Chapter One
Chapter 1
Jake scanned the rugged, never-ending Nevada landscape and breathed deeply, filled with peace. He stretched in his saddle, let his horse graze, and smiled at the vast ranch that was his personal sanctuary, even though he didn’t own a single acre of it. The wind in the Ponderosa pines and the scree of a red-tailed hawk over the lake were sounds that rose from the land itself. He frowned. Except for the alien whine of jet engines slicing the air, another private plane slowing for landing a few miles away.
The movie people.
When Mr. James, the seventy-year-old owner of the Circle J, told Jake a Hollywood crew, led by megastar Robert Lange, would use the ranch to film a western, he fought a surge of worry for his cherished solitude. He pushed the information aside, had to focus on practical questions. Would it complicate moving a thousand head of hungry cattle? Would the young boy-men who worked the ranch get excited, maybe careless, even with a hundred new Angus expected soon? And what in the world did it mean to “Help out Mr. Lange, teach him about ranch life and such”?
Jake yielded to a little curiosity. He enjoyed movies, especially ones with some history, like the one about Abe Lincoln. Of course, most weren’t as good as a well-written book, but movies could take Jake places he would surely never see. Like everybody, he knew that Robert Lange was a giant in Hollywood. Famous for playing a sea captain, spy, Wall Street tycoon. Had several Academy Awards, was worth a fortune, probably had any woman he wanted. Mr. James said the movie would bring fame - and much-needed cash - to the ranch. He was downright certain that Jake would “get a kick” out of helping Lange learn about cowboying. He had no idea what that meant but knew Sarah would have been tickled.
He closed his eyes. Had it been fifteen years since the last night Sarah was alive? The night before their fight, before the accident? She wanted to see a Robert Lange movie about a brave soldier in an unpopular war. On the drive home Sarah went on and on about the actors, especially Lange.
“Do you think Robert Lange is really a brave man, as brave as that officer in Vietnam in the movie?”
Jake pondered. “He seemed strong, even a hero, that’s a fact. But it’s hard to know about someone who’s famous for pretending.” He gave Sarah a tolerant smile. “I’d have to meet the man to know for sure.”
In a spectacular irony, that would happen in a day or so.
He indulged a last look around the spot where his horse nibbled the sparse thistle, the place he often stopped, the place he scattered Sarah’s ashes years ago. The shade-dappled hill, like the whole ranch, allowed Jake to remember his losses and mistakes, which he swore never to repeat. The present was enough, every day satisfying.
He took off his sweat-stained hat and wiped his brow with a shirt sleeve. Well, movie or no movie, he still had to make sure the boys scattered plastic feed supplement buckets around the grazing areas, to help the younger cattle through the relentless heat.
Jake turned slightly in the saddle and made a click in his throat. His horse shook its mane, raised its head, and began a steady walk back down the trail. Jake braced himself for the noisy confusion of Hollywood folks rushing around the placid ranch. Still, he thought, Robert Lange, right here at the Circle J. He rubbed his fresh-shaved face and spoke into the morning. “I tell you, Sarah, who on God’s green earth could ever have imagined that?”
