Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

A t least it had stopped raining.

Moose sat with his back against the ledge—an eight-foot hangover that seemed like it had once been the bottom of the cave until the mudslide had broken off the rest.

He wanted to keep the memory of being swept under the rocks into the cauldron of the creek wedged there, forever away from his brain.

Not how he wanted to die, thank you.

Although, hypothermia wasn’t top of his list, either.

Tillie sat on the ledge next to him, her arms around Hazel, who wasn’t sopping wet, thank the Lord, but still shivered.

He himself fought a bone-deep chill. Too bad the pack had gone soaring off the edge. . . .

And it was a ridiculous thought, but the memory of the avalanche on the glacier reached out and tugged on him. Back in the belly of the whale.

The cave even smelled like a rank sea creature, the mud rife with an earthy, almost dead, scent. Water trickled down the walls, and below, the churning river filled the cavern, almost deafening, a ringing in his ears.

Whatever message God might be trying to send, Moose was listening.

“I’m hungry, Mom,” said Hazel, tucking her knees up to herself. “And I’m cold.”

“I know, honey.” Tillie cast a look at Moose. “I could try to climb out.”

“The walls are concave and slippery, and even if you got to the top, the mudslide would send you back down.” He had caught Kip and now ran his hands through the puppy’s fur. The animal lay between his legs, filthy, but warm and sleeping.

Tillie shivered then, and oh, he wanted to put his arm around her. She’d clung to him after he’d ripped her out of the mouth of the current, so he edged closer to her, his leg against hers, and put his arm around her. “Reminds me of Navy boot camp.”

“What ever . Your most difficult boot-camp experience was probably trying not to fall asleep in the chow line. Or doing the fifty required daily push-ups. Try running the Marines’ Crucible and then come talk to me.”

“The Crucible? I’ve heard of that. Is it as terrible as they make it sound?”

“Forty-five pounds of gear, not including my M16, forty-eight miles of marching, fifty-four hours with three MREs—mine were chicken a la king—and four hours of sleep. Not to mention the thirty-some warrior-readiness stations.”

“What are MREs?” Hazel said.

“Meals Rejected by Everyone,” Moose said, cutting in on Tillie’s response.

She looked over at him and held up a fist. He bumped it.

“I’ve heard about those Marine readiness stations.”

“Iron Maiden would love them—we crawl through barbed-wire trenches, cross logs on cables, climb over walls, transport pretend wounded over a battlefield, swing on ropes over a pit, and carry water and ammunition over every obstacle they can think of. . . .”

“Good training, then.”

“And it all ends with a massive pugil-stick bout, and that’s super fun when you’re dog tired.”

“Okay, you win.”

“Oorah.” She looked at him, grinned. “Sorry, Navy. I know you guys aren’t pansies. The Navy corpsmen deploy with the Marines, so there’s that.”

“Thanks. Except I was a chopper pilot, so I didn’t have to dodge any bullets.”

“On the ground. I’ll bet you dodged a few in the air.”

“I did a tour in Afghanistan, so yes. Managed mostly to not get shot down.”

Shoot, he should have said that differently, because?—

“ Mostly? ”

Her body warmed his, and he wasn’t shivering as much. “We got a call that a couple spec ops guys were wounded. I flew in to evac them and ended up getting grounded.”

Silence.

She turned, looked at him.

He glanced at Hazel.

“She’s heard my stories. She knows about war.”

Not the war he’d seen. He drew in a breath. “I was transporting the wounded out when I got shot down. I managed to get out and took one of the guys with me, but my chopper was blown up, and I spent four days hoofing it to safe ground, carrying my soldier to safety.”

“Through enemy territory.”

“Pretty much, yes.” He had done a great job of keeping the memories out of his head, at least the last few years. But sometimes . . .

“So you’re a hero.”

“No. I screwed up. It was my job to rescue him?—”

“Wow. Savior complex much?”

He looked at her, stiffened. “I?—”

“Moose. It was war. You do what you can, and you keep going.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not a savior. But I had a job?—”

“Okay, Navy, you need to let that go.”

He looked back at her. “ I had to be rescued.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “I get it. You can do the rescuing, but getting in over your head . . . that’s not the Moose way.”

“I could try to climb out.”

“Calm down, Moose. I get it.” She kissed the top of Hazel’s head. Looked back at him. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to make sure that everyone is okay. Pearl. Hazel.” She lifted a shoulder. “If anyone understands the guilt—it’s me.”

