in my toy room and interjecting your own story lines when you thought my dolls might end up with the wrong guys. Thank you for raising a dreamer. You are the standard to which I hold all men.

  Thank you to my team at Entangled and Macmillan. To Liz Pelletier not only for editing but urging me to write this book. I’m incredibly grateful for your overwhelming support. To Heather and Jessica for answering endless streams of emails. To my phenomenal agent, Louise Fury, for pretty much nodding when I tell her that I’d like to be a woodland fairy and then somehow making it happen. To Karen, for always picking up the phone.

  Thank you to my wifeys, our unholy trinity, Gina Maxwell and Cindi Madsen, who hold my sanity in their capable hands and keep me at the keys. To Jay Crownover for being my safe place and the wolf to my rabbit. To Shelby and Mel for putting up with my unicorn brain. Thank you to Linda Russell for chasing the squirrels, bringing the bobby pins, and holding me together on days I’m ready to fall apart. To Jen Wolfel and Cassie Schlenk for reading this as I wrote it and cheering me on with enough enthusiasm to power a small city. To every blogger and reader who has taken a chance on me over the years. To my reader group, The Flygirls, for bringing me joy every day.

  Lastly, because you’re my beginning and end, thank you again to my Jason. You’re the reason my heroes are so swoony. Here’s to retirement and s’mores in the living room.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Yarros is a hopeless romantic and a lover of all things coffee, chocolate, and paleo. She is the author of The Last Letter, the Renegade series, and the Flight & Glory series, which includes Full Measures, the award-winning Eyes Turned Skyward, Beyond What is Given, and Hallowed Ground. She loves military heroes and has been blissfully married to hers for eighteen years.

  When she’s not writing, she’s tying hockey skates for her four sons, sneaking in some guitar time, or watching Brat Pack movies with her two daughters. She lives in Colorado with the hottest Apache pilot ever, their rambunctious gaggle of kids, and an English bulldog who is more stubborn than sweet. Having fostered and adopted their youngest daughter, Rebecca is passionate about helping others in the foster system through her nonprofit, One October.

  Want to know about Rebecca’s next release? Join her mailing list! Or check her out online at www.rebeccayarros.com.

  An emotional, touching

  story for fans of

  Nicholas Sparks...

  “A stunning, emotional romance.”

  —Jill Shalvis, NYT bestselling author

  “Yarros’s novel is a deeply felt and emotionally nuanced contemporary romance…”

  —Kirkus starred review

  “T
he Last Letter is a haunting, heartbreaking and ultimately inspirational love story.”

  —InTouch Weekly

  “I cannot imagine a world without this story.”

  —Hypable

  Smoke jumpers and a steamy romance collide in USA Today bestselling author Tawna Fenske’s new romantic comedy.

  The Two-Date Rule

  Tawna Fenske

  Willa Frank has one simple rule: never go on a date with anyone more than twice. No attachment, no heartache. Now that she’s focusing on getting her business up and running and creating the stable life she’s always wanted, she can’t afford the distraction. Her two-date rule will protect her just fine…until she meets smokejumper Grady Billman.

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  Throwing gutter balls with pitchers of beer? Not a real date. Everyone knows bowling doesn’t count.

  Watching a band play at a local show? They just happen to have the same great taste in music. Definitely not a date.

  Hiking? Nope. How can exercise be considered a date?

  With every “non-date” Grady suggests, his reasoning gets more ridiculous, and Willa must admit she’s having fun playing along. But when their time together costs Willa two critical clients, it’s clear she needs to focus on the only thing that matters—her future. And really, he should do the same.

  But what is she supposed to do with a future that looks gray without Grady in it?