Page 4 of Shelter for Shay (Broken Heroes Mended Souls #2)

MOOSE – THE REFUGE, NEW MEXICO

T he chickens would’ve hated it here. Too dry. Too windy. Too quiet.

Moose stood barefoot on the porch of the small cabin at the edge of The Refuge and squinted toward the ridgeline, the desert sun already baking the horizon a hazy gold.

A coffee mug cooled in his hand, forgotten.

On the little table beside him lay an envelope, creased from the travel, his name written in neat, deliberate script.

For some reason, he hadn’t been able to open it. It was from Lake George. The return address was Margaret’s.

But it wasn’t from his old school counselor. He knew her handwriting and that neat scribble wasn’t hers. Nope. Worse, something about the way the letters eased from one word to the next had felt heavy, like the words inside were going to hurt.

That was the only explanation for why someone else would write to him and not his beloved school counselor.

He closed his eyes and conjured up his last memory of Margaret.

The day he’d left for boot camp. He hadn’t expected to see her at the bus station.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected anyone to come say goodbye.

There was no love lost between him and anyone in his hometown.

At least not back then. Today, he had a couple of friends.

People from his past who’d crawled out of the woodwork.

People who’d come face-to-face with his folks—not in good ways—and had reached out.

He valued those people for their kindness. Not toward his parents, but toward him.

However, the day he’d left, he still felt empty, lost, and alone in a world that had tossed him aside as one of those people who hadn’t mattered.

As someone who probably wouldn’t do anything but screw up his life.

Even he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it in the Navy.

He’d had no confidence in himself. All he had were the words of one kind, sweet school counselor who had told him only he could forge a path through the darkness.

Only he could light the flame to see the other side of the tunnel.

God, she was good at metaphors.

He’d been sitting on the bench with his duffel.

Inside that bag were a few articles of clothing, a couple hundred dollars, and Margaret’s address so he could write.

He’d promise he’d write. He’d often wondered if others had made that same promise.

When he’d left his parents’ home that day, his mom had reminded him that he’d been an afterthought in her life.

Just one more dig. One more punch in the gut.

One more rip at his heart, tearing him down.

Right before the bus rolled to a stop, Margaret appeared.

She stood before him with a smile and an envelope.

Her parting words had been: Go make your mark on this world and don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not good enough.

You’ve worked too hard to get this far. It’s up to you now, Matthew.

Prove all those idiots just how wrong they are. She handed him the envelope and left.

He still had that card and note. It wasn’t much.

Just a congratulations card with a few kind words and a check for a hundred dollars.

A check he never cashed and not once did he ever feel guilty about that.

Even though a few times, in her letters, she begged him to do so.

But he couldn’t take her money. She’d given him everything already.

He blinked opened his eyes, sat down slowly, and unfolded the letter. He sucked in a deep breath and began reading.

Dear Matthew—Moose,

I hope it’s okay that I’m writing you. My name is Shay. I’m Margaret’s daughter.

She received your letter a few days ago and had me read it aloud to her. I haven’t seen her light up like that in weeks. It meant something to her—honestly, it meant everything.

I didn’t know about you—at least not your name.

She never shared names. Said it was a boundary she had to keep.

But she remembered you—always. After reading your letter, she told me that you were one of the good ones.

One of the ones who made it. She’s so proud of the man you’ve become.

Of all your accomplishments. She was gushing over you, and that’s when it hit me.

That’s when I knew who you were. Well, not really.

But there was always this guy she wanted me to meet.

Anyway, I don’t know how much you know about her health. I’ll be honest—she doesn’t have much time. Things have declined faster than expected. She’s still sharp, still herself, but she’s fading and I fear the end is closer than any of us could honestly be prepared for.

If there’s any part of you that wants to say goodbye, I wanted to make sure you had the chance. Not out of obligation. But because she’d want to see you again.

Thank you for writing. I think it brought her peace. I hope it brings you the same.

