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would have preferred the sort of followers who were more interested in the local high school football play-offs than how rich Texans schmoozed under the glare of a frozen-solid cow.
    Sweating profusely now with his breathing rapid and shallow, Rusty grabbed the edge of the table with bothhands. “I’ve gotta get some air.” He sprang from his chair in a single motion.
    “Do you want company?” Jordan asked, concerned.
    Her first aid class never addressed this, but she could at least go outside with him in case he needed something.
    Besides, she could use a breath of fresh air herself. The thought of sitting with Santana and Cooper without Rusty running interference didn’t excite her.
    He nodded gratefully, and for the first time Jordan detected a slight hint of fear in his eyes. Like the gentleman he was, he waited for her to go first.
    Halfway across the room, a woman reached out and grabbed his hand. “Hey, stranger, you’re not leaving already, are you?”
    Petite, with jet-black hair that curled around her face in a stylish bob Jordan had seen only in magazines, the woman zeroed in on Rusty, her expression turning from playfulness to concern.
    “Are you okay, honey?”
    Rusty’s breathing now came in short bursts. “Yeah, Brenda Sue. I just need a little air.”
    He broke free of her grip but not before Jordan noticed how the fingers on her left hand delicately caressed the inside of his wrist. One finger sported a huge wedding band with a diamond twice the size of Carole Anne’s.
    A little hanky-panky going on between these two?
Jordan added another entry to her mental laptop.
    She had to reach back to her high school track team days to keep up with Rusty as he bounded out the ballroom door, practically sprinting through the lobby and into the brisk Texas night. Once the cool October air hit him in the face, he sucked in a deep breath and made his way to a wrought iron bench. Plopping down beside him, Jordanwaved off the valet attendant who inquired about calling a taxi.
    “I can’t feel my tongue,” Rusty said, his voice unable to hide his panic. “What’s happening to me? I can’t feel the entire right side of my face.”
    She grabbed his hand and immediately felt his racing pulse. “Take a couple of deep breaths, Rusty. I’m sure this will pass in a moment.” She hoped her voice hid her growing concern.
    Suddenly, he slumped on the bench, his body falling into hers, convulsing. Jordan’s scream for help was swallowed up by the raucous crowd arriving from some NASCAR event, all wearing D ALE A ERNHARDT shirts. Easing him to the ground with the help of one of the new arrivals, she ran back inside the lobby, shouting for a doctor. When no one responded, she raced into the ballroom, charging through the double doors and upending a waiter with a tray full of dirty dishes. The calamity drew everyone’s attention.
    “Help! I need a doctor.”
    Two men rushed toward her. Without a word, she turned and ran, praying they could help Rusty. As soon as they pushed through the revolving door, she pointed to the area beside the bench. Her heart dropped from her chest to her stomach.
    Rusty lay still on the ground, a trickle of whitish spittle seeping from the left side of his mouth.

CHAPTER 3

    The rest of the night was a blur of activity. The two gentlemen knelt beside Rusty and began administering CPR for what seemed like an eternity before Jordan heard the sirens approaching. She’d seen enough episodes of
Grey’s Anatomy
to know the outcome wouldn’t be good.
    When the paramedics arrived and took over the emergency procedure, one of the doctors touched her shoulder and shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. There’s still no pulse, but maybe the paramedics will be able to revive him with a defibrillator.”
    Unable to hold back her tears, she allowed the older gentleman to take her in his arms while she cried silently. How could a man like Rusty be so vibrant one minute and dying the next?
    By this