Page 131 of One Last Stand

“You think London will be back?” Flynn slid out a chair. “Axel said something went down between them in Montelena.”

Where to start?“If you mean he saved her life and then somehow they broke up, then yes,” Moose said, not sure where that came from. He glanced at his watch again. What was taking . . .

“Uncle Moose!”

He looked up as Hazel tore through the door, her arms out.

And behind her, Tillie, carrying Hazel’s backpack.

See, paranoid. Sheesh.

Hazel wore a pink sweatshirt with a unicorn on the front, a pair of leggings, her hair up in pigtails, and launched herself at him.

He caught her up. “Hey there, pumpkin,” he said and kissed her cheek before setting her down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

If his heart grew any larger, it wouldn’t fit in his chest.

Tillie hung up her coat, took off her boots. “Hazel, what did I say—no boots on Uncle Moose’s hardwood floor.”

“Sorry, Mom.” She came back to the door, and Tillie tousled her hair as she walked past her.

“You made a pot roast,” Moose said, moving aside for her.

“You mean that piece of meat I dropped into the crockpot, slathered with salt and pepper and onion seasoning mix just like the internet said?” She leaned up to him. “I know you’re the cook here, but let me try a little.”

He put his arms around her. “I’ll let you try a lot.”

Outside, night had fallen, pressing against the sliding glass door. Tillie set the oven to bake, probably for the pie, and grabbed some plates to set the table.

Axel and Flynn went downstairs.

Hazel took the remote, curled up on the leather sofa, and turned on the television over the fireplace.

And Moose simply drank it in. London was safe and Boo was happy, and yes, his brother was still in the basement, but he and Flynn were on the hunt, their tomorrows large and bright in front of them, and maybe Shep nursed a broken heart, but again, London was alive, which meant anything was possible.

Most of all, the woman of his dreams stood in his kitchen, tossing a salad like . . . well, not that she belonged there, but she belongedhere, with him.

Because this was his life, one he didn’t deserve, but God was good, so good. . . .

Now.

Maybe it wasn’t a candlelit dinner with flowers and a violinist, but it felt perfect and natural and right.

“Tillie.” He came up to her, took her hand. She turned to him.

“Yes, handsome?”

He grinned. And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box.

Tillie’s eyes widened as he went down on one knee.

Hazel screamed.

Moose turned. Then hit his feet.

Hazel stood on the sofa, her fists clenched, took a breath, and screamed again.

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