The Ranch

This is a work of fiction. Although some of the action takes place at real places, all characters are figments of the author's imagination and not any real person. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

The Ranch

By D.O. Mann

Lisa Nelson placed a fourth large cola with light ice on the counter in front of the man who was finishing his fries while reading some forms that he had brought in with him. She had taken a measure of him when he first came through the door of the diner. With his hat in place, a western style with no adornments and as black as the beard he wore, he stood six feet five inches. That meant that his real height was probably six feet two or three. He wore a rugged black work shirt and blue jeans over a pair of western style boots.

The first thing she thought when she saw him was 'ranch hand.' After all, there were a number of ranches in the area, besides the Nelson Ranch which wasn't a working ranch anymore. But on second thought, he looked to clean for that. His hat and boots were relatively new. No more than two, maybe three months old. No, he couldn't be a ranch hand with that good of boots on his feet. And the shirt wasn't very old, either. Maybe he was a wannabe. Or more likely, he was trying to fool people into thinking that he was in ranching. He was probably trying to get someone to sell something to him or buy something from him and thought that if dressed like them, they would be more receptable to his proposal.

But she wasn't paid to speculate on the occupation or motives of the customers that came into the diner. She was only paid to serve them the meals they ordered. So, with her professional smile in place, she set the glass down and looked up as the bell above the door rang announcing another arrival. That smile drooped a bit as she saw the newcomer. Without a second glance, she turned back to the beverage station and poured a glass of sweetened tea which she took to the place at the counter where the woman sat, just three spaces away from the man.

"Hey, Lisa," the blonde said cheerfully.

"Nancy," she returned shortly.

Nancy gave a sigh. "When are you going to stop being mad at me?"

"I probably won't," came the answer. "You sold my home out from under me, Nancy. How am I to feel about that?"

"Your mom put it up for sale. She really didn't have any choice. Either she sold it, or the government would have taken it away. She couldn't pay the taxes on it."

The man clunked his glass that he had been drinking from on the counter and shuffled through his papers quickly. He gave out a slight whew as he found something and visibly relaxed. Neither Lisa or Nancy took notice off it as they continued their own discussion.

"It was still my home. The place I've lived at for my entire life. I don't want to just leave it, you know?"

"If your brother was still around, you might have been able to stay."

"Watch what you say about my brother."

"I wasn't saying anything against him, Lisa. But the fact is, your father wasn't much of a rancher. I don't know how he paid for everything over the last seven years, but when he died, whatever he was doing stopped. Jeremiah was the one who was keeping that place going after your grandfather died, but he's not here anymore. So, your mom had to sell. At least the buyer gave you time there after the sale went through. It's been four months and no one has seen him or heard from him."

"He's probably a developer. Did you think of that? He hasn't been here because he's been too busy tearing up land and planting houses and roads someplace else. Now, this, what's his name?"

"Turlow," Nancy offered. "John Turlow. I remember because it's such an unusual name."

"Yeah. Turlow. Now this Turlow character is going to tear up the Nelson ranch and turn it into some kind of development. Probably hundreds of houses and ten to twenty roads all through that area that used to be grazing land for our cattle."

The brunette noticed the man get up from his seat and slip his wallet from his back pocket. He placed a bill under the glass that had held his drink and made his way past the two women to the payment desk. She followed immediately to take his payment and wish him a good day.

"Was everything alright?" she inquired.

"Yes," he answered. "Quite good."

"That's good. I hope you'll come back again, Mr...."

"Turlow," he provided as he put his hat on. "John Turlow." With that, he gave her a mischievous grin and a wink of one of his ice-blue eyes, twinkling with amusement, and walked out the door towards a black Ford pickup with an enclosed trailer attached.

Lisa saw the amusement as well as the grin, but it was his eyes that really got to her. They were the same color as her brother's. But unlike her brother's eyes, his weren't sad or haunted. Even when he was in a good mood, Jeremiah's eyes had always retained that sullen haunted look. And, of course, he had a lot lighter hair than the man who had just left.

"Didn't look like a developer to me," Nancy declared. "Looked very much like a rancher."

