Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M aybe he didn’t want to know.

Moose had pulled on a pair of shorts and run the towel over his head, and stood in his bathroom, the haze of his hot shower still settling on his bare shoulders, his wet, dark hair, as he stared into the mirror and tried to get his brain around the last three hours of his life.

He ran his hand over his wrist where the SWAT guy had grabbed it, wrenched the cuff too tight. Left a mark there, but it was nothing compared to the open wound on his thigh.

He lifted the hem of his shorts, got a better look. For such a small wound, it had really bled. They’d butterflied it closed after he refused to go to the hospital, although it needed a couple stitches, given the depth of the two-inch slice.

But his wounds were minor in comparison to the haunted expression Tillie wore when he’d left her in the kitchen.

An expression that had him wondering if he should just . . . leave it. Let her keep her story secret. They weren’t in a relationship, and sure, he’d practically dived headfirst into her problems, but that’s what he did.

He was a rescuer. That didn’t mean they had some sort of romance in front of them. And maybe he didn’t want a romance with someone with so much baggage.

Aw, that wasn’t fair. Everyone had baggage.

Everyone could start over.

Besides, he had a few scars, both inside and out.

He ran his hand over his chin, decided not to shave, given the scuff on his chin, and hung his towel on the rack.

Then he scooped up his torn, bloody pants and shirt and came out of the bathroom. Night pressed against his bedroom windows, and the steam followed him out.

A knock sounded and he threw the clothes in the hamper in his closet, then opened the door.

Tillie stood in the hallway. She held up a tube of superglue. “Let’s take a look at that wound.”

It felt weird to have her here, in his home. All his daydreams suddenly front and center. But in those daydreams, she was here for dinner, on the patio, or watching a movie in the theater, or even watching a game of hockey on the flatscreen in the great room. . . .

Never running from her ex?—

Whatever . Because he refused to wrap his head around the idea that a thug like Rigger could be the father of her child.

Her child .

Yep, he might be in way over his head. Back away, back away now .

Instead, “Okay.”

Her gaze landed on his shirtless torso.

“Just a sec. I’ll meet you downstairs.” He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a black T-shirt, pulling it over his head as he came out into the hallway and shut his door.

Axel stood at the stove, frying up some potatoes that had gone cold. The scent of butter and garlic suddenly landed in Moose’s empty stomach, twisted.

Tillie stood by a stool in the kitchen. “With all that blood, I thought I should take a look.”

He sat and rolled up his shorts. She pulled up another stool and bent to examine the wound.

“What are you, a doctor too?”

She laughed. “No. But I’ve been in my share of scrapes.”

He wanted to ask, but there were too many questions.

Frankly, he didn’t know where to start.

Her fingers probed the skin on either side of the cut. “It’s a pretty clean slice. I’m concerned that the knife wasn’t clean, but we’ll put some antibacterial on it.” She glanced over at Axel, who’d turned, folded his arms, and leaned against the counter, watching.

Moose wanted to fist-bump his brother for directing her here, because in his darkest nightmares, she was out there, alone and scared.

“I’m going to pinch this closed, then glue it. It’ll take a couple seconds to set up, but it should work. Axel, do you have any bandages, some ointment?”

His brother turned the heat off the cast-iron skillet. “Do you want Batman or Spider-Man Band-Aids for the superhero?”

Moose gave him a look, and Axel raised his hand. But okay, they’d probably gone through more superhero Band-Aids than the average kids, growing up in the woods at their homestead outside Copper Mountain.

“This’ll hurt,” she said.

He said nothing as she drew the edges of his wound together, then applied the glue. Held the wound closed, then continued to the next section. “You’re lucky he didn’t get the knife straight in. This could have been a deep wound.”

“Providence, not luck.”

She glanced up at him, shook her head, then went back to work, finishing up. Axel appeared, holding a gauze cloth and some medical tape, along with a tube of ointment. “No Band-Aids.”

“I don’t need that, either.”

“Just long enough for the ointment to stick,” she said and finished doctoring the wound. Then she stood back. “I can’t believe they didn’t make you go to the hospital.”

“They tried,” Axel said, back at the stove. “He ditched them.”

“The media was already on the scene. The last thing I wanted was questions. We already have trouble because of the media.”

Axel glanced over as he plated the potatoes, frowned. Oops . Moose hadn’t told his brother—hadn’t told anyone —about the lawsuit.

