“You were older, though. Right? Like thirty or so?”
“Twenty-eight when we met. Not that much older. I was thirty-three when we got married. We lost four years while I was in McAlester.”
Duncan knew most of the details of that story, too. His parents hardly ever told that one, however. “I want a family, too,” he said, “but I don’t know if I want all that right now. I feel too young to settle down like that. What if I miss something good?”
Reaching back, Dad drew Duncan forward to stand beside him, and hooked his arm across Duncan’s back.
“There’s no way not to miss things in this life, Dunc,” Dad said as they watched the water together. “Whatever path you take, you close off all the others, and you lose whatever was on those paths. It’s about wanting the things you choose and not worrying about what you close off. That whole YOLO thing is bullshit, Dunc. Yeah, we’ve only got one life, but the way to live it is not to try to do everything. It’s to try to do the right things.”
“You think I should try with her? Is that the right thing?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, son. You have to decide what the right thing is for you. But think about what I said at first: I didn’t meet your mom and think right then that I wanted her forever. When I met her, I thought she was a hot piece of ass. Being with her made me want to be with her more, and more, and then forever. Good relationships develop, Dunc. They don’t just pop up fully formed. It sounds like you’re trying to see the destination before you take the ride. That’s a good way never to get on the road at all.” Duncan chuckled softly, and Dad turned a look on him. “Why’s that funny?”
“It’s not funny. It’s good advice. The way you said it, though—you and all the uncles, you all give advice like old biker poets. Everything’s a road and a ride with y’all.”
Now Dad chuckled, too. “Hey, that’s what this life is—a ride on a road, with our family riding along, taking all the turns with us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Hold on, hold on, I’m not done yet!”
Phoebe shouldered Jethro, a big Angus steer, out of her way and finished tightening the final bolt. She gave the last new cattle brush a good tug to make sure it was firmly affixed, and got out of the way.
“There ya go!”
Jethro almost ran her down in three steps, getting to the bright blue bristles. He rubbed his chin over them, and his eyes rolled up. He actually moaned.
Phoebe looked over to make sure Mickey was getting the whole scene on video. Sometimes he lost focus and forgot to keep recording, but he was on the job this afternoon.
Despite a few conversations with charity heads and grant officers that indicated how much effort Lydia Copperman was devoting to trying to take her down all the pegs, Phoebe was feeling extra confident that Ragamuffin Ranch would weather the storms of one Mega-Karen, no matter how rich and influential she was. She’d done a new fundraising push on social media, and the fruits of those efforts were already ripening.
The UPS truck had made an appearance today, with several Amazon boxes—she’d put out a link to her wish list, and gifts were rolling in. Amongst an array of other much-needed supplies, somebody had donated six big cattle brushes. Just about enough for the whole motley herd.
They weren’t the mechanical kind, which spun on rollers like car-wash brushes, but in her mind these bolt-down ones were better. No mechanisms to break down. Just good places where the animals could get a scritch whenever they wanted, and could scrape off their own mud and not have to wait until grooming time. Also less grooming for the humans to manage. Wins all around.
Now, in both pastures, the animals were enjoying orgasmic scritch-a-thons, vying for space on the bristles. All but Titan, who stood at stalwart attention in the horse pasture, monitoring his charges, and Smoky, who was counting down his time in quarantine.
“Hey, Mick, look over there.” She pointed to the bright-yellow brush on the other side of the gate, where Derek, Justin, and Brad, the goats, where rubbing their faces in almost perfect unison. Mickey turned and focused Phoebe’s phone on them.
Later, she’d turn the camera on herself for a moment and say thank you, and tonight, she’d cut the footage together into a three-minute version for social media and a longer one for Patreon. She’d never imagined herself being a ‘content creator,’ and she’d prefer not to have to add her noise to the cacophony online, but that content creation was why the Ragamuffin herd had just been gifted about two thousand dollars’ worth of goodies, not to mention being able to afford hay and vet care and everything else, so she’d keep making noise.
Once they had enough footage, Phoebe took her phone back, and she and Mickey gathered up the tools and the empty boxes and headed back toward the barn.
“Mr. Vin’s coming,” Mickey observed about halfway across the yard.
Phoebe looked over and saw Vin heading their way, bundled up against the cold. Noticing the extra hitch in his gait that suggested his prosthetic was rubbing wrong on his stump as he navigated the gravel paths, she told Mickey, “Go on in. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Will you flatten the boxes for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and continued to the barn.
Phoebe met Vin. “Hey. You look like you’re hurting.”
“Nah, just tryin’ not to. Hey, the mail came. This was in it. I signed for it.” He handed over a business-size envelope.
The first thing she noticed was a green sticker: CERTIFIED MAIL. The second thing was the return address: The McIntosh County Health Department, Animal Welfare Division.
Ragamuffin Ranch was a licensed large-animal shelter. To keep said license valid, the state sent an inspector in annually to evaluate the site. They’d passed their most recent inspection in November.
“Why is the Health Department sending me a certified letter?” she wondered aloud, still staring at the back of the envelope.
“I don’t know,” Vin replied. “But I never got any mail with that sticker on it and found good news inside.”
“Yeah, me either.” Her heart picking up some speed, she set her toolbox down, pulled her work gloves off, and dug her finger under the envelope’s flap. In the envelope was a single sheet of white paper with official letterhead across the top in a businesslike serif font.
Under that letterhead, all caps, boldface, was the alarming phrase NOTICE OF ACTIVE INVESTIGATION.
She tipped the page so Vin could read that much.
“Oh shit,” he muttered.
Phoebe nodded and began to read.
Dear Ms. Davis:
Our office has received serious complaints regarding the condition of Ragamuffin Ranch, the large-animal shelter registered in your name at the address of 175263 N4810 Road, Checotah, OK 74426. The complaints filed allege serious degradation of conditions and potential danger to the animals sheltered there. Our office has opened an investigation into these allegations. You will have an opportunity to respond to the allegations during a full interview, but first we will be conducting a complete inspection within 24 hours of your receipt of this notice.
Please feel free to contact our office with any questions.
Harry Morgan, Inspector