Page 123 of One Last Shot
“What good?”
“Well, you saved a couple lives this weekend, even if we don’t count Mike’s. And the fact is, God will do amazing things with someone who is willing to let him. John the Baptist came to make Jesus known. His fame didn’t belong to him. Psalm 23 says that God leads us on paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” He walked up to Oaken and put his hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to prove that you deserve this, Oaken. God already has. Now let him use that worth.”
Overhead, the sun had come out, warm on Oaken’s shoulders.
“By the way, Boo is visiting her family in Minnesota.”
Oaken’s mouth opened.
“I’m not sure your purposes here are over.” Moose squeezed his shoulder, then let go. “Stay out of trouble.”
Then Moose headed back toward the doors.
And for some reason, all Oaken heard were the words to his song.
On a lonesome road, under skies so gray, I face the storms, come what may.
In the dark, I lost my way, but I have to hope there’s a brighter day.
Maybe. He took out his keys, heading to his rental.
Back to his life, his music, his world.
The kingdom of Oaken Fox.
CHAPTER 14
So maybe it hadn’t been a terrible idea to go home.
Boo sat on the back steps of her family home turned inn, a three-story Victorian-style home built in the late 1800s, telling herself to just... go down the stairs.
Down. Usually bad foot first, but after a month, the doctor—a.k.a. her sister, Austen—told her she could try bending her knee.
Terrifying.
The sun hung just above the horizon, spilling golden light between the cottonwood and birch trees on the distant shore and gilding Duck Lake. The Canada geese had returned and now bobbed in the reeds by the shoreline, the foam and debris of winter having been cleaned by Doyle last weekend.
Today, he planned on putting the dock out, just in time for the fishing opener in a week. Now, the metal dock lay in sections onshore, covered in a tarp.
Her stomach curled at the scent of fresh Saskatoon berry muffins, the berries frozen from last summer’s harvestof their massive bush near the house, probably planted by great-great-grandpa Bing Kingston, former newspaper man and general rabble rouser. But his wife Clare had settled him down, and he’d grown a conglomerate from his starter nest egg. He’d eventually built his wife the home of her dreams.
He’d also built homes for his three sons. One now belonged to Boo’s brother, Doyle. Her parents lived in the updated carriage house, where she’d grown up. Together, her father and Doyle ran the big house as a bed and breakfast, under the watch of her mother, the chef and hostess.
Her father had spent the better part of a decade restoring the place one room at a time after renovating the carriage house into a place for his family.
Boo had never wanted a hand in the business—spent too much of her childhood cleaning rooms and serving guests—but now she didn’t mind the three-course breakfasts that her mother served in the oak-paneled dining room, light casting in from the stained-glass windows.
In fact, the entire place felt like something out of time, with the parquet floors, the stamped metal ceiling tiles, leaded bay windows in the parlor, the gorgeous tiled fireplace, and the tall turret with the winding staircase that led to a bedroom suite. The upstairs billiards room now served as a gathering place, with white overstuffed chairs overlooking a view of the lake. The five second-floor bedrooms all boasted their own fireplaces, with a massive hearth opening on the third-floor ballroom turned conference room.
The perfect place for weddings, corporate events, and family reunions, according to the website.
And the perfect place for a little girl to feel forgotten amidst all the activity.
Just go down the stairs.She blew out a breath, held on to the railing, and eased herself down.
Pain shot through her body, right into her brain,crippling her.
Nope. Not yet.