Love in Romance Arkansas (3 page)

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Back at the house after a shower and lunch, her look at the books was an eye opener. The operation made her fancy salary seem a bit low. For the last five years, the ranch had cleared between a half and three quarters of a million dollars per year!

“If you don’t mind, I want to just prowl around a bit to get a feel of this place. It is nice to learn about my family. Even though they are all gone, I want to learn as much as I can about them.”

“By all means, make yourself at home. I need to go to the barn a few minutes. If you have any questions, I’ll find you when I get back.”

As she wandered about, everything seemed to draw her. The great room with its big fireplace spoke of family gatherings. The kitchen almost echoed with the sound of happy meal preparations and the heavy, old table stood as a proud reminder of past family feasts, not merely dinners. The upstairs conference room lined with pictures of cows and bulls with long, fancy sounding names drove home the reason for the ranch’s existence. She noticed the differences in the cattle pictured. Some were short legged and blocky while others were taller and rangier. Her curiosity led her to check dates on the pictures. She detected a gradual change over time from the short legged type to the taller type in newer pictures. Numerous plaques, trophies and certificates testified to past show successes.

She happened to walk past his office. The open door was all she needed to check it out. It was the typical office to a point, old desk and older chairs. A full bookcase covered one wall. A wall length computer center with four computers occupied another wall. Floor to ceiling windows afforded an unhindered view of the valley. However, this office was spotless and neatly organized with none of the clutter usually associated with men’s offices.

Framed certificates and diplomas caught her eye. A BS from The University of Central Arkansas didn’t mean much to her. An MBA from The Harvard School of Business definitely caught her attention. Next in line was a DVM from Cornell University followed by a PhD in Genetics from UCLA. Each had the inscription of Summa cum Laude.
Don’t know about the first one, but the rest of these aren’t easy to get and were awarded by first class universities. Schools don’t award SCL status upon request or just for fun. How did a guy from this area manage to attend these schools? A veterinarian and a geneticist. Guess this guy is a little more than a caretaker.

“Doug paid for my education, no strings attached,” he said from behind her in an amused tone of voice. “He valued knowledge and wanted me to have the best. Another area where I owe him a debt I can never repay. He was an extraordinary man in so many ways. Missy was equally important. She taught me people skills, appreciation of the finer things of life and she taught me to love life. As I said before, they were like parents to me. They took a dead end kid and offered me the world. I hope I never take what they did for granted or bring shame on their good name.”

“You sound like you must have loved them very much. Wish I could’ve known them. Please tell me more about them.”

He moved two chairs to have a better view of the valley. “They were fine people who were willing to help anyone, perhaps a little too willing to help. They got scammed a few times, but that never stopped them from offering. In my case, I was written off as a lost cause by most folks, a punk kid with an abusive, drunken father and negligent, drug addicted mother, both dead before I was thirteen. They stepped up for me because they wanted to help me make something of myself. We had some terrible rows, but they stuck with me against all the expert advice. They taught me integrity, honesty, the rewards of hard work and the importance of being true to your word. To them, a good name was more important than material possessions.”

“Doug was a WWII man who sent his money home. When he came home, he bought the core part of this place. The Korean Conflict, as it was called by the politicians, sent him overseas again and again he sent money home. He was a very good poker player, lots of the money sent home was from soldiers less skilled than he. He married Missy when he got home and they finished the land purchases to bring the ranch to its present size. Your mother was born about that time. She was gone before I came on the scene. Doug and Missy didn’t talk much about her, but I got the idea they were disappointed in the way she acted and the way she ran away at the age of sixteen.”

“The Lord held a central place in their lives. That was totally foreign to me. No one ever took time to explain anything like that to me. By their guidance and example I came to realize how important this was to them and the great strength they drew from the relationship. They weren’t showoffs or Bible thumping zealots, they just lived the life.”

“By the way, why is there a vault door in the basement? Got a bank down there?” Jenny asked.

