Page 32 of Gentle Warrior

“Kid?” she repeated softly, the teasing sparkle drained from her voice.

Moose’s gaze flickered away, unable to meet hers. She saw the tension in his jaw, as if he was holding back words better left unsaid. Then, without thinking, he forced a short, awkward laugh, leaving the moment hanging unevenly between them.

“I, uh… better check in with Link,” he muttered. “Make sure we’re still clear on everything.”

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and strode briskly down the porch steps. The clatter of his boots against the wood echoed in the quiet morning, carrying the weight of embarrassment.

Salty trotted after him for a few steps, then flopped down on the porch, tongue lolling, as if unsure whether to follow or stay with Elena.

Elena stood frozen, watching him go. The fragile connection between them dissolved into the chill of the early day, leaving a hollow ache behind.

Jake stepped forward, a soft sigh escaping him as he glanced at Elena with a knowing look. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking. “Moose doesn’t always do great with words first thing in the morning,” he said, a small half-smile tugging at his lips. “Reminds me of the time I accidentally called my wife RJ ‘kiddo’ during dinner. Let’s just say her dad wasn’t thrilled.”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he avoided direct eye contact for a moment. “Sometimes Moose just gets awkward when he’s trying to protect the people he cares about. Takes him a minute to find the right words.”

Jake gave her a gentle smile. “Hey, if you want, I can help with the feed.”

Elena returned the smile, grateful for the kindness. “Thanks, Jake. I think I’d like that.”

He nodded and gestured toward the barn. Their footsteps fell softly together as the sun climbed higher. For now, the sting of Moose’s retreat softened in the warmth of friendly support.

22 - MOOSE

Moose pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside, the low hum of the fridge and faint clinks from the coffee pot filling the quiet space. He moved to the counter without breaking stride and poured himself a fresh cup from the steaming pot, the rich aroma filling the air.

He took a slow sip, but his mind was elsewhere—replaying the moment, the stupid comment he had just made about age hanging awkwardly between him and Elena. Why had he said that? Now he was kicking himself, feeling exposed and unsure.

But beneath that awkwardness was something heavier. He had to protect her—from the danger that was coming, the shadows gathering just beyond the edges of their quiet life. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on him, making every misstep feel amplified. He stole a glance toward the back yard, hoping she hadn’t taken his words the wrong way. He wanted to reach out again, to make it right, to keep her safe—if only he could find the right words.

He knew he couldn’t afford to linger on his awkwardness or his feelings. The danger out there was real, and Elena needed to be shielded from it.

Setting the mug down with a faint clink, Moose pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping a quick code before scrolling through his contacts. His gaze steeled. It was time to call Link.

He keyed his comm as he cradled the mug in his hand. “Link, you there?”

“Always,” came the calm, clipped reply.

Moose took a slow sip, savoring the bitter warmth before nodding to himself. “Whatcha got for us?”

“Hold tight,” Link said. “I’m pulling everything up now.”

Moose drained the last of the coffee and stepped back through the kitchen into the living room.

The team was assembled around the room, dressed in tactical pants and snug black t-shirts. Each man and woman bore the unmistakable posture of trained operatives, with their guns holstered at their hips and K-bars sheathed within easy reach. Backpacks stuffed with additional gear rested against walls, close enough for quick grabs but out of the way.

The farmhouse had been adapted for their needs. The family’s 54-inch TV mounted high on the wall acted as a monitor.

Link’s focused face appeared on the big screen, surrounded by satellite images, highway camera feeds, and intercepted chatter scrolling along the edges.

“Ten men, heavily armed, moving fast,” Link reported smoothly, his voice filling the room through the speakers. “Convoy crossed the ridge south of County Road 14 less than an hour ago.”

Moose turned to the gathered Protectors. “Thorn and Viper, cover the tree lines to the west and north, sweeping for any movement. Jake and I will hold the front line and patrol the main routes. Enzo will stay behind with Uncle Jim to secure the farmhouse.”

Uncle Jim leaned against the doorframe, shotgun hanging lazily in the crook of his arm, a familiar comfort in uncertain times. “I know this place better than anyone,” he said quietly. “There’s a root cellar beside the barn—could be a safe spot if the ladies need refuge.”

Moose nodded. “Good. Elena, Nancy, and Salty can go there if things get bad. We’ll keep the perimeter tight.”

From the farmhouse entrance came the soft clatter of footsteps—Nancy and Elena with trays bearing steaming mugs of coffee and a plate piled high with warm breakfast biscuits. Salty pranced in between them, tail wagging wildly, his bright eyes full of curious energy as he weaved through the team.