Oh .

“Is that why you left the Navy?”

He swallowed, his chest suddenly tight. “The man I carried out reminded me a lot of Axel, and I . . . I started having nightmares. And then . . .” He sighed. “I just needed a change.”

“So you came home and started a rescue service.”

“Not exactly.” He looked at her, debating, then, “I started a flight service. I could already fly planes—learned how to fly in high school. I bought a little bush plane and started flying hunters and fishermen out into the bush. Transporting locals and even a few tourists who wanted to see Denali.”

“So where did the rescue bit come in?”

He took a breath. He’d skim over the brutal parts. “There was this hunter who had a fly-in cabin. I was ferrying him, along with a couple other passengers who wanted to see Denali, when an ice storm forced us down. We were stranded and ended up needing to hike out. The short of it is that I ended up carrying the man out after he broke his ankle. He was so grateful, he gave me the money for Air One. ”

“You do that a lot?”

“What?”

“Carry people out of danger.”

He looked at her. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess.”

“Like Superman,” Hazel said and lifted her arm, zooming her hand into the air. “In your helicopter.”

He smiled. “Okay, that’s a little overstated but?—”

“Superman. I like it.” Tillie looked over at him. She’d relaxed a little, her body moving into his. Tucking herself against him.

“That’s not all.” And he didn’t know why he suddenly had the urge to speak them aloud, the promises he hadn’t kept, but here he was again, trapped in a cave, so . . . “Pike was pretty wealthy but very alone. His son had walked away from him after Pike’s divorce, and they’d lost touch. It took us three days to get back to civilization, and during that time, we talked, a lot. Pike wanted to find his son, tell him some things. When Pike died, he gave me his home.”

Silence.

“The thing is, I made him a promise during that long hike back to civilization that, if anything happened to him, I’d find his son and tell him . . . stuff. Things Pike said to me.”

“And you haven’t.”

“No. And . . . every time I walk in my front door, I think about that, and how I’ve let Pike down.”

“Did you try to find his son?”

“I don’t even have his name.”

“What about his lawyer? Does he know him?”

“I asked, but apparently he can’t find him either, so . . .” Moose shook his head, as if angry with himself. “But it . . . it’s there, right? That promise. And . . .” He indicated the cave with the rotation of his finger. “Feels a lot like the story of Jonah, right? Trapped in a whale? Maybe God is trying to get my attention.”

“Maybe.”

“You agree? ”

“It worked, right?”

Huh . “You really think that?”

“I don’t know, Moose. You’re the one always talking about hope. God is . . . I mean, do I believe in God? Yes, I think. But I’ve never . . .” She pulled Hazel back against herself. “Trusting is harder. All my life people have told me to trust them. My mom. My dad . . . and he never came back.”

Right . “How old were you when your dad left?”

“The last time? Twelve. He was deployed.”

“You mentioned that. Was he killed in the war?”

“Nope. And not listed missing either.” She glanced at him. “I think he went AWOL.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so, we lived with a foster family for a while. Anyway . . . like I said, I’m not real good at trusting.” She took a breath. “I trust in what I can do, what I can see. I trust in my love for Hazel. And . . . I guess now I trust you. Or I’m trying to.”

She looked over at him, and he couldn’t speak. Because, oh , he didn’t want to let her down. Because she could trust him. More, she could trust God, if she let herself.

His prayer back in the ice cave stirred inside him. Please. Keep her safe. Bring her help if she needs it .

Softly, “You can trust me, Tillie.”

She looked over at him, her eyes wide, so much on her face he didn’t know what to do with it.

“And as for God, you can trust him too.” Maybe too much, but he couldn’t stop himself.

She gave him a tight smile, then looked down at her daughter. Hazel had turned, snuggled into Tillie, Tillie’s arms around the little girl. Such a pretty girl, with dark hair and pretty green eyes.

Green eyes.

Tillie had brown eyes.

And Rigger had been as Aryan as the Hitler Youth. Blond hair, blue eyes.

Wait—

Blued-eyed and brown-eyed parents couldn’t have green-eyed children. Or at least, his biology class in high school had suggested that it was rare. So, he could be wrong, but with the thought, his chest simply released, and he took a full breath.

Of course Rigger wasn’t the father. Because Tillie would never be with a man like Rigger. She was . . . honest. And sweet and kind and . . . frankly, he didn’t want to think of her with anyone.

