Page 75 of Shelter for Shay
Moose – Late Afternoon | The Refuge, New Mexico
The sun dipped low over the mountains, casting everything in golden light. The wind was mild, kicking up the scent of hay and dust and something distinctly cow.
Moose leaned against the split-rail fence near the small corral where the resident cow stood with noble disdain. Brick and Tonka were on either side of him, boots planted in the dirt, the kind of men who said more with silence than most did with paragraphs.
"Tell me again," Tonka said, suspiciously squinting at Moose’s phone screen. “How many chickens do you have? And why?”
Moose held the phone up and scrolled to the photo—a dozen hens pecking around the coop in his backyard, one of them perched proudly on the ramp like she owned the damn property.
"That's Henrietta," Moose said, deadpan. "She lays the blue eggs. Likes Fleetwood Mac. I have so many these days, I lose count, and they’re therapy, just like all your animals.”
Tonka blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. "No way in hell. I thought you were messing with me."
Brick leaned over to look. “I thought he was messing with me about the names. I mean, how do you tell them apart?”
"Of course they have names," Moose said, swiping again. "Henrietta, Nugget, Eggatha, Yolko Ono, Cluck Norris, Mrs. Doubtfire, Beyoncé. And they have personalities. Big personalities.”
Tonka damn near doubled over, wheezing. “Cluck Norris? Oh my God. I’ve got to tell my daughter about that one. She’ll go bonkers.”
“Fastest beak in the East,” Moose said with a grin.
Brick shook his head, amused. “Man goes from dive specialist to chicken whisperer.”
Moose shrugged. “Chickens don’t shoot back. And they come when I call. Mostly.”
Tonka wiped a hand over his face. “We need chickens. Right here. Get some little ones, raise ’em up. Teach the guys to care for ’em. Bet the guests would love it.”
“Teach the guys or teach yourself?” Brick asked.
“Both,” Tonka said, not even blinking.
A beat of silence passed before Brick gave Moose a sidelong glance. “So. Edmonds.”
The lightness drained but not entirely. There was something solid under it now. Closure.
“Locked up,” Moose said. “Ry and Jacob dug up enough to bury him for three lifetimes. The jury may have never voted, but it didn’t matter. The minute the kidnapping and blackmail evidence surfaced, he was done. Add in the money laundering, conspiracy, and his attempt to frame me—he’s not walking out of this one.”
“Still pissed he got a shot off,” Tonka muttered, looking at the bandage visible under Moose’s rolled-up sleeve.
“Just the arm,” Moose said. “Barely grazed anything important.”
“You’re right-handed.”
“Not when I shoot left.”
Brick smirked. “And Shay?”
Moose’s chest tightened—then loosened as he exhaled, watching the horizon where the golden light met the open sky. “She’s here. She’s okay. Nightmares are fewer. She’s breathing easier. Lighter. I can see the spark returning to her eyes. She’s talking to Henley,” Moose said. “Shay’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
Tonka tilted his head. “You in love with her?”
There was no hesitation. “Yeah. I am.”
Brick crossed his arms. “Fast.”
Moose nodded. “Yeah. But right.”
And that was that.
