Cowboys and Indians with my cousins
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In the wee hours of some quiet nights, I had continued to refine the site plan for Dream Catcher Ranch, and on Wednesday, I'd made copies of the site plan, such that it was, at Bare Printing on Aultman Street, so when my family and Robyn piled out of the Lincoln in front of the property on Great Basin Highway, I took a roll of the plans with me. Lou and Mabel had already arrived and were standing by a pickup truck parked on the shoulder of the highway in front of the Lincoln.
It was a cold day, and blustery, but the sky was clear, a deep, sparkling blue like Robyn's eyes. The highway and the shoulders on each side of the highway were free of ice and snow, but the land still carried an inch or two of the white stuff. Crusty snow, I realized as I stepped forward.
"My land has 250' of frontage on the highway," I said to my audience. "The main entrance to the ranch will be offset to the right, and I will put the land not used for the road to the left in pasture. I want some of my horses visible from the highway. I'll use white metal rail fencing for the front of the property, and the entrance will be dramatic and include gates that can be opened remotely. The property widens from 250' to 600' approximately 300' from the front property line. The depth of rear rectangle is approximately 500'. The house and outbuildings will be situated on the 600' by 500' rectangle. Lou, your land abuts the rear property line of the front parcel, and your land gives me access from Steptoe Creek Road." I pointed. "Steptoe Creek Road is the intersection we passed just before I pulled off the highway. You can see the intersection from here."
"I see it," Piper quipped.
"The main house will be two-stories tall and will contain 5 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms totaling about 4,500 square feet of living space. A carriage house for street vehicles with guest quarters over the garages will connect to the second floor of the house. The space between the house and the carriage house will act as a carport. The main house will be situated at the approximate center of the 600' width of the rear section far enough back from the widening point to allow for a circular drive in front of the house. I've been playing with a site plan that I'll give the architect I hire to design the structures." I handed out the site plans. Lou and Mabel shared one, as did Barbara and George. Mother and Robyn had their own copies.
"You drew this!" Mother exclaimed, her voice full of disbelief.
"Yes," I said. "Didn't you notice the drafting table in my office at the house?"
"When did you learn to do this kind of work?" she said. Her frown etched deep lines in her forehead.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I have no memories, remember. I take it from your reaction that I didn't exhibit any talent in architectural design or mechanical drawing before a lightning bolt tried to blast me into the great beyond and failed?"
"That's for sure," she said.
I decided to stonewall her incredulity and move on. "Mabel, notice where I placed the ranch manager's house. Does that location work for you?"
"Yes, I like the central location, and it's far enough from the stables to avoid a lot of the stink but close enough to easily walk to the stables from the house."
"Good, I'll consult with you and Lou about the floor plan of the house and the material and equipment that will go into it. Lou, notice the dotted rectangle on your property. That is a future 30-horse stable."
"I see it," he said.
"And I'll build the equipment shed half on your parcel and half on the front parcel. I'd actually like to slide the equipment shed completely over onto your parcel to make room for another training arena." I groaned. "The more I worked on the site plan, the more I realized that 27 acres would not accomplish what I want to accomplish. I spoke with Elizabeth yesterday at the luncheon and told her to investigate the ownership of any adjoining land to the two parcels that I've purchased. She laughed, Lou. Can you guess why?"
He tried to keep a straight face but couldn't. "Yeah, I own 60 more acres in two parcels, one at 20 acres next to the 20 acres I sold you, and the other at 40 acres, both with frontage to Steptoe Creek Road. Wanna wheel and deal on another 20 acres or would you rather make a deal on the whole shebang for a slight discount and make your currently teeny-tiny ranch a little ranch totaling 87 acres?"
"What are your asking prices for the two parcels?" I said.
"For a package deal: $7,500 an acre for the 60 acres. If you only want the 20 acres, the price is $10,000 per acre, like the first twenty acres, and we'll talk again later about the price of the 40-acre parcel when you're of a mind to add it to your ranch."
"Same down payment and carry-back arrangement as the first 20 acres?"
"Yep."
"I'll give you $300,000 for the 60 acres," I said.
"Hmm, that won't work for me, but I'll take $400,000," he said.
"Split the difference and you've got a deal," I said.
He hesitated and then stuck out his hand. "Deal."
I took it and said, "I think I'll let you do my horse trading for me, you old horse thief. You knew I'd need more acreage didn't you?"
He cackled. "I kinda figured you would. Kinda hard to make a 27-acre horse ranch profitable."
"I did okay," I said. "You expected to get $600,000 for the 80 acres, didn't you?"
He cackled again. "Guilty as charged. You're not a bad horse trader yourself. You beat me out of $50,000. 'Course considering the cost to hold the land and the lack of real property appreciation in this neck of the woods, not to mention the goldurned scarcity of qualified buyers, I came out of the deal mighty fine, too. We both won, young fella. That makes it a fair deal, and that's the way I like to wheel and deal."