Anyone but him. And that thought just sort of lodged there, refusing to budge. In fact, it had been tooling around his head for a long time. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

But here she was, suddenly in his life, needing him and . . .

Still, who— He nearly opened his mouth to ask when her words hit him: “Now I trust you. Or I’m trying to.” Okay, so he wouldn’t ask. And it didn’t matter. She was here now, with him.

“And I promise, I will keep you safe.” He kept his voice low, his arm still around her, but her gaze shifted, and she looked up at him, nodded.

Hazel had closed her eyes, and he glanced down at her and back to Tillie.

She still looked at him, her gaze in his, those beautiful brown eyes barely visible in the fading sunlight. But even in her bedraggled, sodden state, her hair plastered to her head, blood on her scalp—he had checked, and she had whacked it good—she still possessed a breathtaking beauty, born from grit and perseverance and even, even if she didn’t believe in it, hope.

Because people who hoped kept fighting. Kept staying the course. Kept reaching out with their whole hearts.

That was called faith.

And maybe he was here to help her see it.

“Tillie. You don’t have to trust God. Yet. But I think he’s trying to get your attention too. To show you that, even when life seems to pull out from under you, you’re not alone.”

He lifted his hand, touched her face. Ran his thumb down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” she said quietly.

“It is your fault, so . . .” He lifted a shoulder.

Her eyes widened.

“Aw, Til, I was just kidd?—”

She kissed him. Just leaned up and pressed her lips to his, soft and yet sudden and sure.

And okay, it startled him, and sure, he’d been single for nearly forever, but he didn’t need any help figuring out how to respond. Sheesh, he’d been quietly dreaming—no, hoping —for this moment for the better part of a year. So he kissed her back, moving his hand behind her neck to return her touch. Softly, perfectly.

Even while his heart nearly exploded.

Hazel shifted in Tillie’s arms, and he lifted his head. Met Tillie’s eyes.

She swallowed. “Um . . .”

Kip got up, started to bark, and outside, voices and barking, and then light swept into the cave.

Then, of course, his brother hung over the edge like a crazy man and waved. “Hey, bro. You okay?”

“Yep.”

Axel grinned. “So, this is going to be a thing?”

“Just get us out of here.”

But as he looked at Tillie, Moose wanted to say yes. Yes, this was going to be a thing.

One minute Tillie was wet and cold and stuck in a cave.

The next she was out, wrapped in a blanket, aboard a chopper that arched away from the hole in the earth, Hazel held tight to herself, buckled in across from Moose, who was grimy but looking at her with a fierceness that reinforced his words. “And I promise, I will keep you safe.”

Oh boy, she believed him. Really believed him. And that scared her as much as the fact that she’d kissed him.

Clearly she’d lost her mind. But he’d looked down at her with such emotion in his eyes, and it’d sort of . . . indeed, she’d lost her mind. Just given into the moment.

I’m sorry, Moose.

The chopper hummed so loudly she couldn’t talk to him anyway. Axel had strapped in beside Moose, and Shep sat on the other side of Hazel, who held Kip, wiggling in her arms.

She didn’t recognize the man with dark hair at the controls. London sat in the copilot seat.

Outside, night crept over the land, the sun gone, the sky arching dark with pinpricks of starlight. Beneath them, she spotted the Copper River, a glistening silvery snake that wound around the mountain and the rocky shoreline.

They veered away and skimmed over the forest, populated here and there with lights from houses, and in the distance, the gleam of the town of Copper Mountain lit up the night like a beacon.

They touched down at the Copper Mountain airport, and Axel unbuckled and threw open the door. Another man ran out onto the tarmac and met them.

“Colt! What are you doing here?” Axel grabbed his hand as he got out.

“Tae and I came to visit the baby, and we’d just gotten into town when Dodge radioed that you were coming in. Thought we’d hitch a ride back to the ranch.”

Axel turned to pick up Hazel, who winced, her leg clearly injured. Moose had also unbuckled and held out a hand to help Tillie.

She took it, unable to stop herself.

“You look tan,” Moose said to Colt as he hopped out.

“All that Florida sunshine,” Colt said. He shook the hand of the pilot, who’d climbed out. They pulled each other in for a back slap. “Dodge. Congrats on the baby.”

Dodge grinned, and a weird pain speared through Tillie.

