DASHED DREAMS (5 page)

Dan and Grace James are constantly asking their daughter about marriage and wanting grandchildren.

“When’s that going to happen? You’re not getting any younger and for a fact, neither are your father and I. We’d like to hold our grandbabies before we die!” Her mother had said too many times to count. Jillian was an only child, so her parents’ attention was always focused on her. Visiting as often as she could, her parents, especially her mother, stated they didn’t get to see their daughter as often as they should. But they understood that she had her career and a life in Yerington.

Grace James came out of the stable leading two of her prize mares. Dan met her at the front opening and they walked to the exercise ring. The gate was open, and Dan snapped the lead rope of each horse onto the spokes. Grace went back after two more horses and returned for the final two.

He started the motor and he and Grace sat on the fence rails to watch, as Corks, a tan and black miniature Beagle, raced around the ring, chasing after the horses. She’d worn a circle path in the grass around the ring. When Dan changed direction, she also changed her direction. Her legs seemed like they should be worn off, as she worked with the horses daily. She always brought a laugh as she looked like she was running in fast-forward.

Grace glanced towards the west and noticed a storm brewing. It’d stormed every afternoon for the past week and today would probably not be any different. The ground was saturated, since each day it’d rained about one or two inches. The sky continued getting darker and darker. You could usually notice a storm brewing by the temperament of the animals. The horses were usually frisky when they smelled rain and the cooling temperature before the rain. When they were in the pasture, nature kicked, in and they usually grouped with their butts facing towards the storm, so their faces were protected. Grace and Dan decided that they should stable the horses.

Grace locked the last stall gate and met Dan in the center of the driveway. Hand-in-hand they walked to the house. Sprinkles of rain dotted the sidewalk and by the time they reached the front porch, the rain had started. They sat down in high-backed rockers; both sighed and settled in to watch the rain.

“The girls’ll be here soon. Do you have anything planned for them?” Dan asked.

“I haven’t given it much thought. I know golf’s in order, as they always seem to have an agenda, so we’ll just play it by ear. We’ll have to watch the weather.”

Dan waved to a dark-blue truck that passed by on the ring road by the house. Ranch Manager Ian Crawford’s was leaving to check out some of the cattle in the pasture. Dan watched as the truck traveled down the tree-lined entrance drive towards the county dirt road.

The Two Hawks Ranch’s driveway ran about a quarter of a mile, then opened onto to a circle drive at a large and beautiful farmhouse.

Noah Hamilton founded Two Hawks in the year of 1859, a few years before the start of the Civil War. Grace’s father, Samuel Edmund Hamilton, was born in 1890 and lived at the ranch until his death. The original ranch was only 10 acres, and throughout the years the family has built the ranch to over 10,000 acres, on which they raised quarter horses and cattle. Grandfather Noah started with only two horses and a small herd of Longhorn cattle. Now three generations had built the Two Hawks into a business with a reputation of raising the best animals in the area.

When Jillian arrived at her office, she knew something was strange by the way the front office girls were looking at her. As she walked down the hall towards her office, Joy was standing the in doorway of the cast room, holding a large stack of charts with a smirk on her face.

Jillian stopped, “What’s on your mind? What’s going on? I notice the girls up front are whispering. Is it was about me?”

Joy just shook her head and started walking towards Jillian’s office. She dropped the charts on the desk. Jillian’s eyes instantly focused on one of the prettiest bouquets of flowers she’s ever seen -- a spring mixture set in a wicker basket with a handle buried in the flowers. A fresh sweet smell exuded from the bouquet. She opened the attached card.
“It was so nice meeting you the other evening. May I take you out to dinner? I’ll call. RJ”

Jillian smiled, glanced over, to see Joy smiling, an inquisitive look on her face, “Well?”

“They’re from a person I met at the concert the girls and I attended while we were in Seattle last weekend.”

“I see.”

When Jillian pulled into her driveway, she saw her neighbor, Joanna, looking at the rose bush in her flowerbed along the walkway to her house. Joanna waved and started over. Jillian met her, thinking, I hope when I’m 80, I’m this spry. “Hi, Joanna how are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get rid of these aphids from my roses. I’ve tried everything but nothing’s helped.”

“My granddad had a home remedy of tobacco-soaked water with a little bit of soap mixed in and sprayed to the backside of the leaves.”

“Great, I’ll get some tobacco, mix it up, and give it a try. How are you, dear?” Joanna asked.

“Just fine. Thanks for asking. Had a busy day.” Her pager vibrated in her jacket pocket. She noticed that it was her answering service. “Joanna, I have to catch this.”

“Dear, I’d like to buy you and your friends dinner at Dini’s dining room one evening.”

