Page 45 of One Last Shot

The winding stairs led to a bridge that overlooked the grand A-frame lookout with the wall of picture windows. On one side of the bridge, a set of closed double doors. He found Moose on the other, in a smaller bedroom with a view of the river.

“Axel is in the basement rooms.” Moose had set the duffel on a king-sized bed. An en suite led off the room.

“This is five stars.”

“You should check out the in-house restaurant.” Moose grinned. “Steaks going on in five. Laundry is in the basement, unfortunately.”

“Thanks,” Oaken said and dropped the bag. Stepped to the window.

Yeah, he could like this view. Like this life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his phone other than to get a text or for the maps.

He hadn’t thought about Maggie or the fight or even his empty song notebook for a week.

Maybe he should quit and simply stick around. Become a real rescuer.

He picked up his laundry and carried it downstairs. Moose cut up bread in the kitchen and pointed to a doorway. Oaken found the stairs and headed to the basement.

Not your typical basement with the walk-out entry. A pool table sat in the middle of one side of the room, and on the other, a leather U-shaped sofa faced a hundred-inch theater screen. A glass door led to a tiled room, and he peeked in and spotted a hot tub and a sauna.

Wow, the rescue business paid well.

A hallway led off the main room, and he passed a couple rooms, the doors closed, music emerging from one of them, and found the laundry room at the end of the hallway.

He dumped in half his clothing, found the soap, andturned on the water.

When he emerged, one of the doors was open.

Upstairs, he found Axel seated at one of the high-top chairs at the black granite countertop. “Hey, Oak.”

Moose was peeling garlic.

“Nice place,” Oaken said, sliding onto a stool. Massive center island, stainless steel hood and appliances, double oven, subzero fridge. And behind him, a towering stone fireplace that rose two stories. Three leather sofas framed it, in front of a stone center table.

A long walnut table stretched out in front of the window, benches on each side.

The place was made for a crowd.

Or a family.

“What can I do?”

“Grab the garlic bread,” Moose said, picking up the garlic and a bowl of melted butter. He gestured to the board, where cut pieces of French bread lay. Then he let himself out of the side door onto the porch, where smoke billowed from the grill.

Oaken grabbed the bread and headed outside. The smell of the grilling meat could turn him into a bear. He nearly growled.

Moose lifted the hood of the grill and added the bread to the top shelf. The steaks sizzled. Then he spread butter on the bread, added garlic, and lowered the top.

“You do this a lot?” Oaken asked.

“Every Friday night. Shep should be here soon.”

“London?”

“Maybe.”

“Boo?”

“Probably not.” Moose glanced over at him. “Although she might change her mind if she knew you were here.”