The Last Ranch

by Michael McGarrity

  While there, Matt made a quick stop to see Patrick and found him the same as before: withdrawn and mute, but freshly shaven and dressed in clean clothes. He sat anchored to his armchair staring out the window at the dirt lane. His roommate’s bed was stripped down to the bare mattress and the personal items on the nightstand were gone. The nurse on duty told him the man had died and a new resident would be moving in on Monday. She also said that their best efforts to get Patrick to socialize often failed, except at mealtime, which he always looked forward to—for the food, not the companionship. So far, he’d shown no inclination to wander off, nor had he exhibited any aggressive tendencies.

  Matt tried to make jovial small talk with Patrick, asking if he’d made any friends, if he enjoyed the cooking, or if he was getting enough exercise. Patrick stared out the window, stock-still, stiff-necked, and mute. He was permanently missing in action. Matt realized the chances were slim to none that he’d ever have a meaningful conversation with his father again. An overwhelming feeling of sorrow came out of nowhere. Matt knelt down, squeezed his father’s shoulder, and said goodbye.

  “Maybe you can’t hear this, but I hope you can,” he said in a whisper. “We’ve had our differences, but that’s been behind us for a long time now. Mary and I truly appreciate how much attention and affection you’ve given to Kevin. You’ve been a real good grandpa to him. He misses you and sends his love. We all miss you.”

  To Matt’s surprise, Patrick turned his head and eyed him seriously. With a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, he nodded slightly and softly patted Matt’s hand.

  Matt left the nursing home thinking he should have thanked Patrick years ago for the man he’d become and forgotten about the man he’d once been. It made him feel small-minded for being so unforgiving over so many years.

  ***

  A month passed before Matt, Mary, and Kevin had a chance to return to the ranch. Already there was a feeling of abandonment and neglect about it, as well as troubling evidence of trespassing. Al Jennings had moved the few remaining 7-Bar-K ponies to his ranch headquarters. With the cattle they’d held over for spring works currently grazing on Rocking J pastures, it meant for the first time in the history of the spread, no 7-Bar-K livestock grazed on the land. That reality stabbed Matt like a cactus spine.

  Somebody had shot up the windmill blades and tromped through the house. Although nothing appeared to be missing, Mary thought the food pantry had been raided for some canned goods. There was no evidence that trespassers had slept in the house or used the kitchen, but still it was an invasion that put them all in a snappish mood.

  While Mary swiftly set about changing the sheets on all the beds as a precaution, Matt hurried to the barn to see if any of the saddles or tack had been stolen. He found the gear all where it should be, but Patrick’s old trunk had been busted open and ransacked. Missing were his old Rough Rider uniform, assorted military equipment, and his army medals. Back at the house he searched to see what else might have been taken, and discovered Patrick’s old horse pistol that he’d kept in a drawer of his bedside table was gone.

  He took a walk around the ranch house looking for tire tracks and footprints, but strong, gusty winds had covered any traces with fine sand blown up from the Tularosa. He figured the interlopers were from the missile range. Who else but soldiers would have easy access to the ranch? Who else but army boys, who didn’t know the value of a well-made saddle, would pass up stealing something worth good money? Why take only some military memorabilia and an ancient handgun?

  It irked Matt that part of his family history had been stolen. He wouldn’t forget it. He’d file a report with the sheriff when they got back to town, but doubted anything would come of it. From now on when they were at the ranch, he’d sleep with an unloaded shotgun next to the bed, shells close at hand.

  ***

  After sweeping out the place, dusting the furniture, doing the laundry, and remaking the beds, Mary fixed a dinner of sandwiches and salad with groceries they’d brought from town. Over dinner, she waited for Matt to raise the subject of the ranch, but he didn’t say a word. With evening covering the land, no critters or ponies to care for, and no chores that needed doing other than washing a few dishes to air-dry, the ranch felt hollow and empty to her. She joined Matt on the veranda wondering if Patrick’s absence had somehow withered the place, much as drought could dry and stunt the land. Or maybe the thieving vandals had sucked the life from it.

  She sat in Patrick’s old rocker. A fleeting vision of him with his feet perched on the railing made her smile. “Where’s Kevin?”

  “Down at the Witch’s Tree trying to spot secret agents and guided missiles through my binoculars,” Matt replied.

  “I’m sure they’re out there,” Mary said. She paused for a moment. “Are we going to talk about what we have to do with the ranch?”

  “I’ve been putting it off, haven’t I?”

  “Understandably.”

  “But for a little too long,” Matt admitted.

  “Yes.”

  Matt’s gloomy sigh was swept away by a slight wind through the cottonwood trees. “It’s just hard to let it go.”

  “With nobody here to care for and protect it, there won’t be much left after a while.”

  Matt nodded. “It’s already looking a little run-down. I wish we could sell it to anyone other than the army.”

  “They’re going to take it from us if we don’t sell to them.” Mary leaned closer. “Either they’ll steal it through the courts, or we try to get some money out of it—at least enough to pay for Patrick’s care and maybe a little more.”