"Then you were not very observant," Lisa countered moving to retrieve the tip. "His boots, hat and shirt were all recently acquired. It's a ploy to make people trust him while he slips in to develop more land. Obviously, he wants more than just the Nelson Ranch."

"Maybe he bought new because his old ones wore out."

"Doubtful. Ranchers don't tip ten dollars for an eight-dollar meal, either. I need to call mom."

Sarah Nelson was in her living room and was able to see when the black ford F-450 pulled into her driveway towing a sixteen-foot Haulmark trailer matching in color. She noticed that they were relatively new. Her daughter was right, she thought. This was no rancher. Which meant that he was here to develop the land and erect buildings or homes on it. But that wouldn't be any of her business. The man got out and glanced around the visible area, taking in the house, stable, and broken-down bunkhouse. As he reached back in the truck, she moved to open the door and go out to greet him. He came back out with his hat and a note pad. Putting his hat on, he withdrew what she could only assume was a writing implement out of his pocket.

"Mr. Turlow?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered matter of factly.

"I'm Sarah Nelson. I was the previous owner?"

"Yes. Mrs. Nelson. Nice to meet you," he said in a voice that suggested otherwise. "Thank you for staying on and watching over the place the last four months as caretaker. How did you know who I am?"

"My daughter called from the diner. And as far as the caretaking is concerned, that wasn't a problem, sir. It was quite nice of you to pay me to do so. Can I ask what you intend to do with the land?"

"Ranching, ma'am."

"Really? I hope you have someone to help you to learn how to do it."

"Ma'am, I grew up in the business," he declared defensively. "I do have some other people coming in to help, but I'm the one who knows the ropes."

"I apologize, sir. I made an assumption from the condition of your apparel and truck. They're in too good a shape."

"The truck is new," he admitted. "And I haven't had this hat for very long. It was time to replace the old one."

"Shall I show you around?" enquired Sarah.

"Actually, do you have a place I could freshen up? I'd like to empty out the four colas I had back at the diner."

Sarh gave a little laugh. "Sure. This way." She walked towards the house that had been her home for more than twenty years.

John Turlow exited the bathroom after he was finished and noticed the room across from it. The door was open where he could see the things inside it. The bed was made up with a nightstand next to it supporting a small light and an alarm clock. He didn't even think of what he was doing, but entered and looked around. It was obviously a room that had housed a boy in his teens. The posters on the wall as well as a few models spoke of that.

"This was my son's room," Sarah's voice came from behind him.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I shouldn't have intruded."

A sadness was in her voice when she spoke. "It's all yours, now anyway. Besides. He hasn't been here in seven years, so, it doesn't matter."

"Again, I am intruding. Please accept my apology."

Sarah sighed. "You'll need to know some of it anyway to know about the ranch. Let's go into the kitchen. Would you like some coffee?"

"I think something cold would be better," he suggested. "It's quite warm out today."

"I have some lemonade made. Or I can make some instant iced tea."

"The lemonade sounds good. I'll have some of that, if you don't mind."

They made their way to the kitchen and John sat at the table while Sarah got the lemonade from the refrigerator. Once the glasses were filled, she also sat and looked at the man, wondering just how much she should reveal.

"I don't know if you noticed or if there was anything in the paperwork about it, but the stable is only seven years old."

"No, ma'am. If there was anything in the paperwork about it, I didn't see it. Just like I didn't see anything in there about a bunkhouse that is in complete disrepair. For that matter, I don't even know if a bunkhouse was mentioned."

"Yes. That building is just a junk heap," Sarah agreed. "Anyway, the ranch is from my husband's family. It was in the family for five, six generations. I don't remember which anymore. My father-in-law, Mike, was a rancher just as his father was. My son, Jeremiah, was learning the ropes from Mike. Mark, my husband, started off as a rancher, but after we married, he lost interest in it. So, he was not a rancher. Not even close. He was a drunk. His brother, Roy, wasn't into it either. He started working for the sheriff's office about half a year before Mark married me. So, with his sons not wanting the ranch, Mike set about making sure that my boy knew how to run it. That way, he could keep it going for the rest of the family. Maybe that was part of the problem, maybe not. Who knows?

