Page 56 of One Last Promise

But breathing felt like the last thing she should be doing. Oh, she’d made such a mess of all this.

No, God had made a mess of it all. He’d chosen the wrong motherto raise Hazel.

“C’mon. Let’s keep following the deer path.”

But she couldn’t move from the edge of the cliff, shining her light into the flood, bracing herself to find Hazel’s body flowing downriver or caught on a boulder or a downed tree or?—

“Tillie. She’s not in the river.”

She rounded on him. “How do you know that, Moose? What, do you have X-ray vision that can see to the bottom? Or psychic powers? How do you know she hasn’t slipped off the cliff and?—”

“I don’t.” His gaze came down hard on hers. “You’re right. But I do have hope. And right now, in the middle of the storm, that’s all I’ve got, so I’m going to hold?—”

A dog barking in the distance made him jerk. Her too.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yes. Let me call it in. See if Stormi is anywhere near us.” He lifted the radio. “Stormi? Come in, this is Moose.”

Crackling. Then, “Moose. Sorry I haven’t checked in. Rome is working the scent in the yard. It’s pretty messy?—”

“It’s not Rome,” Tillie said and took off toward the barking.

“Tillie!”

She kept moving, listening, her heart thundering, shaking away Moose’s words.

She didn’t believe in hope. She believed in action. In not letting life careen out of your control, and if it did, then you probably deserved it.

She probably deserved it.

Hazel, however, did not. She called out Hazel’s name, the sound eaten by the rain and the roar of the creek below.

The deer trail moved away from the river, and she followed it, the voice of the dog obscured by the tangled woods.

Why had she agreed to come to Moose’s house? She should have just taken his truck and . . . and . . .

Aw, it didn’t matter how many crimes she committed, as longas Hazel was safe.

“Hazel!” Moose’s voice thundered, his footsteps hammering up behind Tillie. She glanced at him. “I told Stormi where we were, but I’m not sure if we’re on the right track, so I told her to let Rome work.”

Whatever.

More barking. She froze. Turned. Put a hand out to Moose to stop him.

He stood, breathing hard, the rain pinging around them, dripping off the rim of his raincoat hood.

Another bark.

“It’s back toward the river,” Moose said, pointing through the forest. And then he left the trail and plowed through the bramble, breaking a trail like, well, a moose. Except a moose actually might be more graceful. He left a swath of destruction, pushing away branches, trampling downed logs, crunching brush beneath his massive boots.

Tillie followed the path, nearly pushing him.

He picked up his pace as daylight opened ahead of them, the world a mist of gray, dour shadow. But the barking grew louder. The rushing creek sounded closer too.

And then the sound of crying rippled up into the storm.

Tillie pushed past Moose, running. “Hazel!”

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