He didn’t need anyone worrying but himself.

“Because of the show?” Tillie said. “I saw a couple of the episodes. They even had a scene at the diner. . . .” Her eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s how Rigger found me.”

“Wait—what?”

“They caught me on screen, just in the background of the Skyport Diner. Maybe they didn’t even realize it—after all, I didn’t sign a release. But I saw it, and it was so brief I didn’t think anything of it. But with all the play the show has gotten . . .” She sank onto the stool. “It kept bugging me. I left no trail, or at least I thought so. And Roz wouldn’t betray me, so . . .”

“The show caused this?” That stupid show ?—

She held up her hand. “I don’t know. I mean . . . but . . .”

He shook his head. “Worst idea I ever had.”

“It helped catch a killer,” Axel said, pulling plates from the cupboard. “If Flynn hadn’t seen the show, she wouldn’t have followed up on the Midnight Sun Killer, and he’d still be out there.” Axel set the plates on the island. “I’ll grab the steaks.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Tillie said quietly, sitting on the stool.

“I think I got you into this,” Moose said, his gut tight. “But I’m not exactly sure what this is.” He didn’t want to ask, but . . . “Who is Rigger, really?”

A beat, and she sighed, then nodded. “He’s?—”

“Mommy?”

The voice jolted through him, sweet and high. He turned, looked up.

Tillie’s little girl stood on the bridge that overlooked the great room, her dark hair wet and in tangles, plastered to her head. She wore pink sweatpants and a misshapen shirt with a Disney princess on the front.

“Hazel.” Tillie slid off the stool. “Come downstairs, and I’ll brush your hair.”

“I can do it.”

Tillie held up a hand. “Of course. Do you want something to eat?”

Hazel nodded.

Tillie looked at Moose. “I don’t suppose you have anything besides steak and salad?”

“Axel keeps a supply of junk food in the pantry,” he said and got up. “He’s thirteen years old on the inside.” Indeed, he found a box of macaroni and cheese and brought it out.

“A thirteen-year-old who makes killer macaroni and cheese,” Axel said, setting the plate of steaks on the counter. “Give me that.” He looked at Hazel, who’d come downstairs. “Hey, kiddo. Do you like tuna?”

She nodded.

“One tuna mac coming right up.” Axel grabbed a pot from the drawer next to the stove, twirled it by the handle, then filled it up with water.

The ham.

Hazel climbed up on a stool, her little legs dangling, her feet bare.

The temps were dropping into the low fifties at night.

Moose got up and headed to his fireplace, opened the screen and grabbed wood from the rack next to the hearth.

Yes, he was procrastinating because . . .

Because if Rigger was Hazel’s father, that meant . . . what? He was Tillie’s ex too?

Nope, not going there . He stacked a couple logs, added kindling and some crumpled paper, then stood and grabbed the container of fireplace matches.

“That’s a long match.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where Hazel had come to stand behind him. She ran her brush haphazardly through her hair, working it into a knot at the ends.

“It’s a fireplace match. Wanna help?”

He glanced at Tillie, who’d stayed at the counter, and she shrugged.

Hazel stepped up and he lit the match, then held out the end for her. She took it, and he pulled her closer, put his hand over hers. “Put the flame on the paper—like this.” He lit some of the crumpled paper in front. “Then over here, we’ll light the birch bark.” He moved her hand with the match and ignited the old, dried curls of birch bark he’d picked up in the yard.

The fire began to flame to life, and he helped her shake out the match. “Good job.”

She grinned.

She was missing her bottom incisors. But her top front teeth were in, big in her mouth. Wow, she was a cutie.

At the stove, Axel poured the noodles into the boiling water.

Meanwhile, Tillie had plated the steaks and set the table, like they might be at the Skyport for dinner.

So many questions.

Like how’d she ended up in Alaska, and . . . and how about that crazy move she’d done on Rigger, sweeping out his feet? Reminded him a little of how she’d taken Moose down a few months ago when he’d accidently surprised her in a wintery parking lot.

He watched her as she took the brush from Hazel, then held the ends of Hazel’s hair and worked out the snarls. Hazel scowled even as Tillie made an effort to minimize the pulling.

“Where have you two been the past month?” He didn’t know why he started there. It seemed easier than the questions about Rigger. Especially in front of Hazel.

“In our car,” Hazel said.

His eyes widened. Tillie sighed. “Just for the last week.”

“A week. In your car ?”

