The plane broke free. And with a little muscle, they pushed it forward. Jericho clapped snow from his hands, then looked at Topher. Frowned.
“Just saying, maybe it was good for you too.” He met Jericho’s gaze. “To face what happened. The accident last year...”
Jericho stilled. “How’d you hear about that?”
“Hudson was worried. We all were.”
Perfect.He looked away. “I’m good.”
Orlando loped over to Harley again, pressing against her legs until she laughed, the sound echoing off the mountains. Her gloved hand scratched behind his ears. He bounded away, picked up snow and ate it.
“That dog sure likes her,” Topher said.
Warmth spread through Jericho’s chest as he watched Harley. The way Orlando leaned into her touch. “Yeah. He does.”
Behind them, Gabe helped Sunni into the body of the plane.
“Pastor Neil was talking about that verse in Lamentations last week. About waiting for God’s timing.” Topher smiled. “Said it’s always perfect, even when we can’t see it.”
Right. Whatever.
“But sometimes it’s hard to see past right now.” Topher’s gazefell on Winter as she walked around the plane, doing a preflight check. “Is that why you stayed away so long?” he asked.
“What?”
“Just saying that sometimes it’s harder coming home than staying gone. Than facing the people you let down.” Topher’s gaze stayed on Winter. He finally turned to Jericho. “But you did it anyway.”
He didn’t know why, but Topher’s smile felt like grace. Or forgiveness. Or simply sheer light in his soul.Huh.
“I guess. Really, though, I did it for my dog.”
“Right.” Topher walked over to the door and held it open for Winter, who climbed in for her instrument check.
Orlando’s low growl cut through the crystalline air. The dog’s hackles rose, eyes fixed on the tree line, where shadows stretched long and blue.
Jericho followed his gaze. There, massive against the white and green forest stood a bull moose, steam curling from its nostrils. Muscles rippled beneath its winter coat as it watched them.
It wore a rack of antlers wide enough to cast shadows across the snow.
“Don’t move,” Jericho whispered.
The moose pawed the ground.
“I’m moving,” Topher snapped.
Orlando’s growl deepened, a warning rumbling from deep in his chest.
“Harley!” Jericho called softly, every muscle tensed. She had gone back to the cabin and now stood in the snow, stilled. “Get to the plane.Now.”
The moose’s muscles bunched.
Harley edged toward the plane.
“Slowly.” Jericho inched her way, fighting the urge to run toward her. “Very slowly.”
The moose snorted.
“He’s going to charge,” Winter said from behind him. “We don’t have time for slowly. When I say run, everybody move. Toph and J—give the plane a push, out of the snow ruts—”