“That’s the safe room and Doug’s gun room. He had it built with the house. It has eight inch thick reinforced concrete walls, floor and ceiling. We spent several nights down there during tornado seasons. Want to check it out?”

“Might as well, I’ve looked at just about everything else. No reason not to see it all. Lead on.” She was surprised when the door opened. Instead of a dark, cold room it was bright and cheerful. The walls were paneled to match the basement and ceiling painted white. The floor was hardwood, the real stuff, not cheap laminate. Indirect lighting cast a warm glow over two chairs and a small table. A workbench with its own lighting occupied one end. A radio, small TV and refrigerator completed the furnishings.

“The lights in here are on a separate circuit to the automatic generator system. If the power fails, the system automatically kicks on to keep everything running. The system itself is all underground and the generator and switches are in an underground reinforced building. Even if everything else is destroyed or shorted out, this room will continue to have power and radio communication with the county sheriff. Doug didn’t believe in leaving much to chance. We keep one backup set of our breeding files here and another in a data storage facility.”

“I’d say Grandfather did seem to pay attention to security.” Despite her aversion, the rack of guns drew her. The softly polished walnut wood and deep, richly blued steel struck something in her soul. “These are beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like this. These were Grandfather’s?”

“This section is his trap guns, everything from the old Winchester model 12 that he started shooting with over fifty years ago to the over and under doubles, the single barrels and the Remington model 1100 he shot in his last years to avoid harsh recoil. He stocked every one of these guns and he did his own repair work.”

“He wasn’t into rifles to a great degree, but the ones he had were the best. This Remington 40x Sporter and this Winchester 52 Sporter can’t be beaten, equaled maybe, but not beaten. His high power rifles are the same class, top-of-the-line by highly skilled metal smiths and stocked by him.”

In awe, Jenny said, “I’ve never seen such wood. The grain is so beautiful, the finish is perfect and the fit to the metal is flawless. I don’t see how anyone could do such work. I would’ve thought a machine had to be used to do such precise work. You say Grandfather did this by hand?”

“By hand is the only way to obtain the very best fit and finish. It does take lots of skill, time and patience. He passed that skill and patience to me. He was quite a man—I learned lots of things from him.”

Jenny found a shotgun in a case by itself. The stock was the most gorgeous piece of wood Jenny had ever seen and the gun was slightly smaller than the others. “Let me guess. This was Grandmother’s.”

“Yes it was. I’ve seen her run twenty-five straight with it time after time. With practice, she could’ve been one of the best. Shooting was a hobby to her, not an obsession. You should try it. That gun will probably fit you like a glove.”

“Hold on a minute. What do you mean by twenty-five straight and what do you mean by fit?”

“A round of trap is twenty five targets, so twenty-five straight means you broke all twenty five of them. As far as fit, let me show you.” He selected one of the graceful single barrel guns, broke it open to check the chamber, clicked it closed and handed it to her. “It is unloaded, but you break it open just to develop safe gun handling practices.” She opened the action and closed it, noticing the smooth, solid feel and the subdued click as it locked. “Now act as if you were shooting at that clock down there.”

The gun was long and heavy, the stock was too long and she couldn’t look right down the barrel as he instructed. She had to lean back to attempt to balance the gun. “This feels very awkward and unnatural. How can anyone hit anything like this? Why are the guns so heavy?”

“These are competition guns, designed and built to fire hundreds of thousands of rounds without any major breakdowns. High quality trap guns can take the pounding year in and year out and keep on grinding them out. It’s not unusual for a competitive shooter to fire over ten thousand rounds a year. Some may fire upwards of fifty thousand rounds a year. Such shooters demand the very best of their equipment. Light weight steel, aluminum and plastic parts don’t hold together.”

“Okay, now let’s try Missy’s.”

This time the balance was much better and she found herself looking dead down the barrel. Though the gun had a solid feel, the weight was much less, or so it seemed. “This is as different as day and night. This is more comfortable and I don’t feel as if I’m about to fall over. I see what you mean about fit. You say Grandfather made this stock just to fit Grandmother?”