“We were camping,” Hazel said. “With sleeping bags.”

“We stayed at a few parks around the city. Kincaid. Earthquake. There are a lot of parks around.”

Camping .

“This looks amazing.” Tillie pulled her plate toward herself. “You want some salad, Hazelnut?”

“Gross.”

“Macaroni and cheese in five,” Axel said.

Moose piled salad and some squash on his plate. Maybe food would help him unsnarl his brain, because now he was stuck on an image of Hazel and Tillie sleeping in their car as the nights got colder.

Yeah, no, that wasn’t happening again.

“For the record, we also stayed at a few hotels,” Tillie said softly. “I just ran out of money.”

The money. She seemed to connect with that thought the same time he did. “Where are London and Shep?”

Right .

He’d left his phone in his jacket and now slid off the stool?—

“I got it, bro,” Axel said, already dialing. He put it on speaker, then grabbed the pot of noodles and dumped the water out into the sink, holding onto the lid.

The call rang and rang, then went to Shep’s voicemail.

Axel put the noodles back on the stove, then hung up, no message.

“That’s not good,” Moose said.

“Let’s try London.” Axel dialed her number, then added the cheese mix and retrieved milk from the refrigerator as the call rang.

Again, no answer and it went to voicemail.

Axel hung up, then added the milk and stirred. Silence.

“Okay, now I’m worried,” Moose said. He looked at Tillie. “You think your friend Rigger went back to your house . . .”

“He’s not my friend,” she said, a little flash to her eyes.

He looked at Axel, who was opening the tuna can.

“Eat,” said Axel. “Then worry. Besides, Shep and London can take care of themselves. You don’t have to rescue everyone.”

Really? Because it felt like it.

Axel poured Hazel some milk, then gave her a bowl of hot macaroni and cheese.

“I love macaroni and cheese!” Hazel put down her milk, leaving a mustache of cream on her lip.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Axel said and winked.

Hazel picked up her spoon and dug into her dinner. Moose poured himself a glass of milk and offered one to Tillie, but she declined, preferring water. Then he sat at the island and ate a perfectly decent, but a little overdone, steak, trying to do exactly what Axel said.

But . . . he had to know. Not in front of Hazel, however, so he started with, “Where’d you learn the superglue trick?”

Tillie had cut up her salad. “The Marines.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Staff Sergeant Tillie Young, reporting for duty.” She winked, popping a bite of steak into her mouth.

“Wow. Staff Sergeant. Four years, then?”

“Straight out of high school. Was going to be career. I was in for six.”

“Why the Marines?”

“My dad was a marine.” She lifted a shoulder. “Semper Fi.”

Right . “And then?”

She sighed. “Then my sister got sick and she needed medical care, so . . .” She glanced at Hazel. “We moved to Anchorage.”

Yeah, there were a few empty spots in that answer. But maybe that’s all she wanted Hazel to know.

Axel had fixed himself a plate, too, and now ate at the end of the island, scrolling through his phone. Maybe sending Flynn a message. Hopefully.

His thoughts returned to Shep and London. The last thing Moose wanted was for them to get tangled up with Rigger.

He didn’t care what Axel said. Of course they were his responsibility.

“Bro.”

Moose looked up from where he’d sopped his steak in ranch dressing.

Axel slid his phone across the island, and Moose picked it up, looked at the screen, his chest knotting.

“What?” Tillie asked.

“Local Anchorage media has picked up the altercation at the house.” He set the phone down. “Got a great shot of me getting arrested.”

Her mouth tightened.

“They listed my name. And Air One Rescue.” He slid the phone back to Axel.

Silence as Axel met his gaze. It wouldn’t be hard for Rigger to track down Moose’s home address.

Which meant whatever had been started back at Roz’s house might get finished here. And sure, he had security, but the first rule of defense was to not get caught in the first place.

He didn’t need to know all the reasons why they were in this situation.

He just needed to know Tillie and Hazel were safe.

He put down his fork. “How would you guys like to go on a road trip?”

Hazel had finished her mac and cheese and now put her glass down, really cementing that milk mustache.

“Where?” Tillie asked.

“Do you trust me?”

She swallowed, then nodded.

“Good. Get your stuff. We leave in ten.”

He got up from the stool.

Axel came around to grab his plate. “Tell Mom hi.”

Moose had brought her to his home.

His. Home .

