Page 108 of One Last Promise

“And we’re back to faith.”

“And we’re back to faith.” He winked.

“It’s just . . . it seems so easy for you.”

He gave a harsh, almostbrutal, laugh.

“What?”

“If—” He shook his head, then looked at her. “The other side of faith is panic. And panic always leads to bad decisions, so . . .”

“I have a hard time believing you’ve ever made a bad decision.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but the look he gave her sent a shard of ice through her.

“Believe me. I’ve made plenty of bad decisions.”

She nearly teased him then, but when he drew in a breath and looked away, lost in thought, his expression dark, she closed her mouth.

“My worst decision is the reason why I have this cabin.”

“How can a bad decision?—”

“Pike Maguire would have never given me this cabin, my house, or even funded Air One if I hadn’t been drinking the night before I had to ground our plane in the bush.”

She just blinked at him.

His jaw tightened. “Yep.” He sighed, then set down his mug and turned to her. “We nearly crashed because I was under-slept and wasn’t fit to fly.”

Oh.

“I told you about the crash in Afghanistan, right?”

“You carried a soldier to safety. He reminded you of Axel.”

He just blinked at her. “You remember?”

“Moose. I remember everything you tell me.”

A warmth shifted through his eyes, and she felt it then, that connection they’d always had at the diner.

And for some reason, that kiss she’d given him raked to the surface too. He hadn’t done more than hold her hand, mostly for support, since then.

Suddenly, she very much wanted to kiss him again, feel those arms around her.

“I came home and started charter flying.”

“Yeah. Was Pike the hunter who you got stranded withafter an ice storm?”

He drew in a breath. “Yes. It was him, and my cousin Dawson and his girlfriend. We put down, and the plane refused to start again, so we had to hike out. Pike fell along the way—broke his ankle—and I had to carry him out.”

“You told me.”

He looked away. “Thing is, the circulation to Pike’s foot was cut off, and he ended up losing it. And then he got a blood infection and never really beat it and . . . he died about a year later from that infection.”

Oh, Moose. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve gone over and over that flight in my mind. Never mind that I shouldn’t have been flying that day—the weather forecast had predicted ice, of course. But I could have flown lower, or adjusted to de-ice the wings. . . .”

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