  “Yeah, this old homestead owes him that much at least.” Matt stood, walked to the veranda stairs, and looked at the star-filled sky. “Once, I hated this ranch, wanted nothing to do with it. I even swore I’d never live here. Now, it breaks my heart to let it go.”

  Mary went to him, wrapped her arm around his waist, and leaned against him. “We’ll make our own happiness wherever we are, whatever we do. Isn’t that already how it is for us?”

  Matt smiled at her. “You bet it is.” His smile faded as he gazed at the empty pasture. “Back before the war, I had a real good run selling cutting horses and top cow ponies to ranchers and rodeo cowboys. After a long day working them, I used to love to come out here in the cool of the evening and see my ponies lazing in the pasture. God, they were as pretty as they come. Having them here made the harshness of the land somehow more civilized and peaceful.” He turned to Mary. “More beautiful.”

  “We can make another place like this for ourselves,” Mary suggested.

  “I feel like I’m giving up, quitting, to let this go.”

  “If you want to stay and fight, we can.”

  “Like old John Prather.” Matt studied Mary’s face. “You’d do that?”

  “I would, Mr. Kerney.”

  Matt kissed her softly. “Hard as it is, I think it best we move on and make sure Patrick is well cared for.”

  “Let’s not move too far,” Mary pleaded.

  Matt laughed. “Not on your life. I’m too much of a desert rat. Let’s collect Kevin from the Witch’s Tree and start making plans.”

  ***

  Before approaching the army to discuss the sale of the 7-Bar-K to the government, Matt and Mary met with Craig Gridley, an Albuquerque attorney who specialized in real-estate law. Through his many contacts, Matt had learned of Gridley’s successful handling of several high-profile civil cases against government agencies attempting to condemn private property at below-market value.

  A tall, thin man in his thirties with a full head of unruly brown hair and thick, droopy eyebrows, Gridley sat behind his desk and studied the titles, deeds, and survey documents. When he finished, he looked up, smiled, and told Matt and Mary that based on the army’s own land survey and the fact the ranch was owned outright with no liens or other e
ncumbrances, the government wouldn’t be able to get away with making a lowball offer for the ranch.

  He added that using the value of comparable ranch properties on the north end of the basin where ranchers had lease agreements with the missile range would give further credence to a just-compensation argument before the court, if it came to that.

  “But I don’t think it will go to court,” Gridley concluded. “Obviously, the army wants your ranch and is willing to buy it. Where the niggling comes in is with what Uncle Sam is willing to pay. If you wish, I can put everything together you need to get the price up as high as possible and negotiate the deal on your behalf.”

  “How soon can you do it?” Matt asked.

  “Give me thirty days.”

  “How much will your services cost?” Mary asked.

  “I require a five-hundred-dollar retainer and I’ll bill you by the hour. You can pay any balance owed me once the proceeds from the sale are deposited in your bank account. Let’s set a limit of no more than twenty-five hundred dollars of billable hours and my reasonable expenses. If I have to exceed that amount, I’ll ask for your approval in advance.”

  “That seems fair,” Mary said.

  “We want to be at the table when you close the deal,” Matt said as he wrote out the check for the retainer.

  Gridley nodded and stood. “Understood. I’ll make contact with the judge advocate office at White Sands Missile Range today and open discussions.”

  “So soon?” Mary asked.

  Gridley shrugged. “In many ways, the peacetime army is just another cumbersome government bureaucracy. Advance warning will help them get under way. Besides, they need to know we’re coming at them with some heavy artillery, namely me.”

  “You talk like a vet,” Matt said.

  Gridley grinned. “Marines, Korea. I applied for a commission before they could draft me. The GI Bill paid for law school.”

  Happy with their choice of legal counsel, Matt and Mary shook Gridley’s hand and left his office convinced they’d found the right man to tussle with the army.

  ***

  Two weeks passed before Craig Gridley called the T or C cottage on a Saturday evening. Gridley reported the army had made a chickenshit offer for the 7-Bar-K. He was about to launch a counteroffensive.

  With the telephone receiver tilted away from his ear so Mary could listen, Matt asked, “What kind of counteroffensive?”

  “I’m mailing a letter to the army advising them that you are entering into preliminary discussions to sell the ranch to either the New Mexico College of Agriculture or the US Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  “We are?” Matt asked in astonishment.

  “Both organizations are interested in looking at the property for range research and wildlife preservation, much like the experimental range on the Jornada and the San Andres National Wildlife Refuge.”

  “How did you pull this off?” Matt asked.

  Gridley chuckled. “Through my good offices as your legal counsel. But don’t get your hopes up. This is a ploy. Neither the college nor the federal agency think they have a chance in hell to keep the land out of the military’s grasp. They’re simply willing to take a serious look at the property and consider making an offer.”

  Mary took the receiver from Matt’s hand. He bent his head near to keep listening. “What was the army’s initial offer?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Gridley replied. “I’ll have something firm to present to you by the end of the week. The JAG lawyers at the missile range will be scrambling to come up with a better deal. Keep the last weekend of the month free. If all goes well and you like the terms we’ll close on the agreement here in Albuquerque.”