“Thanks, that’d be nice. Talk to you later.”

Jillian entered her house from the back door, walked down the hall into her office and phoned the service. They reported that the caller said she was expecting the call. She told the service to put the call through.

“Dr. James here.”

A brief silence followed then a male voice said, “Jillian, this is Robert Montgomery. Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time. I’ve been thinking about you. I’m coming to Lake Tahoe for a celebrity charity golf tournament and appearance at Tucker’s for the same charity and was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?” Robert thought to himself: You doofus! You said all that in one breath. He was nervous and couldn’t remember the last time he’d called a woman, for a date.

A few seconds of silence followed, then Robert said, “How should I contact you? Should we wait to set the date and time until I get there or…?”

Even though Jillian was curious, she tried to sound aloof but polite without sounding like a complete idiot, “So you live in Bel Air? I’ve heard that all the rich and famous live there.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. We’re just people like everyone else. I put my pants on one leg at a time.”

Jillian felt that Robert John Montgomery was getting irritated with her attitude.

“I’m really looking forward to spending some time with you,” then continued, “Please start thinking about where you’d like to go for dinner.”

Jillian climbed the stairs and sat down on the bed. The phone call was on her mind. Why did I agree to this dinner? I’m such a fool. I’m not interested in this man. I have a life, love my career, and he’s not going to be apart of it, were her confused thoughts.

When the country singer hung up the phone, he thought: Well, that was smooth. He got up from the chaise lounge and dove into the pool. The coolness of the water tingled against his sun-warmed skin, and the temperature shock caused him to surface quickly. I need to up the heater. It’s pretty cool outside, he decided. He climbed out of the water, grabbed a towel, and quickly dried his arms and legs. He took a sip from a glass on the table. “Now, that’s what I needed.” Jillian James was on his mind. She’s a doctor, an attitude, and is an absolutely beautiful girl-next-door type, and I can’t get her off my mind. Knowing he was expected at Sunset Record Studios at five, in a couple of hours, RJ decided to shower and change. He recorded a few songs before leaving for the Seattle appearance. Tonight was to be an evening of takes and retakes. He wore khaki shorts, a bright-red polo shirt with the insignia of crossed golf clubs with the name Common Down, top-siders, and a red golf jacket also with the Common Down insignia.

The company, Common Down, had approached him a year ago and asked him to be their spokesmen. Between his people and their people, an amount of money was determined to be his compensation. The company supplied him with their best clubs and clothing for his endorsement. Who could be a better endorsement than Robert John Montgomery using their clubs?

He started the 15-minute drive to the studio. Recording in the evening was RJ’s choice. He’d started a CD, the partly finished recording they’d be working on tonight. He started to tap out the tunes on the steering wheel, while waiting to turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Driving in the Los Angeles area was mostly a pain in the neck, but RJ whipped his Porsche in and out of stalled freeway traffic. Declining a studio car, he wanted to drive himself, claiming it cleared his head and gave him a chance to tap out songs. When he arrived at the studio, he’d composed new song lyrics in his hand-held recorder. He hurried in and started to plink out a tune on the piano.

Phil Whittman, the studio’s president, stood in his office with the overhead intercom turned on and heard the plinking of a piano. His was thinking: Here’s another next hit. I’m so glad that years back we took a chance on this nobody and signed this guy. If only…His thoughts trailed off when the phone rang.

“Whittman, here.”

After about three hours and several recording retakes, dinner was brought in. RJ and a few members of his band grabbed plates of food and sodas and sat down at an open table. One of RJ’s band members was handing out glasses of ice and pouring from a bottle in a brown paper bag. RJ winked at him, as if they’d just put one over on Whittman. RJ poured some of his soda into the glass and took a sip, he closed his eyes, pleased with the warmth he was feeling.

They finished recording the last half of the album at about ten p.m. RJ had invited all up to his house for an impromptu jam session. Only a few members of his band accepted his offer, the single guys with no one waiting at home.

Back at Robert’s home the jam session was beginning in RJ’s basement studio. Everyone present had been to his home before, so they knew their way around the studio. He told the group that there’d be food on the way, when they clamored about eating.

Gary Johns, Robert John Montgomery’s best friend and road manager, sat on a stool, leaning on the counter, listening to his boss talk about this woman he met in Seattle.

Charles lifted the lid one of the box, removed a chicken wing and started nibbling. He closed the lid, stacked up the four boxes and started back down to the studio.

“Oh… she’s the one. Well, I know she didn’t spend the night with you. You complained she chose her friends over you and that bothered you.”

“You haven’t had the best luck with relationships, have you?” Gary questioned his boss. “You know, Monica would’ve stayed around if you hadn’t been such a jerk.”