With his father and mother. And a dog named Kip and a huge yard, with a slide and fresh air and a river she’d warned Hazel not to get close to, and fresh-made cinnamon rolls and . . .

Peace.

Or at least a ceasefire between the guilt and shame in her soul.

Guilt that she’d dragged Moose into her problems. Shame that she hadn’t been smarter, kept Hazel safe.

Kept the promise to Pearl.

But here, as Tillie stood in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, nursing a cup of coffee on Moose’s deck, watching Hazel throw a stick for Kip in the yard . . . she simply breathed.

In. Out. Fresh air. Safety .

Overhead, to the west, a few dark low-hanging clouds suggested a storm, but around them, the sky arched blue and beautiful, the majestic Alaska Range jutting through the clouds, triumphant, some of the peaks glistening a glorious white.

And the air. Piney, with the wind stirring up a tangy, delicious fall scent. The river at the far end of the property rushed, a distant applause to the day.

“There you are.”

Moose came out of the door to the main floor of his parents’ A-frame home. An apron deck wrapped around the sides and front and jutted out over a lower floor that opened up into the yard.

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 her chocolate 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 words Last Frontier Bakery on 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?—”

“I remember.”

“And Flynn is hunting down Rigger too. We’ll lay low here and let them do their job.”

She drew in a long, pine-scented breath. “I don’t want any of your family to get hurt.”

Moose gave her a grim smile. “Me either.”

“Mom, watch! He can fetch!” Hazel threw a stick, and Kip went bounding after it, bringing it back. She tried to wrestle it from his mouth, and a tug-of-war started.

“He’s a sweet dog.”

Moose rolled his eyes.

“What? You don’t like dogs?”

“I like dogs. I just like well-behaved dogs.”

“They don’t get there without a lot of love and supervision.”

“Like children, I guess.”

She raised a shoulder.

Silence fell between them. She finally looked over. “You aren’t going to ask?”

“Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

Oh .

“I know I came in with both barrels last night, but I did a lot of thinking during the drive up.”

“While I was sleeping.”

“You were tired. You both were. I was still pretty lit up.”

“You have questions.”

“Thousands. But I’ve decided that I can live without answers.” He turned to her. “You need my help. That’s enough for me. No reasons why. Just . . . because.”

Her throat tightened. “Shoot, Moose. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one who listens. Gives you milkshakes in your dark hours.”

He laughed, and the sound of it was a balm to her clearly still-frayed nerves.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just . . . you do know that I only ordered the milkshakes because you made them. And pie.”

“You love pie.”

“I do. But not at midnight.”

She smiled. “So you just came in to see me?”

“Seriously, for a whole year I only came into the diner during your shift.”

Yes, she’d known he liked her—he’d asked her out. But . . .

“Did you turn me down for a date because of Hazel?”

“I felt like it was too complicated.”

“I’m a helicopter pilot. We can do complicated.”

She turned away before this all got out of hand. “Not my kind of complicated.”

Silence again, and she decided not to fill it.

But maybe he got it.

He finally took another sip of coffee, then tossed the rest out into the yard. “I have to go to town to get a part for the plow and some groceries for Mom. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. I’ll get Hazel?—”

“Hazel is fine here with my mom. She’s going to make cookies. I’ll bet Hazel would enjoy learning how to make them. Mom’s recipe is world—or at least Alaska—famous.”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“She’ll be fine.”

Laughter from the yard below suggested that Tillie might have a fight on her hands ripping Hazel away from Kip. “Okay. Let me tell her, then I’ll change and meet you.” She finished her coffee, then while Moose went into the house, she walked down the steps to talk to Hazel.

“You sure you want to stay?”

“Forever!” Hazel threw her arms around her mom. “Can we get a puppy?”

“No.” Tillie unwrapped Hazel’s embrace. “I will come back. In the meantime, obey Mrs. Mulligan.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Mom. Another lie, of sorts, but Tillie just nodded.

Some guilt she’d determined to live with.

An hour later, she walked down the sidewalk of Copper Mountain, Moose’s hometown, heading toward the hardware shop.

“Your family owns this?” She spotted the words Ace’s Hardware drawn on the window.

“For eighty years. My grandfather before him.” A tiny bell jingled as they came inside the old wooden building. She felt like she’d stepped back in time with shelving along the perimeter and, like a card catalogue in a vintage library, rows of wooden shelving that contained small drawers, all labeled. The place smelled of history and wisdom. A couple of faded pictures in frames hung near the wooden counter, one with a man standing in front of a 1960s Ford truck, another with three generations, four people—two men, two teenage boys—crouching in front of a moose, clearly hunted.

