Chapter 10 Moose
MOOSE
Here they were—Christmas Eve morning in a hospital room, and somehow this felt more like a miracle than any Christmas Moose could remember.
“You’re pregnant?”
He’d shed his jacket and outerwear, his body still frozen through, despite the attempt at heat in Jericho’s old truck. But he’d been fueled on worry, and now…now he pulled up a chair, glancing at his daughter, beautiful Hazel snuggled up in the recliner.
Caspian lay at her feet, snoozing, although the dog had lifted his head when Moose came into the room. No light yet from the dawn, but the world had started to turn gray, not quite so black out.
Tillie nodded, her hand reaching for him. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to…I wanted to surprise you. On Christmas day.”
She looked, admittedly, rough. Clearly, she’d been crying, her hair tousled and he hated how terribly fragile she appeared in that hospital gown. But oh, so beautiful. He squeezed her hand. “Babe. I…”
“Tell me you’re happy.” She swallowed.
“I’m so…I’m so happy I could…I mean. Happy? It’s not the right word. I’m…ecstatic. I’m amazed. I’m grateful. I’m…”
And then, shoot, he simply bowed his head, touched his forehead to her hand, and wept, his breaths, the stress of the last twenty-four hours spilling out.
“Moose?”
He held up his hand. Pulled in a shaky breath. “Just need…a second…”
He felt her hand in his hair, then on his cheek and she lifted his face to hers. Smiling. Her expression just poured over him, through him, lit him up inside, all the way to his bones.
He’d found the word. “Joy.”
“Huh?”
“I feel joy.”
Then he stood up, put one hand on the pillow beside her, leaned down, and kissed her.
And kissed her.
And really kissed her.
“Daddy!”
He looked over at Hazel, who stood, awake now, her hair askew and leaned up from his wife. “We’ll finish this later.”
She winked and oh, wow, yes, merry Christmas to him.
Then he turned and caught his little girl into his arms, pulling her up tight.
She clung to him a second before leaning back and catching his face. “I knew you’d be back for Christmas.”
He nodded, looked past her to the bare press of dawn. Thank you, God.
“Mommy doesn’t feel good.” Hazel untangled herself from his arms and he set her down. She walked over to Tillie. “Are you better?”
Tillie glanced at Moose, then back to Hazel. “So much better, honey. In fact…”
Moose picked her up, set her on the bed beside Tillie. Then he sat beside her.
Tillie was looking at him, so he wrapped an arm around Hazel. “How would you feel about a baby…sibling. A brother or a sister.”
“For Christmas?” Her eyes lit up.
“Um, we were thinking maybe, this summer?” He glanced at Tillie, who nodded.
“A sister. I’ll need a sister.” She was nodding.
“You will, huh?” He pressed a kiss to her head. “We’ll see what God brings us.”
“It’s a sister.”
“What if it’s a brother.”
She sighed, big. “Fine.” And smiled.
He laughed.
“You look tired, babe.” This from Tillie.
“Yeah. Um…”
She patted the bed next to him.
And Moose, he shucked off his shoes and lay down beside her on the skinny bed…
And went to sleep.
By the time he woke, morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows of Alaska Regional Hospital, casting long rectangles of light across the polished floor.
Tillie was up, and the sound of the shower hummed from the bathroom, Hazel not in the room.
He got up, knocked on the bathroom door. “Tillie?”
“Hazel’s with Flynn and Axel. Dawson’s awake. I’ll meet you there.”
Oh. He peered into the mirror. He needed coffee. A toothbrush. And a long winter’s nap.
But not until after he saw his cousin.
Antiseptic couldn’t quite mask the lingering aroma of Christmas breakfast drifting from the cafeteria down the hall. Someone had strung battery-powered garland around the nurses’ station, tiny white lights blinking in cheerful defiance of the medical efficiency surrounding them.
He pushed the elevator button to the third floor.
They’d survived. Dawson was alive. Tillie was okay. The baby was okay.
They’d made it through.
Not around the storm—through it.
That’s what Wilder had said, wasn’t it? God doesn’t promise to keep us from the storm, but He promises to bring us through it.
The doors opened. He got inside, and his gaze fell on aa Christmas poster, pasted to the wall of the elevator, a picture of a desolate countryside, darkness over the land, with light bursting from a far away stable. Isaiah 9:2. The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.
Huh. Into our storm, God sent himself. The light. The whisper that could calm the storm.
And today was the proof. Sunshine, grace, hope.
“Thank you, Lord.”
The words came out rougher than intended. His throat tight with emotion he hadn’t expected. “Thank you for bringing us through.”
The doors opened.
He walked out into the hallway and spotted Shep standing in the waiting room, holding two coffees. Caspian sat beside him. Sometimes Moose wondered who really had done the rescuing there.