"I'm not sure I understand what just happened," Robyn said.
"I'm with you, Robyn," my mother said.
"I just increased the size of Dream Catcher Ranch from 27 acres to 87 acres," I said.
"I understand that part," Robyn said. "What I don't understand is how you beat Lou out of $50,000."
"I paid Lou $50,000 less for the 80 acres than he expected to get, which was $7,500 per acre, or $600,000. I bought the first 20 acres at $10,000 an acre, or $200,000 and paid $350,000 for the other 60 acres, for a total of $550,000, instead of $600,000," I said.
"Oh, I understand now," Robyn said. "But Lou said he still came out of the deal mighty fine. Why?"
I said, "By selling all eighty acres now, he can invest the income and earn the $50,000 he lost, probably before he would have sold the land to another buyer, not to mention the cost to hold the land," I said. "It involves the time value of money."
George said, "Lou had to consider the present value of a future sum, discounted to the present."
"Like George said," Lou said.
Robyn groaned. "Now I'm really confused."
"Hellamighty," Mabel said, "All they did was a little horse tradin' using land instead of horses. All that other stuff is cow plop."
Piper giggled and said, "Plop, plop."
The sounds of riotous laughter rolled over the fields of snow.
Thank heaven for little girls.
Carol Jacobs watched her son stride across his land. He stopped, said something to Mabel, and gestured with his hands.
Robyn moved next to her and said, "He's different, isn't he?"
Carol snorted and said, "So different it's like he's a different person, like someone else inhabits his body. Robyn, the man my sweet little boy became was a big disappointment to me. He inherited some physical characteristics from his father that I admired. He's devastatingly handsome. He's big and strong. His deep voice resonates with power. In appearance, he's an alpha male, like his father. But he was also a bully, like his father, and disrespectful to women, made fun of fat or skinny or short people, was prejudiced against blacks and Hispanics and native Americans, and called the less fortunate intellects among us retards. I could go on and on. And he was selfish, like his father. John Windom cared about John Windom and not much else. The new John Windom isn't a bully. He protects the weak from the strong. He isn't self-centered, and he shows respect to everyone around him, unless the person is not deserving of respect. Now, his moral foundation is so deep and strong, you could build a skyscraper on it. And money, boy oh boy, has that changed. Before no matter how hard he tried, the old John Windom couldn't get ahead financially. He was constantly living beyond his means. Just before he moved to Ely, he filed for bankruptcy to get out of debt. I don't want to speak poorly of the dead, but Yvonne was worse than John in that respect. Their marriage was slated for failure, if only because of finances. That the marriage ended the way it did is sad, but ... You know what I mean."
"I understand," Robyn said.
Carol sighed. "I'll admit it. I didn't like Yvonne. She was a beautiful woman and craved beautiful things, but she had no taste, no sense of personal style. She followed fads, and following fads can put you in the poor house and keep you there. I'd hoped that John would marry a woman that, with the power of love, could change him. I think Yvonne loved John at first, but the last time I saw them together, I could see no love in either of them for the other. Yvonne loved my granddaughter, though. I'll give her that. To my eyes, she loved Piper more than John loved the little girl. I came here expecting to take Piper back to Reno with me, Robyn. The old John didn't have it in him to take care of a child on his own. Does that shock you?"
"Oh, my! Yes it does. John loves that little girl with all his heart. It's obvious in every look he gives her. If he looked at me like that just once, I'd ... I don't know what I'd do, but it would be difficult to resist."
Carol chuckled. "I didn't resist the look I saw in his father's face, but I made a mistake. I thought I saw love, but it was a look of lust, not love."
"I'll keep that in mind," Robyn said.
"Robyn, there's nothing wrong with lust as long as you don't confuse it with love. That's another thing that's different about my son. I'm pretty sure he cheated on his wife, and I know she cheated on him. I've got no reason to say this, but I think the new John would honor his marriage vows. What's more I don't think he would put up with a cheating wife for a second. Robyn, I'm pleased with some of the changes I see in him, more that pleased; I'm ecstatic. But some of the changes ... well, they're hard to take. Personalities can change, but sudden changes in knowledge or skills just don't happen. This site plan is an example, and it's just one example among many. The site plan looks professional, like an architect or engineer created the plan. The old John didn't have the knowledge or skill to develop and draw the plan. This worries me. The memory loss I can understand, but ... I don't know. Some of the changes I see in John make me feel like we're all playing parts in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Do you remember that old TV show?"
Robyn frowned and said, "I've heard of it, of course, but I don't believe I ever watched the show." She chuckled. "It must have been a powerful show, though, because being in the 'twilight zone' has become a normal expression used to describe an abnormal place involving the unusual or ESP or other paranormal events, and you're right, some of the changes I've seen in John certainly smack of the paranormal. Why does this worry you?"
"I'm worried that the Twilight Zone episode will end, and John will turn back into the man he was."