“That’s my grandpop, Arlo,” Moose said.

“His namesake,” said Ace, who stood at the counter. An older version of Moose, he bore Moose’s girth and height, and dark brown hair. He wore a pair of Carhartt overalls, his name on the upper chest.

“Namesake?” Tillie asked.

“Got that part, Dad?”

Ace pointed to a box on the counter and grinned.

Moose looked at it. “This is all we need to fix the tripping system?”

“Four springs. Had them special ordered.” Ace stuck his hands in his pockets, sat on a high stool, smiled at Tillie. “So, you’re the waitress.”

“Dad—”

“Axel told me about you.” He winked.

Moose closed his eyes, shook his head.

“Moose needs a friend who isn’t in the rescue business. You’re welcome as long as you’d like to stay.”

And another ball filled her throat.

Moose picked up the box and headed outside. “Sorry. That’s what happens when you’re single too long.”

She glanced at him. “You’ve been single too long?”

He put the box into the bed of his truck, then grabbed a mesh bag. “I’ve always been single. By choice. We need to stop at Gigi’s.”

He walked down the sidewalk toward a cabin-turned-store just down the street from the pizza place. The scent of roasted tomato sauce lifted into the air as they passed.

Her stomach growled.

“Really?”

“It’s just a reflex. I love pizza.”

“Noted.” He turned into the store. The grocery store had once been a cabin with many small rooms, all of them like mini departments now. Moose headed toward the fresh produce and picked through a bin of potatoes.

“Mom’s making a roast tonight.” He put the potatoes into a bag, grabbed a bunch of carrots, a bag of onions.

She went quiet behind him, all the way until he paid and walked out onto the street.

“You okay?”

“I just . . . you make it all feel so normal.”

“What?”

“This. Me landing on your doorstep. Your mom, making breakfast, a roast for dinner. Who are you?”

He glanced over at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I guess I mean . . . thank you.”

His eyebrow went up, but he smiled and turned to her. “For a year, Tillie, you’ve been serving me chicken, making me shakes, and listening to my post-rescue rants. Thank you .”

Okay, sure. Yes. Of course all of this was just about friendship, and maybe that was for the best.

Definitely for the best.

Besides, “I’ve always been single. By choice.”

Interesting. Especially in light of his late-night chicken commitment.

Except, perhaps she had been single too long too, and read into this more than it was.

He dropped the food into the bed of his truck. “Listen, it’s too early for pizza, but how about a cup of cocoa at the coffee shop? They make an amazing spiced nutmeg hot cocoa.”

“It’s the last week of August.”

“In Alaska.”

“Good point.”

The street wasn’t busy, but she still thought it sweet when he held out an arm, as if to protect her as they crossed the street in front of Denali Sports. They passed the Forest Service office, then Bowie Mountain Gear. He held the door open for her at the Last Frontier Bakery.

Inside, a few people sat in worn leather chairs, their coffees sitting on side tables made from rough-hewn pine. That same pine covered the lofted ceiling and walls, and the place smelled richly of the north woods and coffee.

“Hey, Moose,” said a woman over the sound of milk frothing.

Tillie followed the greeting and spotted a young woman who appeared in her late teens. She wore her dark curly hair in front cornrows, tufted and free in the back, and a black apron with the store emblem on the front.

“Hey, Cally. How about a snowflake cocoa?”

“Milk, white, or dark chocolate?”

“Dark, and—” He looked at Tillie.

“White.”

“On it.” Cally disappeared behind the array of machines at the counter.

A man in the corner called a greeting, and Moose walked over and shook hands.

The local sheriff, by the looks of it. Good-looking, early thirties, brown hair, a gaze that flicked over to her.

“Deke. How are you?”

“You know. The usual. Broke up a party over at the Copper Mountain campground last night. Caught a speeder out on the highway. And there’ve been reports of a moose in the area, wandered into a few yards.”

“It’s not breeding season yet.”

“No, but it’s gone from hot to chilly quickly. Could be messing with their rutting season.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Cocoa’s up,” said Cally.

Tillie had listened to it all from across the room as she read posters of past and upcoming events. Like the big summer breakup and the fall bluegrass festival, held over Labor Day. Pinned to the board were advertisements for houses for rent, pizza delivery from Northstar Pizza, an event at the library that involved an out-of-town author, and a call for participants for classes at a nearby art center.

