Page 1 of One Last Storm
CHAPTER 1
MOOSE
So much for him being Dad of the year.
Moose stared at the neat pile of unused dog supplies stacked in the corner. Food bowls. Chew toys. An empty red dog bow. A pile of pure hope from his newly adopted daughter, Hazel.
And a monument to his failure.
That’s what a guy got for making promises before he knew he could deliver.
He felt like Arnold Schwarzenegger on Jingle All the Way, fighting to get the one and only toy his kid wanted for Christmas.
Three weeks of phone calls. He’d called every breeder in Alaska. Canada. Montana. Even Seattle.
Nothing.
Nada.
Apparently Siberian Huskies didn’t breed on his timeline.
Which meant…no slobbery Christmas joy under the tree.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, fat snowflakes drifted past the frozen river like nature’s own snow globe gone wild. What had started as a light dusting at dawn was picking up serious speed—the wind beginning to bend the pine trees along the bank, their branches heavy with fresh powder. The sky had turned that ominous gray-white that promised trouble, and the Weather Service had been calling for a possible blizzard all week. From the looks of those darkening clouds rolling in from the north, they were about to get hammered.
The thermometer outside the kitchen window read twelve below. And dropping.
He took a sip of his coffee. Cold. He’d been standing in the kitchen in his pajamas too long, staring out the window at the blowing snowstorm, trying to figure out how to stir up words for his wife.
Babe. I failed.
“Dad! Dad! Dad!”
Footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs, and Hazel bounded into the kitchen wearing her favorite Christmas pajamas—red flannel covered in prancing reindeer. Her dark hair stuck up in six different directions, brown eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement only Christmas morning could rival.
And oh, how he leaned into the word, Dad.
He put down his coffee, his stomach roiling.
“Only two more days!” She launched herself onto her stool at the granite counter, grabbing the cereal box with both hands. “Two more days until Christmas, and I can hardly wait!”
And now, oh goody, he might be about to be sick. Sure, he could power through blizzard conditions to save a family caught in a whitewater blizzard, but summon the words to tell his daughter he’d failed…
Not a hope.
“Hey, pumpkin.” He sounded like he might retch, too. Super.
“I saw you put more presents under the tree last night.” She poured her Christmas Crunch out into a bowl and grabbed the milk. “They look really good and everything, and I’m super excited about them, but...” She set down the milk, after splashing it on her cereal.
Then she leaned forward, those big brown eyes wide, her voice pitching low, “But you don’t have to get me anything. I know Santa is bringing me a puppy.”
And then she winked.
Because, at nine, she had grown out of Santa. Knew the truth.
Santa was a fraud.
A sweat broke out down his spine.
