Page 40 of One Last Promise

She and Hazel had slept in a guest room on the lower floor, snuggled together in a way-too-comfortable queen bed, one she hadn’t really wanted to leave this morning. But the scent of cinnamon rolls and sizzling bacon, along with Hazel’s persistent nudges, had drawn her out from under the comforter. She’d braided her long hair, then found her way up the stairs to the main floor where Moose’s mother, May, had been pulling a tray of fresh cinnamon rolls from the oven.

May had smiled at the mother and daughter headed up the stairs. “Moose said he’d brought home guests last night. I’ll bet you’re hungry. Sit down. Do you like eggs?”

“Love them.” Tillie pulled out a chair for Hazel, who still wore her sweatpants from last night, her dark hair tousled with sleep. “Is Moose up yet?”

“Yes. For hours. He’s helping his dad in the barn, working on the snowplow assembly.” May wore an apron over her curvy body, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a bun. Gray-green eyes like Moose, along with his smile, and her entire demeanor seemed to spill out into the room—homey, calm, generous.

Tillie could stay here forever.

Another one of her bad ideas. But as Moose and his father, Ace, came into the kitchen for breakfast, she soaked in the rapport between them, the way they sorted out some sort of problem with the plow together. She guessed that Moose had filled them in on her situation, because his parents asked no questions, just looped her into the breakfast as if she belonged.

His mother even doted on Hazel, making herchocolate milk from a homemade mix on the counter. It left a mustache on Hazel, who seemed to have shed her trauma from last night.

The sound of whining at the gate across a nearby room made Hazel slide out of her chair and walk over to a boxer puppy. She knelt and stuck her fingers through the gate. “What’s his name?”

“Kip,” Moose’s dad answered. “It was too quiet around here, so May asked that I get her a dog.”

“Please. The dog is for him,” May said and got up. “More coffee, Tillie?”

Tillie held out her mug—it bore the wordsLast Frontier Bakeryon the side.

May filled it. “I think Kip needs to go out. Maybe Hazel wants to go with him?”

And that’s how Tillie ended up on the deck, watching her daughter play, wondering how long the magic, this perfect bubble, might last.

She turned to Moose as he stepped out of the house, and by the look on his face, the answer was . . . not much longer. He wore a blue thermal shirt that outlined his muscled frame, a pair of faded jeans, and worn boots, laced up. He hadn’t shaved, so a couple days of dark whiskers layered his chin, his hair tousled and tucked behind his ears.

She knew he was handsome—any girl with eyes could see that. And she knew he had to be heroic, given the stories she saw of him on the news, rescuing people, or even the few times he’d talked about a rescue at the Skyport, during one of his late-night stop-ins.

In fact, he’d always been a little bigger than life to her.

Now, he came over to her, stood beside her, and his shadow cast over her, tall and bold, and he even smelled good, as if he’d showered. . . . Perhaps coming here had been a bad idea after all.

The last thing she could do was start to lean on Moose, or anyone, really. Not with Rigger on her tail.

But what if Rigger wasn’t in the picture?

Not even then, given the risks.

Moose looked out into the yard. “She’s cute.”

“The dog?”

“No. Kip is a monster. He eats everything he can chew on. Including my Sorels. I mean Hazel.” He looked at Tillie. “She has your smile.”

She swallowed, then nodded, and hated the lie of omission. But she’d made that decision long ago, hadn’t she? It hadn’t mattered until now, really.

She took a sip of her coffee. “Thanks.”

“And a bit of fearlessness that she must get from you too.” He turned to her.

She wanted to say that no, that was all Pearl, but maybe not, so she looked over to him and smiled. “I don’t know. I’m still pretty unraveled, on the inside.”

“You’re safe here, Tillie. This place is off the map.”

“Rigger won’t be able to track you down here?”

“He’ll have to work for it. In the meantime, I talked with my cousin Dawson, with the Anchorage PD?—”

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