Nothing like the joy of a newborn. She remembered it like it was yesterday. Yeah, they’d been happy then, at least for a minute.

“What happened?” Colt said to Moose. Shep joined him, London disembarking last.

“Got trapped in a mudslide,” Moose said.

“Colt Kingston?” London came up to them. “I can’t believe it.”

Colt seemed nonplussed to see London, his mouth opening, and she gave him a hug. “So, you did survive Nigeria.”

What was that about?

Moose turned to Axel, who still carried Hazel, who carried the puppy. “I want to take her to the hospital.” He reached for the puppy.

“No!” Hazel jerked the dog away, holding on.

Moose looked at her. “Hazel, let’s trade. You give the little troublemaker to my brother. He’ll bring him home. And I’ll take you to the hospital for a look-see on that leg.”

“He’s hungry.”

“Of course he is,” Moose said and finally eased the pup from her arms. Tillie pulled Hazel from Axel’s arms.

“We’re also going to get Tillie’s head wound looked at.”

Axel took the puppy from Moose. “I’m going to check in with Flynn. I’ll tell Mom to make up a couple beds for Shep and London.”

“I have a room at the Samsons’,” London said. “We were already driving up when Axel radioed in that you’d gone down the sinkhole, and I figured we’d be here overnight, so I called them.”

“That’s also when we realized we needed a chopper and called Dodge at Sky King Ranch,” Shep said.

“Thanks,” Moose said, and shook Dodge’s hand.

“We left a car here,” Shep said. “We’ll give you a ride to the hospital.”

“I’ll call Dad to pick me up,” Axel said, crouching to attach a leash to Kip. He glanced at Moose. “Got the lead from Stormi. Good call, by the way. Rome did a good job tracking you down.”

“We left a path the size of a grizzly, so . . .”

“Still.” Axel stood up. “There’s a future there with K9 SAR.” He pulled out his phone and walked away.

Hazel shivered and Tillie kissed her forehead. “We’ll be warm soon.”

Tillie’s head had really started to throb. She’d knocked her brain around good when she hit that rock.

As if reading her mind, Moose turned to her. “I can carry Hazel.”

“Are you sure?”

Moose looked at Hazel. “Can I carry you?”

Hazel nodded, and Moose took her. “Let’s go.”

Watching Moose carry little Hazel had Tillie’s chest all knotted, her throat tight.

He buckled her into Shep’s Jeep, then sat on one side, Tillie on the other as they drove to the hospital.

Hazel leaned against Moose, his big arm over her, keeping her warm.

Then he carried her into the hospital and right into the ER. And while a male intern sutured Tillie’s wound—yes, it needed stitches—Moose waged a thumb war with Hazel and played I Spy and told her a story of the time he’d gotten stitches and how brave she’d been to save Kip, and the entire time, Tillie wished for a different life.

A life that wasn’t riddled with mistakes and hiding and lies and . . .

But then she wouldn’t have Hazel, and it didn’t help to try to rewrite her mistakes, so?—

“You okay, Tillie?”

She looked over from where she lay on the table to see London standing nearby.

Behind her, Shep carried a takeout box from Northstar Pizza. “Anyone hungry?”

“Starved,” said Moose, who also wore a bandage on his forehead. He walked over to Tillie. “They want to get X-rays of Hazel’s leg, see if there is any structural damage.”

Oh. Uh . “I don’t . . . I don’t have insurance information for her,” Tillie said. Or, for that matter, insurance.

Moose nodded. “I get that. Because of all the accidents that happen here in the summertime, the hospital has a flat fee for standard exams, including X-rays. But I can see if they can waive?—”

“No. I can pay. I just . . . I’ll figure it out.”

“I think we can give you the Air One medical grant,” London said, and Moose’s eyebrows rose.

“There’s an Air One grant?”

“There is now,” London said, and winked at Tillie.

“Go ahead with those X-rays,” Moose said to the intern.

Tillie drew in a breath but nodded.

“The doctor would like to admit you too,” said the intern as he dropped his suture tools onto a tray. “You didn’t pass the concussion protocol, and he wants to keep an eye on you.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” Although, if she were to guess, yes, she had a concussion, given the thrum in her head. “Hazel and I will be fine.” Except, really, she didn’t have a place to stay, unless . . .

“My mom has probably baked cookies for us all,” Moose said, his gaze on Tillie.

She nodded.

