The goat presses against Nash's leg and stays, stubborn and smug, as though it's decided Nash is its chosen victim. Nash looks down at it, calculating threat assessment and coming up empty.
"You cannot be serious," he mutters, deadpan enough to qualify as a prayer.
"Oh, I'm serious. He's yours. I can feel it. This is a soul-bond situation."
Nash watches the goat chew his pant leg.
Darla loses it, folding over the table with a sound half laugh, half wheeze. East openly laughs, head tipping back. Maggie crosses herself as though she's witnessed a biblical omen. James leans back as though it's a paid performance. Kyle, already practical, asks where the fencing supplies are stored as if this isnow a legitimate operational concern. Rider's mouth twitches, slight, but enough.
I catch Frankie in the corner, pen frozen, focus nowhere near Ruby or Nash. Her attention has shifted toward the door.
Victor and Olivia step inside a moment later, Arden just behind. Malachi must have called them in after the meeting yesterday. Knox mentioned the missed calls from last night, three from Malachi, all about getting Victor to the table. Arden's eyes find Frankie's across the room briefly in a silent check-in. She nods once, barely there, and his posture shifts, as though he's received confirmation.
Frankie's posture eases a fraction before her attention returns to her notebook.
Knox's hand finds the back of my neck, warm and steady. I press into him, smirking as Nash mutters, "I hate all of you," with the conviction of a vow.
Ruby pats the goat's head. "Phase one. Complete."
I look around the room. Laughter cracks open the tension, the clatter of mugs resumes, and Knox's attention stays anchored on me even when the room keeps moving. My spine loosens.
Whatever comes next, I'm standing in it.
The goat bleats, loud and pleased. Nash groans as though he's reconsidering his whole life.
Knox tips his head to my ear. "You're enjoying this."
I don't deny it.
I just smile, watching Nasty Nash Jr. chew Nash's pants as though he's been personally assigned to dismantle the Sergeant-at-Arms one bite at a time.
Chapter 35
Knox
Thegoatchaoshasbeen contained, in the most literal sense. Kyle and Rider are at the fence line with a post hole digger, a roll of welded wire, and the grim focus men reserve for bomb disposal. Nasty Nash Jr. stands a few feet away on a short rope, chewing as though he's reviewing their work and finding it lacking.
Kyle measures twice, taps a stake, checks his line again, acting as if this pen is a test he can pass or fail his way out of the club.
Rider drops to a knee and drives another post, calm as a heartbeat. He's the newest patch, but he moves as though he's been here forever. With steady hands, no wasted motion, eyes lifting to sweep the perimeter.
"Solid," I tell them, and mean it. "Make the corners tight. If that thing gets out, Nash is declaring war on farm animals."
Kyle lets out a breath that might be a laugh. "Yes, sir."
Rider's mouth twitches. "Goat's persistent."
"I noticed." Nasty Nash Jr. tugs at the rope as though he's testing physics.
Footsteps sound behind me, soft, familiar. My body turns before my brain finishes the thought.
Sloane comes out onto the gravel as if she's stepping into a space that already knows her. Hair braided back, sleeves pushed up, cheeks faintly pink from the cold. She pauses beside me, eyes flicking from the half-built pen to the goat to my face, and that small, private smile shows up, a blade sliding free.
"You look as though you're deciding if the goat is a threat to national security."
"I'm evaluating variables."
Her gaze dips to my mouth, and she closes the last inch. Her fingers slide into the back pocket of my jeans as if they've always lived there, her other hand resting light against my left side where the gauze sits under my shirt. Checking without checking. To anyone watching, she's just standing there, but my whole body goes tight and hot.
