One Last Storm (Alaska Air One Rescue #5)

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.

Outside, the wind picked up another notch, rattling the windows and sending a fresh curtain of snow across the glass.

The river looked like a frozen highway, white and desolate under the gray sky.

In the distance, he could barely make out the outline of the mountains through the thickening snowfall.

“Daddy, you okay?”

He lifted his head, and of course, Hazel had a bead on him, her eyes big, expression worried. “Um…”

“Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

Tillie. Saving his hide, again. His wife—oh, how he loved that word, too—appeared from the master bedroom.

He didn’t know how she did it, but every time he saw her, she seemed prettier.

And today, practically glowing despite the early hour.

Moving with a lightness he hadn’t seen in months, dark hair twisted up in a messy bun, wearing that soft gray robe that made her look like she was floating.

Thank you, Jesus, for miracles and answered prayer. Maybe he’d see a smile this Christmas, one not quite so shadowed by grief.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

She beamed at him, then turned that beautiful smile on Hazel. “Someone’s excited this morning.”

“I know I’m supposed to wait until Christmas morning, but I think Santa might bring my puppy early.

” She grinned at her mom, then back at Moose.

“I’ve been really good this year. Well, except for that time I accidentally broke your favorite coffee mug, but I told the truth about it, so that should count for something, right? ”

She did know that Moose was Santa, right?

Tillie glanced at Moose with that expectant look—the one that said she was waiting for him to share in Hazel’s excitement, maybe add his own reassurance about the puppy.

And, oh, he’d never been great at lying. He offered a smile—probably resembled a grimace—and she frowned a second before she turned to Hazel.

“Oh. Well, sweetie—probably Santa is up at the North Pole, getting ready for his big trip. He can’t—”

The sound of vehicles hummed in the driveway.

For once, his cousin possessed perfect timing.

“That’ll be Dawson and Shep.” He moved toward the front door. Coward that he was.

Headlights cut through the swirling white as two trucks pulled up to the house, windshield wipers working overtime against the accumulating snow.

Moments later, Dawson stomped through the door, shaking snow from his dark hair and shoulders.

Ice crystals clung to his eyebrows, and his cheeks were red with cold.

Followed by Shep who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, snow dusting his jacket and boots.

Between them trotted Caspian, the Doberman x labrador stray Shep had adopted.

“Morning.” Dawson came into the house, stamped his feet off. He carried a large bag over his shoulder. Caspian shook off the few flakes that coated his fur.

“Caspian!”

Hazel abandoned her cereal. Slid off the stool, dropped to her knees as the dog bounded over. She ran over, arms out. “Did you come to visit me?”

The dog’s entire body wiggled with joy as Hazel wrapped her arms around his neck. Buried her face in his fur, and Moose caught her whisper.

“I love you so much, but I still really want my own puppy.”

Nice.

The dog sat and let her cling to him.

Sweet dog. He looked away from Hazel.

“Hey guys,” Tillie said. “I wasn’t sure, with the storm—”

“Aw, we wouldn’t miss the annual game day and Christmas party of Air One Rescue,” said Shep, and he smiled.

Although, it felt a little…hmm. Shep, his flight EMT had seemed a little distant lately.

“We didn’t expect you until noon,” Moose said, glancing at Tillie in her pajamas.

“We brought ribs for your smoker,” said Dawson. “Gotta get ‘em on early.”

Right.

“No problem,” Tillie said. “Coffee’s fresh.”

Huh. Something had her in a good mood today, and despite Hazel’s words, his chest loosened a little. In fact, she looked...well, the word that kept coming to mind was glowing. Couldn’t shake the feeling that if he said the wrong thing, he’d somehow dim that light.

And he was about to dim it real good.

Shep remained standing near the door, snow still melting off his boots onto the hardwood floor. Still wearing his jacket like he planned to bolt at the first opportunity.

Dawson headed to the kitchen, Caspian on his heels. Shep held back. Cleared his throat. Took a breath.

“You okay, Shep?”