The intern walked over to a wheelchair. “Hazel, want to go for a ride?”

Hazel climbed into the wheelchair.

Hazel glanced at Tillie.

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thanks, Bear,” said Moose and clamped the intern on the shoulder. “Great to see you back here.”

“Good to be back.” Bear wheeled Hazel down the hall.

“You can wait in the family area,” said a nurse. She patted the intern as he walked by with Hazel, a sort of motherly gesture. “I’ll bet that pizza is getting cold.”

Moose helped Tillie off the table, and she needed it because the world spun, just a little.

Or a lot.

They walked down to the family waiting area, a small room with an orange faux-leather sofa and a table and a television on the wall, set on some news station.

She settled onto the sofa while Shep opened the pizza box. “I hope you like pepperoni and onions. This was an extra that Levi had in the back.”

“It’s pizza,” Moose said and took a piece. “Tillie?”

“I might throw it up,” she said.

He sat down next to her. “Are you sure you don’t need to be admitted?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Just a headache . . . probably from the stress.”

“Or a concussion. I think you should get checked out.”

“I’ll get you some soda.” Shep left the room, probably on that errand.

She leaned her head back.

“Don’t sleep,” Moose said.

“I have an elephant stomping on my head. I am not going to fall asleep.”

“Then we need to talk about something,” London said softly.

Tillie looked over at the woman. Pretty, her blonde hair back in a ponytail, tall, some curves, she wore a red Air One jumpsuit, zipped halfway down to reveal a black shirt underneath.

“The money wasn’t there.”

Tillie just blinked at her for a long moment. Then she sat up.

Bad idea because the room took a fast curve. She reached out, and Moose’s hand caught hers.

“Do you need a bucket?”

“Not yet.” But maybe. “What do you mean it wasn’t there?”

“Shep and I lifted the patio pavers under the fire pit just like you said and?—”

“Did you look in the wrong place?”

London pulled out a molded white vinyl chair and sat down, then leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “No, we looked in the right place. The waterproof box was there. The suitcase was gone.”

And now Tillie couldn’t breathe. “It was gone.”

“Did Rigger find it?”

She glanced at Moose. Nodded, then winced.

“So maybe it’s over?” Moose said softly. “If he has the money, he could have left Alaska.”

Tillie cocked her head. They didn’t know Rigger like she did. And could be that Moose read her mind, because he gave her a look of frustration.

Then he spoke the words she dreaded. “Tillie, what aren’t you telling us?”

She swallowed.

Suddenly his attention left her, and he glanced past her, his gaze on the television. He frowned, and she turned to look at the flatscreen.

Her entire body hollowed.

Rigger, except not Rigger but in his true persona as Julian Richer, dressed in a neat blue suit, standing outside the grounds of the Alaska State Fair, smiling and talking with a local reporter. The closed captions on the screen caught the tail end of their interview.

. . . just on vacation. The family loves Alaska and we wanted to see the last great wilderness before my political campaign really heats up this fall.

What?

And then the camera panned to a woman who waved. She held the hands of two boys—looked like twins, about seven years old.

The same age as Hazel.

And now she got it. She shook her head.

“Tillie. Is that?—”

“Yeah. That’s Rigger. Or rather, Julian Richer. Rigger was his MMA name.” The reporter was winding up her segment with a few facts about Julian—his two championships in the light heavyweight division, his success as the entrepreneur of a line of MMA gyms across the country, and his current run for mayor in a suburb north of Miami.

They didn’t mention his criminal record, his history of drug use, his humble beginning, or even the former questionable profession of his wife, Courtney Baker.

And of course, they wouldn’t add anything about Pearl, the woman before all the fame.

Tillie sat back, her arms folded. And only then realized the room had gone silent.

“That can’t be the same man I fought with in Roz’s house. He’s . . . so cleaned up.”

“He’s a businessman on the outside, fighter on the inside. He’s always been a chameleon. The world has no idea.”

“I thought he was a small-time thug,” said Moose quietly.

“No. He’s powerful. Has money and judges in his back pocket and?—”

“Dangerous.” Moose finished.

“Why would he come to Alaska for money if he’s rich?” London said softly.

Tillie looked at her. Frowned. “I don’t know. What if he was here for the fair like he said, and saw the reality show and decided he wanted his cash?”

Shep came back into the room holding a Sprite. He opened it and handed it to Tillie, along with a package of crackers. Looked at London. “What did I miss?”