—Shay Whitaker

Moose folded the letter carefully and set it back on the table. His hand trembled as it dropped to his knee.

Margaret.

If he hadn’t been so damn afraid he’d run into his parents—well now just his mother these days—he would’ve gone back to Lake George to visit.

But Margaret always seemed to understand those demons.

Understand that, for him, going back meant reliving the hell that had been his childhood and he never wanted to do that.

He’d gotten out. He’d made a life for himself and he was proud of who he’d become.

Going back meant he’d have to face the boy he once was and that was just too much to bear. He’d put that kid behind him and had done exactly what she told him to do.

He’d spread his wings and flew.

He’d known she wouldn’t live forever. No one did. But in his mind, she’d always been solid—unchanging. The kind of woman who’d outlive every storm and still remember to send a damn Christmas card.

The chickens were being watched back in Virginia.

The guys still had two more weeks of medical leave, even if he was the only one who physically still needed it.

He raised his hand toward the ceiling. His shoulder still ached, but he was kicking ass in physical therapy and he was sure he’d be cleared for duty in record time.

Outside of the fact that he loved being at The Refuge, nothing was holding him here.

Except guilt and fear of setting foot in the Adirondacks.

Not of being around Margaret or her daughter.

That he could handle, but he couldn’t deal with the shadows that were his childhood.

The thick, quiet kind that came from knowing he was still a scared little boy who was terrified of closing his eyes at night.

But he had to go back. Not just for Margaret… but for himself… and maybe for Shay. Her letter felt like a plea of sorts.

He rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight.

His heart hammered in his chest. His old man was in prison.

He’d been sent there three years ago. It wasn’t the first time his dad had been sent to jail, but it was the first time he’d been convicted of a federal crime and would face more than a few years behind bars.

Moose didn’t track his parents because he cared, though he did care whether they lived or died.

However, he wanted to know what was going on with them because if something were to happen, he’d want to know if only for the sole purpose of the freedom to return to Lake George.

For whatever reason, there was an ache in his heart to return to his hometown.

To see if the shadows that lurked in the recesses of his mind also hid in the dark corners of the streets he once called home.

However, he had no desire to run into the two people who had given him life. Call him a coldhearted man, but his mother and father hadn’t done him a single favor. They never cared about what he’d done as a kid and he doubted they gave him a passing thought as an adult.

From the second he’d boarded that bus, it was as if he were dead to them. They never tried to reach out or find him that he knew of and there were plenty of people who knew exactly what happened to him, if they’d cared to ask.

He rocked back and forth, staring out over the vast property that was The Refuge as two familiar men approached from the main building. He’d been scheduled to go for a hike with the rest of the guests, but since that letter had found him, he’d been stuck to this porch, unable to move.

“Moose.” Brick nodded as he perched his sunglasses on his head and made his way up the steps, Pipe at his side.

The Refuge had become a second home to him and his team.

A place where they could come if a mission went sideways so they could chase the nightmares away and go back to their jobs whole men.

They weren’t too proud to admit they needed the kind of emotional support only a place like The Refuge could offer.

“Gentlemen,” Moose said, forcing a strained smile.

Pipe leaned against the railing, resting his travel mug on the post. “We thought you were going on that hike with everyone else.”

“Something came up.” Moose shifted his gaze toward the letter and then back up at the two men he’d learned not to argue with over the last few years. They were more than the owners of The Refuge.

They’d become family.

“Is everything okay?” Brick eyed him. “You look like someone just told you the government’s outlawed beer and women.”

“Worse,” Moose said, stepping back. “I got a letter from my hometown.”

“As in New York?” Pipe raised a brow.

Moose exhaled. He’d spilled his guts over more than botched missions and nightmares about death and bloody battlefields.

He’d rocked like a small child and cried during group sessions over his childhood.

Over shit he’d thought he’d long gotten over, but he hadn’t really dealt with much past joining the Navy and putting that crap in his rearview.