“He did at that. That is a one-of-a-kind piece of wood. I shudder to think what that stock would cost today if done by a top stocker. He searched for about three years just to find the blank and it cost over a thousand dollars forty years ago. I suspect you could buy a pretty nice car with what it would cost to duplicate it today.”

“The gun itself is also a unique item. Through the trap shooting circuit in the late fifties, Doug became acquainted with a German gun maker who was designing a totally new line of purpose-built competition shotguns for the international market. They worked closely, modifying a successful American design into a magnificent shooting machine that is still number one in the world of highly competitive international and American trap shooting. One thing led to another and your grandfather convinced the gun maker to build an action for a true single barrel trap gun. The action and parts were literally hand filed from solid steel. That gun is down at the end of this rack. He went one step further and someway persuaded the gun maker to build a scaled down action for a twenty gauge single barrel trap gun. This is the only one ever built—the old machinist who did the filing died shortly after completing the twenty gauge, and there is no one skilled enough to duplicate it. That little gun is worth a very nice house in today’s market. Many shooters and collectors have tried to buy it, but here it is.”

“But if I sold it, all I would have would be money. This way, I have a tangible link to my grandparents. It’s not for sale now, either. I want to try this trap shooting, as you call it, with this shotgun.”

“Some day when we have a little more time, we can have a go at it. Most women enjoy shooting when they can see results—like a clay pigeon disappearing in a puff of dust.”

“Our local rodeo club has its monthly get together here this weekend. Want to join us for some good food, a little rodeo and lots of just plain fun? We aren’t pro grade cowboys and girls, but we have fun. There is none of the black boots, white pants, black coat and black hat routine of formal riding mentality in our meetings. It would be a good way for you to meet some of the local people. If you feel up to it, you could compete in the barrel racing event.”

“I’ll be here through the weekend, but I don’t know anything about rodeo. What is barrel racing? Sounds like something you might do in the water or down a steep hill.”

“Remember the three barrels set in the arena? The girls race around the barrels and back to a starting point. Quickest time wins. Missy was a tough competitor on that little black horse. He knows what to do, about all you’d have to do is hang on and not fall off or upset the horse. You seem to have established a bond with him—he probably would run good for you. If you want, you can take a few practice runs to give you an idea of how it’s done and get the horse back into the swing of things. He hasn’t been run hard for a while now, so just take it easy, concentrate on doing it right, and let him run as he wants. He won’t hurt himself if he isn’t pushed too hard.”

“Sure, I’ll try. Can’t hurt anything and be a good sport about it at the same time. I do want to practice so I don’t make a complete fool of myself by running the course backwards or something.”

As they prepped the horse with his boots, he seemed to understand and got a little keyed up. She rubbed his nose and stroked his neck a bit and he settled down. At first, she walked the horse around the barrels in the prescribed pattern a couple of times, and then trotted around the course.

“Jenny, it isn’t a crime to hold onto the horn in this game. Most people do.”

“OK, let’s see what happens under speed.” This time, she sped into the arena and around the barrels like a pro.

Her grace and balance amazed him. She never touched leather and never seemed to be the least bit out of control. Her long black hair flowing in the wind added to the picture of grace. The little horse dug in for her and gave it his all.

“You say you’ve never done this? You looked as if you have been doing this all your life. You’ll be a big hit this weekend.”

* * * *

The rodeo was a fun experience, watching horses and men doing their thing. She was intimidated at the start of the barrel racing because her horse was the smallest of any rider’s. However, as she watched, she began to see that size wasn’t the answer, agility was. Her little horse was fast on the takeoff and could turn on a dime. He could almost meet himself coming back, he was so quick. She heard someone make a remark about the city girl and how she would probably get tossed at the first barrel.
We’ll just see who gets tossed and who doesn’t. I may be a city girl, but from what I’ve seen, I probably have more saddle time than anyone here.