"At any rate, Mark was extra hard on my son from the time he was about six on. There were beatings. I didn't know what to do. But Mike was always able to get Mark to calm down a bit. And the punishments became not so bad. To a lesser degree, Mark was hard on Lisa, too. She wasn't getting the beatings that Jeremiah was, but her punishments were usually quite severe and included many spankings. That is, until my son found out about it. Then, any time Mark went to punish her, he would step in and take her whippings.

"When Jeremiah was thirteen, Mike died of a heart attack. The beatings got progressively worse, and I wasn't able to stop them. My Mother-in-law, Sylvia, wasn't inclined to make him stop. Sometimes, it seemed like she was rooting him on. She died just three months after Mike, and I was left to deal with Mark on my own.

"In the meantime, Jerimiah had taken over the running of the ranch. All the ranch hands called him boss, and deferred to his decisions. Mark just kept drinking more and more. When he was drunk, if he wanted to punish one of the kids, the beatings were much more severe. And Jeremiah was taking them all.

"Then there was the fire. Jeremiah was sixteen, Lisa fourteen. And of course, my husband blamed my son for it."

"Your son was responsible for the fire?" John inquired.

"No, sir!" Sarah replied with a bit of anger. "Jeremiah was into ranching and wanted to keep the place going. He wouldn't have set that fire for anything."

"It was Arson?"

"Yes. The day of the fire, Jeremiah was at a friend's house from the time school let out until about eight-thirty that night. He and Richard, that was his friend, were working on some kind of project for their history class, and they always did the work there instead of here because Mark would have busted the thing up. Mark and I took Lisa to her friend, Nancy's house when we left here about five-o-clock on our way out. Roy was running for sheriff and he was having a fundraiser for the campaign at the country club.

"It was just after nine that we got the call from the fire department that our stable was on fire. When we got here, we found Lisa and Jeremiah in the driveway by a cart that we had. Jeremiah was covered in soot, and Mark started accusing him of setting the fire. He tried to explain that he was sooty because he rushed in to save the horses and pull out a lot of the gear on the cart, but Mark wouldn't believe him."

"Did you?"

"Of course. I knew my son would never do anything to harm the ranch."

"Are you still certain now that he didn't have a hand in it?'

"Yes. There was an investigation, of course, and it was found that the fire was deliberately set. They questioned my son, trying to tie him into the crime, but they couldn't. They checked his story diligently and found that he left the Bailey household where he was working with his friend at about eight-thirty for the first time that day. The Wright's explained that he arrived at their place just ten minutes later to pick up Lisa. The cops almost gave him a speeding ticket for that, but it proved he wasn't here at the time of the fire. When he and Lisa got here, the building was already ablaze. He told her to call nine-one-one and rushed in to save the animals and place as much of the gear as he could on the cart which he pulled out. He saved all our saddles, four of the seven bridles we had, and even a couple of bags of oats before he had to leave.

"I don't know all the details of the investigation, but I do know that it was arson. And I know my son was innocent. But Mark wouldn't believe him, and he sent him away to some military school somewhere. Mark had the stable you see today built, but he still wasn't doing anything about running the ranch. Our foreman, Lamar Westfall tried, but without Mark's support he couldn't do much. A year later, he moved on and the ranch fell into disuse. If my son had been here, it wouldn't have failed."

"You can't write to him to come back?"

"Mark never told me where he was. I wasn't here when he was sent away, and was never given an address. Even if I had that, I'm sure he's left that school. I have no idea where he might have gone after that. I don't even know if he's alive or not."

John had a clear picture of what happened from her volunteered information, but he knew that there was something that she was hiding. He wondered what it was. Should he dig for it? She might not like that, but he felt that it might be necessary.

"You said that the fact that your father-in-law's teaching of your son may have contributed to the problem. What problem?"

"The problem that Mark had with him."

"What else was a factor? You kept saying 'my son,' quote, unquote. Why not our son?"

"I don't know. I just did," she answered nervously.

