The Last Ranch (30 page)

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.”

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 Las 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.

“He seems docile enough,” Matt noted hopefully.

“Meaning?” Mary asked, wondering what prompted such a ridiculous observation.

“Meaning what the hell do we do with him if he isn't?” Matt sputtered. “What if he wanders off again? Or tries to hurt you or Kevin? What if no place will take him in?”

Mary stayed silent, her expression guarded.

“I suppose we could leave him alone at the ranch in the hopes he'd wander off and die,” Matt added.

Mary looked at him with rank displeasure. “What a preposterous thing to say.”

Matt shook his head in frustration, ran a hand through his hair as if to brush away all of the conceivable unpleasant possibilities he'd thought of, and smiled apologetically. “I shouldn't have said that. But I've been brooding about what the hell to do with him ever since I left Albuquerque with him sitting next to me like a stone statue.”

Mary's expression softened. Of course Matt would make Patrick his personal dilemma to solve. “He's family and he needs us—all of us,” she said. “One way or another
we
have to find a way to take care of him. You really wouldn't want it any other way, would you?”

In the face of Mary's reasoning, Matt's anger with Patrick evaporated, replaced by the realization that he'd been feeling sorry for himself.

He grinned and kissed her. “That's my girl. You keep me honest, and I love you for it. But you've got to admit the damn old coot is nothing but trouble and always has been.”

Mary laughed. “That may be so, but he's our trouble,” she said.

***

I
t took months before they could get Patrick admitted to the Fort Bayard Veterans Hospital outside Silver City. During that time, they cared for him with the help of a retired practical nurse Doc Blaine had recommended, who looked after him during the weekdays. After school, Mary took over and if Matt wasn't traveling for work, he'd spell her. Kevin, who was bunking on a cot in Matt and Mary's bedroom, chipped in by taking Patrick on walks, reading him stories, and keeping an eye on him while Mary fixed meals, went to the store, or did her household chores.

Patrick seemed to enjoy Kevin's company the best, although the television Matt bought proved to be his favorite diversion. He'd sit in front of it for hours watching anything and everything. The weekends they took him to the ranch was when he seemed his most settled and content, never straying. He could usually be found on the veranda in his favorite chair staring out at the basin. He rarely spoke or showed any sign that he knew where he was or
who he was with. Gradually, they all got used to the peculiarity of living with a person who dwelled in an unfathomable, unreachable shadow world.

Even on Patrick's best days it had been like prison for all of them, and when Fort Bayard called with news of an opening it brought a feeling of great relief for Matt and Mary. In almost a holiday mood, she packed a picnic lunch for the trip to the hospital, made sure Patrick was wearing his best clothes, and insisted that Kevin go along, although he'd expressed no desire to do so. On a rough, winding road outside the once-thriving mining town of Hillsboro, they drove through the Black Range into the Gila Wilderness and stopped to eat along a stream in the cool pines of the high country before continuing on to Fort Bayard. It was the first time Kevin had actually been in the mysterious westerly mountains he'd seen so frequently from the 7-Bar-K high country. He marveled at the thick stands of tall pines that climbed steep canyon walls to towering summits.

There were no tears or sullenness on Kevin's part when he hugged his grandfather goodbye inside the stark, three-story hospital that dominated one end of the parade grounds of the old historical frontier army fort where the famous Buffalo Soldiers had once proudly served.

“Will we ever see him again?” he asked soberly as they drove away.

“Of course,” Mary said. “We'll come as often as we can.”

“Do you think it matters if we do or don't?” Kevin asked.

Mary studied her son's face. “Does it matter to you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kevin replied.

“Are you saying that just to please me?”

“No, I'll miss him.”

Mary took her son's hand. “I bet he knows that.”

“I bet he does too,” Kevin said with a smile.

***

P
atrick's health continued to decline over the next year, to the point that the doctors at Fort Bayard believed only his willpower and a strong physical constitution forged by eight decades of hard work kept him alive. For Mary, it didn't matter that he showed not the slightest hint of comprehension during their regular visits; she refused to let Matt stop going, although they'd reached the point of not staying long. Kevin always willingly went with them, and Mary was convinced it was his presence alone Patrick somehow sensed as they sat at his bedside.

In the spring of 1963, the army made an offer on the ranch. This time Matt went to see Charlie Hopkinson for legal advice. He thumbed through the paperwork and told Matt to take the deal, which was exactly half of what the Albuquerque lawyer Craig Gridley had hoped to get.

“You weren't ever going to get what that place is worth,” Charlie mused. “But those army lease payments you've been getting these past several years have probably helped to soften the blow.”

Matt agreed and asked Charlie to handle the transaction. “Get us ninety days to vacate, if you can.”

“Can do,” Charlie replied, offering a hand to seal the deal.

Matt left with a sour feeling in his gut. When the original deal with the missile range fell through, he'd lost the opportunity to buy the ten sections adjacent to the Rocking J. Now for the first time since John Kerney staked his claim on a slice of mountain wilderness overlooking the Tularosa nearly ninety years before, the family was about to become landless. He had half a mind to get stinking drunk in the first bar he could find. Instead, he drove to the desert outside of town and sat in the truck until it was time to go home for supper.

Four months before Kevin's thirteenth birthday, Patrick suffered a massive heart attack and was transferred to the VA Hospital in Albuquerque. He died there quietly in his sleep on the day White Sands Missile Range took possession of the 7-Bar-K Ranch. The army denied Matt's request to bury Patrick in the family cemetery, so he had his remains cremated and hatched a plan to return him to the 7-Bar-K, the missile range be damned.

A week later under cover of darkness, accompanied by Mary, Kevin, Al, Brenda, and Dale, and with Patrick's ashes in his saddlebag, Matt led his small company of riders onto the missile range through a narrow, almost invisible, boulder-strewn slot canyon and up the faint trace of an old Apache path to the Kerney family cemetery. There he bared his head and buried Patrick's ashes next to Emma's grave.

No one said a word. When he rose they all stood for a moment gazing out at the majestic sky brimming with stars above the great, lonesome Tularosa, now bereft of the last of the true, old-time cowboys, the last ranch sitting abandoned and silent
below.