He nodded, then gestured toward the windows. “It’s getting nasty out there fast. Visibility’s already down to maybe a quarter mile. Storm like this could knock out power lines, maybe even take down cell towers.”

Through the windows, the wind howled like something alive and angry, driving snow horizontally across the yard. The pine trees swayed and creaked under the assault, their branches whipping back and forth. The thermometer outside had dropped another two degrees.

“Coffee?” Tillie said to Shep, and it sort of broke him out of his weird trance. “Warm you up from that cold out there.”

“Thanks, Tillie.” Shep left Moose then, and walked to the kitchen. He accepted a mug with a grateful nod, wrapping his hands around it.

Caspian suddenly lifted his head from where he’d hunkered down beside Hazel’s chair. His ears perked and he trotted over to Tillie and sat beside her, whining softly. Pressed against her legs.

Weird.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Tillie scratched behind his ears, but the dog wouldn’t leave her side.

Maybe he could talk Shep into—

Moose’s phone buzzed on the granite island. “It’s Deke,” he said as Sheriff Deke Starr’s name flashed on the screen.

“This can’t be good,” said Dawson, unloading his bag. Racks of ribs, already seasoned, in tinfoil.

Moose gave him a grim nod as he answered. “Hey, Deke.”

“Moose, we’ve got a problem.”

“I don’t like it when you start a call like that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to hate this. Winter Starr’s plane is missing.

She was supposed to check in yesterday from the Clearwater homesteads, but we haven’t heard anything.

Weather’s getting really nasty. Wind’s already gusting to twenty, and the forecast says it’s only getting worse.

I’m worried she went down somewhere between here and there. ”

Blood drained from his face. “What do you mean, missing?”

“She called in her position after the drop at the Turnquist homestead. Nothing since then.”

As if to punctuate Deke’s words, a particularly fierce gust rattled the entire house, sending a fresh spray of snow against the windows.

Hazel looked up from her cereal, milk running down her chin. “Is Winter okay?”

He glanced at Tillie, then took the phone off speaker. Oops. He was winning all kinds of awards today. “She’ll be fine, pumpkin.”

Then he walked away from the island.

“Deke, I’ll get the team mobilized. The storm isn’t that bad yet down here. We can move fast, head up to Clearwater and go from there.”

“You’d better get going. The National Weather Service just upgraded this to a blizzard warning. If you’re gonna mount a search, it needs to be now, before this thing really gets going.”

“Yep. We’ll call when we get to Clearwater.” He ended the call and turned to face his family.

Tillie straightened, her mouth grim. She put a hand on Caspian’s head. “You need to go.”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the windows where snow continued to pile against the glass. Dark and getting darker out there. “Yeah.”

“But Dad,” Hazel’s voice went small, “what about Christmas?”

Now his chest just ached. He walked over to her, settled his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be back, pumpkin.”

Shep was already moving, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Axel, get him to the Tooth.” He glanced toward the windows.

Moose headed up the stairs and changed into jeans, a sweater and found Dawson by the door. “I’ll stick around here in case…” His mouth tightened.

In case Moose and the team got into trouble. He shook his cousin’s hand. “Get those ribs going. We’ll be hungry.” Then he winked.

The house shuddered under another fierce gust, and somewhere outside, something metallic clanged and rattled in the wind.

Moose crossed to Tillie. Pulled her close, kissed her forehead. She felt warm and solid and perfect in his arms. Leaving her felt like tearing off a limb.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered against her hair. “Take care of our girl.”

She nodded against his chest. “Please come back.” Then she lifted her head and kissed him, sweetly.

But the light had dimmed, the grief edging her eyes.

He headed for the door, grabbing his heavy winter coat from the hook.

Hazel’s voice stopped him cold.

“Dad? If Santa can’t bring my puppy because of the storm, do you think you could ask him to make sure Winter’s okay instead? That’s more important.”

He turned to her, crouched and she went into his arms, held on. “Be safe, Daddy.”

He pulled her close, savored the embrace a moment. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

And this one, he planned on keeping.