Shep spotted him, nodded. “They’ll only allow two at a time in there. Flynn and Axel took a walk. I was about to go in, but I can’t leave this guy alone.” He glanced down at Caspian. “London’s in there.”
Moose walked over to him. Eyed the coffee.
Shep handed him his. “It’s my third cup. Black, no sugar. Bracing.”
“Perfect, thanks.” He took it, and yep, it put a little of the hair back on his chest. But yeah, now he might be awake. “How is he?”
“Stable. Doc says he’ll make a full recovery, though that knee’s going to remind him of this adventure for the rest of his life.” Shep reached down to scratch behind Caspian’s ears. He sighed. “Moose.” Shep’s voice carried something heavier now. “I need to tell you something.”
Here it came.
In truth, he’d been expecting this conversation, dreading it, but understanding it all the same. Something had changed after their last overseas trip.
Something that felt permanent. “You’re leaving.”
Shep’s eyes widened. “Uh—”
“C’mon, I know you.”
Shep smiled. “Right. Yeah. We’re leaving. After the new year, maybe. Give you time to find a replacement.”
“I understand.”
The words came easier than expected. Maybe because he did understand. Love made people do extraordinary things, rearrange their entire lives, choose hope over certainty. Shep had found something worth chasing, and Moose wouldn’t be the one to stand in his way.
“Just like that?” Shep raised an eyebrow. “No lecture about team loyalty or mission commitment?”
“Brother, if you think I’m going to talk you out of happiness, you’ve seriously misjudged my character.
” Moose clasped Shep’s shoulder. “You two have always belonged to each other. And I’m not lost to London’s other job and how maybe that needs to be full time.
” He’d finger quoted, ‘other job’. Mostly because yes, he’d answered Shep’s panicked call a year ago when London had been kidnapped, right after her true identity came out.
So maybe nothing surprised him anymore, really.
“Yeah,” Shep said. “But leaving you short-handed doesn’t sit well with me.”
“We’ll manage. You moving to Montelena?”
“Yeah, London’s taking over as head of the Black Swans—”
“Stop.” Moose held up his hand. “That’s all I need to know. I don’t want you to have to kill me.”
Shep chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“I’m always a phone call away.” He took another sip of coffee. “Oh, this stuff really is terrible.”
Caspian chose that moment to abandon his post beside Shep and pad over to the hospital door. A soft whine escaped his throat, barely audible but somehow urgent.
“Me thinks Dawson might have a new friend.”
“I can’t take him with me,” Shep said.
Moose headed into the room. London sat on the other side of the bed, her eyes widening as Caspian came in with Moose.
Oops.
But maybe not a terrible idea because the dog walked over to the bed, put his head on it. Whined just a little, like he cared.
Dawson looked rough. He lay in the bed, still on oxygen, and pain fluids dripping through an IV into his arm, his leg encased in a thick air cast.
“Hey there, sleeping beauty.” Moose stepped to the opposite side of the bed, gave a nod to London. “Heard you threw yourself in front of a bullet.”
“Not advised.” Dawson made a face. “But…”
“But he’s a hero. Saved a little girl—”
“She’s on life-support, according to Flynn,” Dawson said.
“Yes, but we’re all praying she makes it,” London said, her mouth pinched.
Moose took a guess at what she was talking about, and nodded. “Yeah, well, Dawson always was a hero.”
Dawson looked away, his shoulders rising and falling.
Ho-kay, so they’d deal with that part of the trauma later.
“I’m just glad Flynn’s okay.” The words came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
He’d need to get the story from Flynn.
“She’s fine,” London said. “More than fine, actually. She’s been here most of the night, only left about an hour ago to grab some real food. Hospital coffee was starting to affect her judgment.”
“So, what happened to the leg?”
“Bullet did some creative remodeling of my knee joint. Surgeons had to get inventive with titanium and pins.” Dawson looked back at him. “Good news is I get to keep it. Bad news is I’ll be setting off metal detectors for the foreseeable future.”
“Could have been worse.” London said. “Much worse.”
Moose watched Caspian claim more real estate on the bed, somehow managing to get his front paws up beside his head. “But it wasn’t. And this fellow seems to think you’re worth keeping around.”
Caspian’s tail beat a more enthusiastic rhythm against the sheets.
“I think he’s got the right idea,” London said. “Dog’s got excellent taste in humans. You should probably keep him.”
“I’m not exactly set up for pet ownership.” But Dawson reached down and patted the dog’s head.
More tail thumping.
“Details.” Moose said. “Looks like the decision’s been made. Some partnerships just happen, whether you plan for them or not.”
Dawson rolled his eyes.