"There is something else there, Mrs. Nelson. Why didn't you refer to him as our son? What was it that your husband didn't like?"

"What difference does it make?"

"What's the reason, Mrs. Nelson?"

"Because he wasn't his, God damn it!" As soon as she said those words, she put her hands over her face. "Father, forgive me," she prayed as she lowered her hands, tears in her eyes.

John calmed down. That was what she hadn't wanted him to know. Her story began to make more sense with that bit of information. "Who was the father?"

She turned to John Turlow then and looked at him. Who was this man that could wring things out of her that she wished to remain hidden? But it didn't matter now. He knew. She might as well tell him the rest of it. "I was raped," she began. "I was babysitting for Britney Evans at the time. She and Sean were a young couple, just a couple of years older than Mark and I, and she had gotten pregnant while she was still in high school. I was only seventeen, Mark was nineteen. We had already planned to marry in a few years, but were not anywhere close to when we wanted to do that.

"Sean wasn't home when I got there, and Britney seemed to be in a hurry to leave. She gave me the information that I needed to know about watching their son, Julien, and left. Sean came home an hour later and that's when it happened. He did time for the rape, but it all led to bad feelings between the families. We stay out of each other's way, but that's about all we can do. Mark just decided to step up the timetable for our wedding, and we were married six months before Jeremiah was born. I think Mark resented him for not being his, and he could only handle it by drinking and punishing him every chance he could. Sean has been out of prison for about eight years now, released on parole, but no one has seen him since then. At least, not around here." She paused a bit before continuing. "Now, you know. Please don't ask for more. And would you please not tell Lisa about this? She doesn't need to know that her brother is really her half-brother."

He thought about it for a bit before answering. "Alright," he finally replied. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. Mark wasn't very nice a lot of the time, and at the end of it, he spent more time at the bar than with me, but I still loved him."

"Actually, I meant for your son."

"I don't know that he's dead."

"He may well be alive, but it seems to me if he hasn't made any contact in seven years, it is unlikely that he will ever do so. You obviously love him, so I'm sorry for your loss."

"You're right. I didn't think of that as a loss. Thank you for your condolences." She paused for a bit and bowed her head. "Maybe we should take a look at the rest of the ranch," she suggested.

"Well, maybe just the buildings that are close by for now," he smiled.

A laugh escaped her and they rose to their feet. "The house has seven bedrooms," she began. "Three of them have en suite bathrooms. There is also a large study, a kitchen, of course, dining room, living room, great room, pantry, utility room, which also doubles as a laundry room, and an attached garage. The stable has room for twelve horses, although there are only four there right now."

"Let's start with the stable," John requested. I don't need to see the house at the moment."

"Okay." They made their way outside to the other building on the property that was in good shape. "There are two parts to the upper level. The lower level is where the stalls are, and half the top is storage. The other half, a small apartment. My husband would use it quite often when he came home from the bar so that he wouldn't wake me up." She opened the sliding door and they walked into the dimness of the stable.

"Here are the horses,' she continued. "I'm sure you remember that they are part of the sale. This one is Betty." She patted the horse in the closest stall. "Mark called her that because of the blonde coat. This one is Archie." She moved to the next one with a dark reddish coat. "He liked the idea of Archie and Betty in the comics being together. He said that Reggie and Veronica belonged together and Archie should be with Betty, so he thought it great fun that we had a red horse and a blonde horse with those names. Archie was his mount while I rode Betty. They were acquired before the event." She moved to the next. "This is Demon. Don't let the name fool you. She's as gentle as a babe in its mother's arms. The name comes from her black coat and red eyes. Lisa has been riding him for years." She moved to the last stall which held a speckled paint, but didn't go too close to it. "This is Charger. He was my son's horse. I wouldn't get to close to him. He's never hurt anyone, but he isn't exactly on good terms with anyone. Jeremiah was the only one he would let ride him. Anyone else would find him laying down as soon as they mounted and then he would slowly role over on his side and wait for them to get off of him."

John walked up to the stall. "We'll have to get to know each other," he declared. "Come on, boy. Let's you and me have a little talk, shall we?"