“I told her about the missing money.”

“And then we saw the guy on television,” Moose said. “I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that the guy we saw hold a gun on your friend and you is Mr. Clean and Shiny on television.”

Her too.

And then silence.

“Listen. My sister was in love with him, and I couldn’t stand him, but we needed money. So I let him train me, especially for the Iron Maiden.”

“The Ninja Warrior event?”

“She won,” Moose said.

London’s eyes widened. “You won?”

“Two years.”

“Moose—”

“I’m just saying.” Moose looked at her. Smiled, with something that looked almost like respect.

And shoot, just when she thought she could tell him everything, she saw the person she wanted to be in his eyes. “That was a long time ago,” Tillie said softly. “I’ve tried really hard to be someone else, to start over. I’m not that person anymore.”

She took a sip of the soda and a bite of cracker, and it helped. “A month ago, I was a waitress. How did I get here?”

“In a chopper,” Shep said.

She looked at him.

“Oh, you meant . . . that was metaphorical.” He reached for a pizza. “I’ll just eat my pizza.”

London looked at him and grinned, her eyes warm. Then back to Tillie. “The answer is you got here one step at a time.”

One stupid mistake at a time , but Tillie didn’t say that. “I’m sorry for all of it. For dragging you all into this mess.”

Moose covered her hand. “This is where we want to be.”

London nodded. “And by the way, we checked on your friend Roz. She’s recovering at Alaska Regional. Said for you to come see her.”

Roz . She hadn’t even thought of Roz since . . . hold the phone . “How did you know about Roz? You weren’t at the house.”

London looked at Shep, then shrugged. “She needs to know.” Then she turned back to Tillie. “There was a number left in the case, written on a piece of paper, so we did some sleuthing.”

Shep finished his slice of pizza. “It was a badge number, from Miami.”

“Roz’s number,” Tillie said.

“Yeah. We went to talk to her, but she said she needed to talk to you. Only you.”

Oh .

“Tomorrow, we’ll go back to Anchorage and figure out what is going on,” Moose said. “And if we have to, we’ll have another chat with Rigger.”

“I can’t believe the police haven’t arrested him,” said London.

“Clearly, they haven’t put the man who shot Roz and this guy together as the same person,” said Shep.

“We’ll fix that,” Moose said, and the way he said it made her heart lurch. Memories nearly made her open her mouth. No, Moose ?—

A knock sounded at the door, and Bear stuck his head in. “All done. The doctor took a look—no fracture, just some bruising. So you’re good to go, although?—”

“No, we’re going,” said Tillie, standing up.

The room tilted again, and she slammed her hand on the table.

Bear gave her a look .

“Just a headache.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Moose said, and slipped his hand under her elbow.

Apparently, he meant it, because when they got back to his parents’ home, and after she’d put Hazel to bed, she found him, changed, showered, dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, carrying a blanket and a bucket of popcorn.

“What’s that for?”

“How’s your head?”

She’d taken a couple pain meds with the soda and . . . “Better.”

“Good. There’s a Downton Abbey marathon that has our name on it.”

“ Downton Abbey ?”

“Would you prefer The Crown ?”

She laughed. “I have never seen either of them. But . . . you seem more like a Deadliest Catch kind of guy.”

She followed him up the stairs and into the main room. The door to the office was shut. She’d seen Shep head in there when they arrived to a home that smelled like freshly baked bread and the beef roast that had survived Moose’s crazy drive home.

And, of course, cookies. Which sat under a glass topper in a pile in the center of the table.

“Naw. I’m all about the manners and the upstairs-downstairs rules, and most of all . . . I’m a goner for the Dowager, Violet Crawley.”

“Who’s she—some hot blonde?”

“I like brunettes, and not quite.” He sat on the sofa, and she sat next to him and couldn’t help but compare it to the feeling she’d had in the cave.

No, he wasn’t going anywhere.

And frankly, she didn’t want to either. There was a chance that Rigger would finally leave her and Hazel alone—now that he had the money.

So maybe, yes, there were fresh starts.

Moose picked up the remote and turned on the television, queued up the first season of Downton . “No sleeping.”

She leaned against him. “You do know that’s not a thing, right?”

He grinned at her.

And she grinned back.

Yeah, well, no promises. Because she’d very much like to think that tomorrow she’d wake up to a happy ending.