"To be honest, Carol, I harbor the same fear," Robyn said. "I could fall in love with the new John Windom. I detested the old John Windom."
"I need a favor, Robyn. This is very important to me. It involves the well being of my granddaughter. If my son reverts, if he stops being the man he has become even slightly, will you call me?"
Robyn nodded. "I will."
Carol opened her purse, extracted a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote her name, address and phone number on the paper. With a sigh when she gave the note to Robyn, she said, "I'll rest easier now. Thank you, Robyn."
Sunday afternoon. I was at loose ends. The cards were running against me. I quit after losing two tournaments, and I didn't want to rework the site plan for the ranch until I received survey drawings that include the additional 60 acres.
I opened my cell phone. It was time to do some courting in an around about way.
"Hello, Robyn," I said when she answered my call.
"Coach, did your mother and Barbara and George get away all right this morning?"
"They did. It was a tearful goodbye on Piper and Mother's parts, but my family left on schedule. Mother promised to call when they arrived safely back in Reno. After Mother left, one of Piper's friends called, and to console Piper, I dropped her off at her friend's home. She's having dinner with her friend's family. It's Agnes's day off, and after fixing my lunch, she left to visit friends, as well."
"I like your mother, Coach. Now I know where you came by some of your good qualities."
"I thank you on my mother's behalf. I called because I'm alone and at loose ends, and it occurred to me that, if you're not busy otherwise, it would be a good time for us to get to know each other better on a personal level instead of as we relate inside the school environment. Are you ... busy, I mean?"
"I was thinking about washing my hair and doing my nails," she said, her voice full of tease.
"There's no way for me to know, but like I sensed my general dislike of labor unions, I have a strong feeling that I am adept at washing hair. I do not, however, sense a like ability for the job of a manicurist," I said. "So, it's fifty/fifty proposition at best."
"Proposition?" she said, the tease still strong in the tones of her voice.
"Yes. You have some personal chores facing you. I'm proposing to assist you with one of these chores by washing your hair. I offered the proposition because it seems to me that, for a man, washing a beautiful woman's hair, unless the man is a beautician by profession, could be an intimate experience, not to mention that while I'm running my fingers through your thick and sudsy dark tresses to massage your scalp, we could talk and get to know each other on a more personal level, which was the point of my call. It would be a two-for, and you know how I enjoy the efficiency of two-fors. But a dilemma remains for you to resolve. Should you accept my proposition, only fifty percent of your chores will be completed because you'd be on your own regarding doing your nails."
I waited, and the silence stretched out. Finally she spoke, "If I accept this proposition, and I'm not saying I am, you'd have to come to my apartment to test your theory of the possible intimate experience. If I drove to your house, I'd need a sailor's duffle bag to tote all the paraphernalia required to wash my hair. Shampoo and conditioner, brushes and combs, hair dryer, and curlers would be a partial list."
"In that case, I'd be a fool not to hop into my pickup truck and drive lickety-split to your apartment."
"And I'd be fool not to take you up on your proposition."
"Great, I'll be there lickety-split. For future reference, what part of my spiel swayed your decision the most?"
"Imagining your fingers massaging my scalp through my sudsy tresses."
"Thought so," I said. "I'll be there in ten min..."
"Make that thirty minutes, Coach."
Robyn groaned with pleasure as I massaged her scalp with the tips of my fingers, and then added another dollop of shampoo for thicker more luxurious suds.
"I don't know if your theory held up for you, Coach, but you've proved it to me. A man washing my hair is indeed an intimate experience."
"It would have been more intimate in your shower than the kitchen sink," I said. "What's your favorite color?"
"Huh?"
"What's your favorite color? That is my first question that when answered will start the process for me to know you better on a personal level—the other part of my two-for."
"Ah, I understand. Scrub just a little harder, please. Yes ... like that." Her groan was more a purr than a groan. "My favorite color is blue. Now, answer the same question for me."
"That's a tough one for me. When I look into your eyes, it's blue. And I prefer the blue of far away mountains to mountains even farther away with a purple hue. But the greens in a stand of conifers and the sun-dappled, flickering greens in mountain aspen leaves, and especially the green portions in breaking ocean waves resonate more for me than blue, so I've got to go with green. Who is your favorite current singer?"
"Garth Brooks," she said. "Your turn."
"Another tough one for me. I have a difficult time separating the singer from the song. When Whitney Houston sings I Will Always Love You, I yearn to be loved as deeply as the power and range of her voice suggests to me. But loving with that much intensity would likely be short term; it would burn itself out like a camp fire in a high wind unless fed more fuel to maintain the roaring blaze. I think I prefer the love Kenny Rogers sings about in Through the Years: long-term love; quiet, steadfast love. But then there's Garth Brooks and If Tomorrow Never Comes and the pathos of love. I guess I've got to go with Garth Brooks. Time to rinse, Robyn."
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