Page 42 of One Last Storm
“And ask you if you’d be the baby’s godfather.”
Oh wow. He swallowed.
“If it weren’t for you?—”
He put a hand over hers. “The baby would have been just fine. I just…took you to the hospital, Tills.”
“You made me go. You were brave for me. And…” She crouched in front of him. “And I need you to be brave for yourself.”
He swallowed, his jaw tight. Nodded.
Whatever.
Tillie pressed a kiss to his cheek and got up.
Flynn walked over to him then. “Doc said you should start physical therapy in a few days. I’m driving you. We’ll get you back on your feet.”
Great. Just what he needed—a babysitter.
But he looked at Flynn, his gaze holding hers. “Any news from the?—”
“No.” She squeezed his hand. “She’s still unresponsive.”
A stone fell through his heart, but he nodded. “And Rosa?”
Her mouth tightened. “She critical.”
So, peace, love and joy all around.
She got up.
A knock came at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Hazel announced, bounding toward the entryway.
“Hazel, wait—” Moose started, but she was already opening the door.
From his perch on the sofa, he made out a man, maybe mid-thirties, wearing a heavy leather coat and a white hat. Didn’t look like Santa, but…
“Merry Christmas. Is there a girl named Hazel here?”
Moose had walked up behind him. “Wilder?”
Right. Wilder Frost. He’d met the guy a few years ago—he’d been involved in a drug bust with the Sorros brothers. The memory pinged inside, along with Wilder’s loss.
Now, the man stepped inside, snow dusting his worn coat, carrying something bundled in a blanket. “Hey Moose,” he said. His eyes held warmth as he nodded to the assembled group.
“I can’t stay long, but…I needed to take a trip down to Anchorage, and after Winter got her plane working, she buzzed me down here last night. Sorry to interrupt your celebration,” he said, “but I had to check in with my vet on my recent litter of husky pups. I’m headed back to the homestead in a bit, but I…well, there’s a certain puppy here who needs a home.”
He pulled back the blanket, revealing a small ball of gray and white fur with bright blue eyes. “This one’s the runt, but she needs a good home.”
Shoot, even Dawson could admit the pup was cute. A husky, with big blue eyes, an unsteady gait. The little thing plopped on the floor, face first, then scrambled up.
Hazel squealed with joy. “A puppy? For me?”
“If your name is Hazel.”
“It is!”