Henley, the therapist at The Refuge, she’d been like a dentist, carefully extracting one painful memory after the other, until all that had been left were raw emotions and the desire to be a whole man.

That desire still didn’t make him great boyfriend material, but it had given him a jumping off point. It at least allowed him to make connections with humans instead of just his chickens.

“My high school counselor, Margaret Whitaker, she’s dying. Her daughter wrote me. Said… if I want to say goodbye, I’d better move fast.”

“Shit, mate. I’m sorry.” Pipe gave a short nod.

“Do you want to head back to Lake George?” Brick leaned against the railing, catching Moose’s gaze.

Moose blinked. “My first thought is always hell no. But this woman literally saved me from doing more than the stupid things kids do. If it weren’t for her, I would have wound up in a federal prison before I ever graduated.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Brick said. “Maybe it’s time you go. Your old man is in prison. Do you know what’s going on with your mom?”

“She’s still living in the same old run-down apartment in the village. Still tending bar. Still selling her body when she’s not in county lockup for something,” Moose said. “She’s actually been a little better about not doing the latter since my dad got arrested, but she’s still an addict.”

Andy Harmon, a local state trooper and son of a local state trooper, kept tabs on Mandy Rhoades for Moose.

It was strange, because back in the day, Andy and Moose couldn’t stand each other.

Andy was the kind of kid who didn’t dare do anything that would get him in trouble.

Of course, his old man was a cop. His grandfather was a retired Marine.

If Andy sneezed, the whole flipping town not only knew about it, but they handed him a gold-plated tissue.

But one day, out of the blue, Andy contacted Moose about his mom.

She’d overdosed and his dad was nowhere to be found.

Andy thought Moose might want to know what was going on and Andy had been right.

There might not be any love loss, but Moose wasn’t that cold.

He paid his mother’s bills and sent her a note that said if she ever wanted to get clean, they could talk.

He never heard from her. Not even a fucking thank-you. That spoke volumes.

Pipe sipped from his mug. “What do you want to do, mate? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you owe Margaret a proper goodbye.”

Moose stared past them at the horizon. The air smelled like sun-warmed dirt and faint pine.

It was peaceful here. He could’ve stayed another month and still not unpack everything in his head.

But none of that would matter if he missed the chance to look Margaret in the eye and tell her just how much she’d meant to him all these years.

“I’ll book a flight,” he said. “If I can’t get out late tonight, I’ll leave first thing, but I need to speak with my team. ”

“I’ll send word to Thor.” Brick rested his hand on Moose’s good shoulder and squeezed. “If there’s anything else you need from us, don’t hesitate to reach out. Otherwise, send pictures of those damn chickens when you get back to Virginia. Tonka thinks you’re making them up.”

“They’re real,” Moose said.

Pipe smirked. “He’s gonna want a bunch of chickens now.”

As they left, Moose turned and stared at the letter waiting on the table.

Shay Whitaker.

He hadn’t known she existed until she’d graduated from high school.

It had been strange to all of a sudden hear all about Margaret’s daughter almost five years after he’d moved away.

But he supposed it made sense. She’d had to compartmentalize her work considering she was employed at the same school district she lived in, which meant Shay would have been in eighth grade when he graduated.

Not that it mattered.

But over the years, he enjoyed reading about Shay’s adventures. He used to tease Margaret that she should write a book… and title it… Shay’s Adventures. But then two years ago, Danni, Thor’s wife, went missing and Moose stopped writing back. Something he wholeheartedly regretted now.

He picked up the letter, folded it neatly, and opened the door.

The letter had cracked open a part of him he wasn’t sure he understood.

He felt like he knew Shay and that was a strange thought considering she was a two-dimensional image on an annual Christmas card.

He’d always thought she was a beautiful young woman and loved the stories Margaret told him about her.

However, he never really thought he’d ever meet the girl smiling at the camera.

He also never thought Margaret would die.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he muttered as he shuffled his feet along the wood floor. He was heading home to say goodbye to a dying friend. That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Except, it was everything.