Eight also handed Little Jon a Righteous Fist flash; he’d been the one to kill his squad’s target.
Eight withdrew flashes for the various officer positions from the box as well. Those, he handed to Fitz.
“Fitz, Jazz, and Geno are staying around to help get the charter rolling,” Eight said. “The plan is they’ll stay until the clubhouse is claimed—and by then, y’all should have figured out the officers for this charter. Until then, Fitz is acting president, Jazz VP, and Geno SAA.”
Cooper added, “They got no intention of staying here, so the first order of business is figuring out recruitment and structure. And charm patrol—the Bulls need better relations with the civilians here than the Nameless had. We need the town to think of this as an improvement, and we need law on our side—or at least out of our way. The reason we make bank is because we stay out of civilians’ way, and we get law to clear a path for us to work. ”
Dean laughed. “That’s a tall order. People fuckin’ hate the Nameless around here. Contempt or fear, for most folks. Or both. And the cops? They are not friendly.”
Eight slapped Fitz’s back. “That’s why we’re leaving these guys here. They know how to make nice, and they know how to grease the wheels. You want to be looking for places to hold out a helping hand, too. This is a whole new world, brothers. You’re Bulls now, and we stay inside the fuckin’ lines.”
Duncan thought of the bodies dissolving in vats of lye, all because the Bulls wanted this location. He wondered exactly where the lines really were.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The change in the weather had brought in a winter storm. Most of Oklahoma got an inch of ice followed by somewhere between four to six inches of snow. Around Ragamuffin Ranch, they got about five inches. Lots of wind blew it around so that it was more than a foot deep near the buildings and fences, and just a dusting over the lanes and wide spaces. A dusting of snow over an inch of ice.
Ty’s law office closed down for two days, and Margot stayed home, but ranch work didn’t stop for any kind of weather. Animals needed taken care of no matter what mood Nature was in.
The storm took out a chunk of fence near the front gate. Luckily, the fence there was only rail and barbed wire, and they had the supplies on hand. So, on the day after, while Margot took on the brunt of the animal care, and Vin stayed inside where he couldn’t fall and fuck up his prosthetic, Phoebe went up in full winter gear to sink the post in a fresh hole and restring the barbed wire. It took the better portion of the morning, and it was not easy work in the frozen ground, but she got it done.
The thing about a country fence, though: there was a lot of it. If the storm took it down in one place, odds were good that other parts had fallen as well. So after a good, warm lunch, and ignoring the burgeoning ache in her back and shoulders from the repair at the front gate, Phoebe bundled back up, saddled Amos, and did a full perimeter check of the property.
“Can’t this wait?” Margot had asked as Phoebe had pulled her snowsuit back on. “We’re keeping the animals close until the weather breaks. Nobody’ll get close enough to the perimeter to be in trouble.”
It could have waited. But since the trouble with the health department, Phoebe’s mood and mindset had hardened. All she could think about was this ranch. Her home. Either she was working on it, or she was worrying about it. When she worked, she felt like she had some control over things. The ranch felt most like hers when she was taking care of it. It was when she tried to rest that she most felt like she could lose it all.
She hadn’t explained that to Margot, however. Her only response had been, “I’m doing it now.”
Margot had given her that maternal look Phoebe hated, and she prepared a rebuttal for the argument she was sure was coming—the one where Margot pointed out that Phoebe had been continuously stressed for days now, and things like coordination and spatial awareness tended to get fuzzy when she was stressed. But her friend showed a rare moment of restraint and delivered that argument with only a look.
So Phoebe turned away and headed to the stable.
Amos was a young gelding, only three years old and full of sass. But he loved Phoebe, and he loved working. He got bored with pasture time, and when he was bored, he went looking for mischief. He was happier on a longe line, working on gait cues, than munching grass all day. He knew the saddle meant some kind of adventure, and he got excited, dancing in the aisle like a little kid waiting to go on a roller coaster. Even when it was twenty degrees and the world had turned to ice and snow, Amos was down for an adventure.
Phoebe kept the horses unshod in the winter; they were more sure-footed on frozen ground with their own hooves, and when there was snow, it packed in around the shoes and turned them into ice skates. Amos seemed to enjoy the feel of snow on his bare hooves; he stepped high and proud like a gaited horse, held his tail and head aloft, and basically did everything short of trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.
For a while, as she rode her happy guy through the snowy, quiet woods, Phoebe felt peace and contentment wrap around her. She felt good for the first time in days. In fact, as they worked their way along the fence line, all of it intact so far, she felt like maybe she could beat Lydia Copperman after all. Her attempts to fuck with donors hadn’t panned out; almost all Phoebe’s patrons were still on board, and none of the charity organizations she worked with had caved to Copperman’s demands—in fact, they’d all informed Phoebe that it had happened, and a couple, including Becca, had offered to sign an affidavit about the situation.
Only the health inspection had worked to cause big trouble, and that was still a huge threat looming in the near future. But the GoFundMe was up to almost twenty thousand dollars. That would cover grading the road, and at least some portion of the welfare certifications. Maybe they’d reach their funding goal and be able to replace the roof, too.
God, if Phoebe did end up face to face with that bitch again, it would be so much better if she could present her with a passed inspection report instead of a fucking apology for refusing to suck shit directly out of the woman’s ass.
Amos drew up short suddenly, his head high and his ears at full attention. The mane at his withers trembled lightly with his focus.
Phoebe looked around and saw nothing but the peaceful wonderland of the snowy woods. Then, about a hundred feet ahead, near the fence line, she saw the brush shudder.
One thing about horses; since they were afraid of basically everything, they were great at alerting to possible danger.
Oklahoma didn’t have much in the way of large predators. No bears or cougars or bobcats outside of zoos. Bison didn’t roam wild. There were deer, maybe the occasional antelope, but those weren’t dangerous unless they were running scared and you were in the way.
What Oklahoma had were feral hogs. Those fuckers were big, destructive, and mean as fuck. And they grouped together in large herds called ‘sounders,’ which were like the outlaw gangs of the animal world.
When Phoebe urged Amos forward, he balked. He knew about deer; there was a herd that often showed up in the pasture and grazed along with the horses. If he was afraid, there was something else up there.
The brush shook, but Phoebe couldn’t see, or hear, what was up there. Even so, she unlaced the rifle from behind her saddle and brought it forward. Obviously, having been raised in the country, she knew her way around firearms, and the Army had trained her to be a crack shot, but she didn’t especially like guns. She wasn’t a hunter, and she disliked the thought of killing any animal herself, but she wasn’t about to get charged by some monster boar and let Amos be hurt.