Page 141 of One Last Promise

Oh.

And maybe the question played on her face because his mouth opened. Closed. “I guess . . . yeah.”

She hadn’t thought beyond today. “I’m stillout on bond. I have a court date to be at. And we need to settle Hazel’s custody. My dad has offered his place for us to land for a while.”

“Yes.” Moose nodded. “I get that.” He gave a wry smile. “I just thought, after?—”

“You thought right.” And the sense of hope welled up in her—she could almost see it. A future with Moose, wherever that might be.

Have faith.

Yes.

She smiled at him, and he studied her face for a moment before he leaned in and kissed her. Sweetly, softly.

A promise.

Then he met her eyes. “Let’s find Fisher.”

She nodded. He got out, and she followed him up the path to a modest home with a white painted-brick exterior, a teal-blue door.

Not on the level of the home Moose lived in. She glanced at him. The tightness of his jaw had returned.

He knocked on the door. Took a breath. She slid her hand into his.

The door opened.

Moose jerked. Handsome guy, mid-height, lean, with brown hair, wearing a pair of golf shorts and a white shirt. He looked at Moose and then, “You.”

And the word seemed to blow Moose apart, because he drew in a breath, swallowed, and she’d never seen him so completely undone.

So, “Hello. My name is Tillie, and this is?—”

“Moose Mulligan.”

And now she felt her own bones rattle. “Um, yeah. How do you?—”

“Come in.” Fisher held the door open, then held out his hand. “Sorry. I’m Fisher Maguire. But my guess isthat you know that.”

Moose took Fisher’s hand, nodded, and Tillie followed him into the house.

Nice place. Not large. Clean, with a sunken living room under a vaulted ceiling, a small galley kitchen, and an inviting blue pool covered by a screen in the back.

“I should have contacted you long ago,” Fisher said. “Can I get you anything? Water? Something stiffer?”

“Water.”

“Nothing for me,” Tillie said.

“What you do you mean, contacted me?” Moose asked as Fisher went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

He handed it to Moose. “This is my fault.”

And she, along with Moose, had nothing.

Moose, however, opened the bottle and took a drink.

“I knew Dad had gone to Alaska, hunting. He invited me every year, even after the divorce, but I was so angry that I just couldn’t go. And after we moved, he stopped writing to me, so I thought he gave up too.” He sighed. “My mom sent me the article about how you carried him out of the woods, and even then, I didn’t want to talk to him. And then he died. And all I could think was . . . I was a jerk. He left me all this money, and I just couldn’t touch it.”

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