Moose walked up to her holding the cups of cocoa.

She took hers. “This is a cute town.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“Please.” She took a sip of cocoa as they pushed through the door into the sunshine. “Oh, wow. This is?—”

“Told you.”

Yeah . The sun hung high overhead, peeling away the slight chill that scurried in around the fir trees that hugged the buildings. The entire town seemed about three blocks large, with one main street and a few off-streets. Quaint.

The kind of town she wouldn’t mind raising Hazel in.

“This looks like a great little town to be from.”

“It is. But it’s also suffocating. Everyone knows everyone. And everything.”

Right . They’d started walking down the street, toward the river that flowed at the edge of town.

“So, not a great place to hide, then,” she said.

He glanced at her. “Oh, um . . .”

“I’m kidding. I noticed you didn’t introduce me.”

“Did you want?—”

“Nope.”

He nodded. And didn’t ask.

And suddenly, the fact that he didn’t ask, didn’t want to know?—

And that just felt unfair. To him. And honestly, a big part of her wanted to let him in.

He deserved the truth, at the very least.

“Okay, ask me what you want.”

A few tourists roamed the streets, and Bowie Mountain Gear had put out a sale rack of clothing. A wolf-looking dog stood with a woman with brown hair, dressed in a lightweight puffer, jeans, and boots. She perused the rack of clothing, but at her dog’s alert, she looked up.

“Moose!”

Beside Tillie, Moose slowed. “Stormi?”

The dog whined and Moose knelt. Stormi let his leash go, and the animal came over to Moose, hunkered down, whining. Moose rubbed his ears, and the dog rolled over, exposed his belly.

“Apparently, you two bonded during our epic rescue,” Stormi said, coming over to him. “Rome, c’mon, buddy, don’t make a fool out of yourself.”

Moose laughed, rubbed Rome’s chest. “What are you doing up here?”

“Rome and I trained at a school in Montana, and the instructor was from Copper Mountain—Jericho Bowie?”

Moose stood up, and Rome flipped to his feet, nudging his hand for more. “Yeah, Jericho and I are old friends. He was here earlier this summer with his dog Orlando.”

“Great tracking dog.” She motioned to Rome to sit, and the dog obeyed. “We’re going to do some mild training. Ridge is planning to hide in the woods, let Rome find him. He’s over at the Northstar grabbing a pizza for his arduous wait.”

“And your sister?”

“She’s out on a charter flight over Denali.”

“Sky King tours?”

“Yeah. I suppose you know everyone around here.”

Moose glanced at Tillie, back at Stormi. “Yep.”

Rome barked as a man came out of Northstar Pizza. Moose lifted his hand, and the man waved back. He held a pizza box and headed toward a Bronco.

“Where are you guys staying?”

“A little bed and breakfast in the area.”

“The Samsons’?”

“Good guess.”

“There aren’t that many, and Beau and Nan Samsons’ place is popular. They’re only here during the summer, but they’re always booked.”

“She makes an amazing fry bread with homemade blueberry jam.”

“You should try her suaasat soup. It’s made with seal meat.”

Stormi wrinkled her nose. “I’ll stick to pizza.”

He laughed. “Good to see you.” He gave her a hug as Rome sat and wagged his tail.

They continued down the street, and Tillie hated the tiny twinge inside at the way Stormi had looked at him with so much warmth in her gaze.

Of course she had. Because that’s what Moose did—he rescued people.

Which meant that really, Tillie wasn’t anyone special, was she? Aw, that wasn’t fair.

Her insecurities should probably just pipe down. Moose was here. With her. And that meant something.

They came to a park at the end of the street, where she saw an amphitheater and a boardwalk running along the edge of the river all the way to a lookout three blocks to the south.

Moose turned to her. “Tell me about how you managed to take down Rigger at the house. You have skills . . .”

That’s right. She’d offered. But that question she hadn’t expected. He could have asked about Rigger. Or the money. Even the question she was dreading about Rigger being Hazel’s father, although there wasn’t much to explain there.

But this . . . this was easy. “I mentioned being a marine, right?”

“They don’t teach that kind of hand-to-hand combat in the Marines. That’s an MMA move. Picked that up from Rigger.”

Right .

