Page 76 of Shelter for Shay
From the corner of his eye, he saw the door to Henley’s office open. Shay stepped out, her shoulders relaxed, face soft with thought. She spotted him, and a small smile curved her lips.
“I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Moose said, already moving.
“Bring back chicken plans,” Tonka called.
Moose gave him a lazy salute.
Shay met him halfway across the field, her hands tucked into the sleeves of a soft gray sweater—his sweater, and she wore it well—eyes still a little glassy from whatever healing Henley had worked. But she looked more grounded than he’d seen her in days.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself,” he replied, tugging her gently into a hug. She sank into it, warm and solid in his arms.
They walked toward their cabin, side by side, boots crunching the gravel path.
“I told Henley I might want to go back to school,” Shay said. “Not to be a counselor. Not the kind I was trained to be. Not thekind my mother was. I want to help people like the ones who come here. Like what we’ve seen. What we’ve lived. Maybe work with veterans.”
He glanced at her. “You’d be damn good at it.”
“I was thinking… maybe I could do it from Virginia.”
Moose stopped walking. Turned toward her fully. “You know that would make me so happy. That’s what I want.”
“I know, and I also know I keep giving you mixed signals, especially since the kidnapping,” she said. “But if you’re still okay with me coming to live with you, chickens and all, then I’m in.”
A slow smile broke across his face. “You had me at Cluck Norris.”
Shay laughed. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, the late afternoon sun warm on their skin.
“Whatever comes next,” she whispered, “I want to do it with you.”
“You will,” he said softly. “You already are.”
Hand in hand, they walked the rest of the way to the cabin, the sky behind them blazing with the colors of possibility.
EPILOGUE
MOOSE | TWO MONTHS LATER
The porch creaked under Moose’s boots as he leaned against the railing, a mug of coffee warming his hands and the cool Virginia morning brushing his face.
The air smelled like pine, damp earth, and chicken feed. Off to the side of the yard, near the coop he'd built with his own hands, Shay stood with a determined scowl and a metal scoop of mealworms, staring down a very opinionated hen.
“I swear to God, Cluck Norris, if you peck me one more time, I’m putting you in time-out.”
Moose grinned into his coffee.
The hen fluffed her feathers, unimpressed.
Henrietta, the blue-egg diva, stood by Shay’s foot like a feathered bodyguard, while Nugget chased a grasshopper under the fence. Yolko Ono clucked dramatically from atop the ramp, giving unsolicited commentary.
Shay looked up then, catching him watching her. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, her hoodie was too big, and the sleeves were pushed up on her forearms. She was barefoot in the dew-damp grass and had straw in her hair.
She was, hands down, the most beautiful thing Moose had ever seen.
God, he loved her.
It had snuck up on him hard—this deep, solid, unshakable thing. The kind of love that didn’t just change your life. It became your life.
