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It was more than the new burst of spring weather that had them all in a good mood this morning: they’d also gotten some good news. The GoFundMe and other fundraising efforts had raised over eighty-thousand dollars, and they’d been able to pay for all the animals to get checked over by the state-appointed vet, and get the road graded, and repair and seal the corral fence. But the good news they’d gotten this morning was the best news: Duncan’s father had given them the name of a roofer with ties to the Brazen Bulls. Toby Keller was going to do the roof at a discount as a favor to Maverick (and Duncan), and he’d agreed to start the job with fifty-percent down and work out a payment plan for the balance.
That was the kind of help Phoebe could feel comfortable taking from the Bulls—with the bonus of making Duncan happy by letting him be involved.
Eighty thousand dollars was enough to cover all the work they’d gotten done and the fifty-percent down on the roof. They had almost a week left before the county’s deadline; there was a chance the stable roof would be finished by then. At the very least, it would be close and obviously underway.
The trouble wasn’t behind them just yet, but it was no longer looming over their heads like a slavering beast. And it was a gorgeous spring Saturday. Who could be in a bad mood on a day like this?
“When are the adopters due?” Duncan asked as he stood from the table, gathering up the emptied plates.
“Noon-ish,” Phoebe sighed. That was the one grey cloud in today’s sky: George, a sweet bay gelding whom she’d rehabilitated from founder, and then trained as a roping horse, and who had lived on the ranch for nearly a year, was getting adopted today. The family was a farm family from around Oklahoma City. They had a fifteen-year-old girl, Izzie, who’d been riding competitively since Pee-Wee age and wanted to learn roping. George had the basics, and a gentle, cooperative temperament, so it was a good match. Izzie and her dad had been out to the ranch twice to see him; today they were coming with their trailer.
Phoebe was happy about it, of course. Ragamuffin was a rescue ranch, not a hoarding situation. Sometimes she kept an animal she’d rescued, either because they didn’t have the kind of personality that most people could be patient with and was thus a likely return (Daisy, her chestnut miniature mare, was an absolute bitch to half the animals on the ranch and every human but Phoebe) or because they had hard-to-manage health issues (Klaxon had digestive issues that required an array of meds, including weekly suppository insertions, and even with all that, about twice a year he ended up in a sling, on IV meds for a week), or because she’d simply fallen too deeply in love to give them up (Titan, Maple, and Puff). But most of the animals she brought to the ranch, she intended to find other homes for, and every successful adoption was cause for celebration.
And also tears. She loved every single animal as one of her own babies, even if she was only their temporary mama. It was hard to say goodbye. But she tried to hold the sad back until the new family was on their way home and out of sight.
Duncan had witnessed this happysad emotional seesaw a few days earlier, when all three of the goats had been adopted into a brush herd. Brush herds were organic, environmentally friendly lawnmowers, brought onto large stretches of wild growth, like vacant lots or unsown fields, and turned loose to munch all day and bring the growth down to a few inches. If the herder was a good person and treated the goats well, it was a pretty sweet life, hanging out with the homies and eating all day.
Great for Derek, Jared, and Brad (who very likely would never be called those names again), but sad for Phoebe—and also for Puff, who’d wandered around the pasture for two days, bleating for her buds. Eventually the alpacas distracted her, and now she followed them around. The alpacas were a bit confused by her attention, but they were confused by pretty much everything. Phoebe was going to put the word out that she was particularly interested in fostering any sheep or goats.
“Maple is really going to miss George,” she said aloud. “Maybe I should shift Smoky and Junie’s stalls, and see if Smoke and Maple will bond.”
“Smoke likes Titan, though,” Duncan pointed out. “Won’t he be sad not to share a wall with him?”
“And Selkie will pitch a fit if Junie’s not close.” Margot added.
“Selkie is a terrible influence on the other mares,” Phoebe countered. “She’s like Regina George, and Junie and Merry are the Plastics. A little separation there might not be a bad thing.”
Margot laughed. “We need an Elle Woods mare. All positivity and can-do attitude.”
“Bend and SNAP!” Phoebe replied, flipping her head dramatically, and they both broke into giggles.
“Okay,” Duncan said and kissed the top of her head. “Chick hilarity I don’t get is my sign to GTFO.”
“Oh sure, abandon a brother in the soup,” Vin complained theatrically. “Whatever happened to leave no one behind?”
Duncan made an exaggerated shrug. “Sorry, Vin. I’ll pour one out for you, though. See y’all later.”
As he headed toward the hall, Phoebe stood. “Wait up. I’ll walk out with you.”
He smiled and held out his hand.
Holding hands, they walked out to the yard, to Duncan’s big black Harley. The gas tank had an elaborate painting of a furious bull charging through flames. The art was airbrush-style, and the colors were so vivid they reminded Phoebe of the Day-Glo paint they used in high school to make signs for pep rallies and football games.
Duncan was not a flashy guy, but that artwork screamed that he was a Brazen Bull.
He grabbed her hips and pulled her close. “Call me after George goes home,” he said as he lowered his head to hers. “A call, not a text. I want to see you’re okay.”
“I will be okay, but I will call.”
He smiled. “Good. I love you.”
“I love you,” she echoed, holding him close.
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~oOo~
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