They’d reached the edge of the block, ventured out onto the boardwalk. Ten feet below, the river frothed over rocks near the shore. A mist rose in the air, fine and cool.

“I was training to be an MMA fighter when I got out.”

He stilled, turned to her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Let me back up to the fact that I didn’t really have any real skills. I enlisted when I was seventeen, joined full-time when I was eighteen, and did four years, and by that time, I was back Stateside, and they offered me another two years, so I re-enlisted and Pearl came to live with me.”

And shoot, now she had to start lying. But she’d tell most of it.

“Rigger kept coming around, and he’d changed a little, at least back then. He thought I had the skills to be an MMA fighter, so he started training me at a local gym when I was off-duty. I learned the sweep from him.”

Moose nodded, took another sip. Then, “Seriously, that’s the very last thing I expected to hear.”

“I know. I wasn’t me back then, not really.” Or rather, a part of herself that she didn’t want to remember.

“Did you ever fight?” His eyes held what looked like horror.

She shook her head. “I went into the ring once, but . . . no.”

He nodded again.

“But I did become an Iron Maiden.”

She liked the surprise that flitted over his face. “Really? That’s what—the all-female version of American Ninja Warrior, right?” And right then, his gaze moved over her body.

“I might have been in better shape back then.”

“You’re in fine shape now.”

A beat. And her face might have been heating, and his eyes sort of widened—“I mean?—”

She laughed. “Being a waitress is it’s own form of workout.”

“It is,” he said, smiling.

“Anyway, yes. The difference between an Iron Maiden and ANW is there is no distinction between men and women in ANW. So the organizations wanted to make a female competition. I started in ANW and won the Miami City competition two years in a row. Went to nationals in Vegas both years. Made it to stage two the second year—fell on the crisscross salmon ladder. Then I went to the Iron Maiden championship and . . .”

He waited.

She smiled.

“You won ?”

She shrugged. “Not bad for a waitress.”

“ Whatever . You won.” There was a hint of pride in his voice. It swept through her, found her bones.

“Yeah. Nearly fell on the Power Tower though. I was never much of a heights person. Just don’t look down, right?”

“Right. So . . .” His smile dimmed. “Is that the money Rigger wants?”

He’d put that together pretty easily. “Yes. There was a pretty nice cash prize of a hundred grand. He thought he was entitled to the money since he’d sort of trained me.”

“Sounds like you spent a lot of time taking care of your sister.”

“I was all she had.” She finished her cocoa. “I shouldn’t have abandoned her.”

“How did you abandon her?”

“I left her for the military, just like my dad did. And . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “Anyway, we were happy for a while in Anchorage. And now I’m all Hazel has.”

The wind whipped up around them as they reached the end of the boardwalk. She turned and stared out at the river. Blue and sparkling under the sunlight, beautiful and lethal at the same time.

“You’re not alone anymore, Tillie.”

His voice nudged under her skin, found soil. But even with the tenderness, she fought not to flinch.

No . She sighed, turning to correct him, but he’d turned to the rail.

“You know, the worst day of my life happened here. Or one of them.”

She looked up at him, but his gaze seemed far away.

“My brother, Axel, was about ten years old. We were in town, goofing around. It was hot—summertime—and a bunch of people were hanging out by the shore throwing rocks, a few wading. I was hanging out with my friends—Hudson Bowie, and Deke Starr, who you met—and we were, I don’t know . . . throwing a football around, I think. Anyway, I heard shouts and saw my stupid brother jumping into this river.”

“He jumped into this? It’s so dangerous.”

“A little kid had gone in and got swept up by the river, and he went in after him. By the time I got over there, Axel had grabbed the kid but had hit the rocks and broken his arm. Took three guys to get them out of the river, and by then, both of them were nearly drowned.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Yeah.” He went silent for a moment. “I was supposed to be watching my brother.”

And that, right there, explained everything. Why Moose ran the rescue team, why he hovered, why he never gave up on someone if they needed him.

“The thing is, I do realize that Axel has his own mind. He does what he wants, and I’m finally starting to get that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. I can’t help but want to step in when someone I care about is in over their head.”

He looked away from her, upriver, and a muscle clenched in his jaw.

Oh, Moose . He deserved better than lies. She put her hand on his arm. “Moose, I need to tell you something?—”

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. “It’s my mom.” Swiping it open, he put it to his ear.

Tillie could hear his mother’s panicked voice over the line?—

“Moose, you have to come home. Hazel’s missing.”