  “Not at the base?” Matt asked. He’d been looking forward to giving the brass a piece of his mind about all the unnecessary harassment and endless inconvenience they’d caused.

  “This is lawyer stuff, not brass-hat business,” Gridley explained. “I’ll start a title search and begin gathering courthouse documents on Monday.”

  “What do you think a fair offer would be?” Mary asked.

  “Six figures. I’m hoping for something around a quarter of a million. A source of mine says the army plans to operate the ranch as a way station. Civilian and military personnel who need to be up-range for extended periods of time would use it for temporary housing. They want it badly. I’ll call as soon as the army’s next offer comes in.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said.

  Gridley laughed. “It’s my pleasure.”

  After hanging up, Matt and Mary sat on the couch in the living room, shocked into temporary silence by the sudden realization that the 7-Bar-K would soon be gone from their lives forever.

  Finally, Mary said, “What do we do next?”

  “Ranching is hard,” Matt ventured. “We’re lucky to both have decent-paying, reliable jobs, and this cottage, bought and paid for, to call home.”

  Mary looked at him skeptically. “You want to give up ranching forever?”

  “There are ten sections adjacent to the Rocking J that just came on the market. The land isn’t in good shape, but with some work it could be brought back.”

  “Good or bad, we can’t ranch on ten sections,” Mary argued.

  “I know it. I’m thinking we ask Al if we can buy into the Rocking J as full partners. With the 7-Bar-K pastures no longer available, we need more land to graze our commingled herds. I know Al would love to buy those sections but doesn’t have the wherewithal to do it. Even if he could, it’s still gonna cost a pretty penny and some hard work to restore the grassland.”

  “Could we build a little casita on the Rocking J ranch headquarters for our own use?” Mary asked.

  “Or maybe expand the small cabin near the ranch house,” Matt replied.

  “Do you think Al would consider it?”

  “I do, but before I even ask, I want to know what you think of the idea.”

  Mary slid close to Matt and kissed him. “It’s perfect, and Kevin will love it as well.”

  Matt pulled her close and grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  27

  Craig Gridley’s frontal assault against the army’s bureaucracy failed miserably. Not only did the government lawyers obtain a federal court ruling based on national security barring any entity other than the military from purchasing the 7-Bar-K Ranch, they immediately withdrew their cash settlement offer on the ranch. In its stead, they proposed a year-to-year co-use lease agreement, much like the one Al had with the Rocking J, which would require Matt to vacate the ranch during missile test firings. Based on the total acreage of the ranch and the estimated number of days the army wanted control of the skies above it, an annual payment of three thousand dollars was proposed.

  Dismayed and embarrassed at being out-finessed by the government, Gridley dug in his heels and got the annual lease amount doubled. He immediately filed a lawsuit in federal court on behalf of Matthew Kerney and Al Jennings asking the judge to lift restricted travel across the missile range to and from the 7-Bar-K for all members of both families, any current or future employees, and all authorized suppliers or others conducting legitimate business with the plaintiffs. Again, the court sided with the army, the judge noting that even with proper authorization to cross portions of the base, searches could continue if there was reasonable suspicion of a national-security risk.

  The back-and-forth haggling and court appearances took months, and just after the lease paperwork was signed and the first payment received, Matt got a telephone call from the Albuquerque nursing home administrator reporting that Patrick had wandered off from the facility. The police had picked him up several hours later a mile away sitting on the curb in front of a home for unmarried mothers. Matt had twenty-four hours to come and fetch him or he’d be sent under an emergency court order to the state mental hospital in L
as Vegas for a competency evaluation.

  Fortunately, Patrick had picked a Saturday to wander off to visit the unwed mothers, and the call from the nursing home had come while Matt and Mary were at the cottage instead of the ranch. Within minutes Matt was in his truck and on his way to Albuquerque. Mary remained behind, calling every nursing home in southern New Mexico and West Texas searching for another place that would accept her father-in-law.

  In Albuquerque, Matt rescued Patrick from a police holding cell, gathered his possessions that were packed and ready to be picked up at the nursing home, and drove back to T or C, hoping Mary had worked a miracle. He arrived to find her waiting on the cottage porch. She hurried to him as he pulled into the driveway.

  “Take him to the hospital right now,” she said, eyeing Patrick as she got into the truck. He stared blankly ahead, his hands folded neatly in his lap, unmoving. “Doc Blaine has agreed to admit him overnight for observation.”

  “Where’s Kevin?”

  “Inside with Brenda and Dale. They came down from the Rocking J in case you needed my help.” She reached out and touched Patrick’s sleeve. “How is he?”

  Matt wheeled the truck in the direction of the hospital. “I have no idea, he hasn’t said a word and has barely moved a muscle since I picked him up. Did you get something lined up?”

  Mary shook her head. “I’ve been calling everywhere, even places we can’t afford. I’ve put him on every admission waiting list there is.”

  At the hospital, Patrick, hunched over and shaky, shuffled slowly inside holding on to Matt’s arm. It broke Mary’s heart to see him so frail and incapacitated. She wondered if he was drugged. Matt turned him over to the admitting nurse at the reception desk, who led him gently by the hand much as she would a frightened, lost child.