The Last Ranch (35 page)

He'd promised Jeannie not to fight Joey, so he figured to arrange for it on the sly and face her disapproval after the fight was over. Before leaving for the car lot, he looked for Dale to go with him, but he was off somewhere with his girlfriend. He got there to find Joey hosing down a freshly washed, new coupe behind the two-bay service garage at the rear of the dealership. Neither of his sidekicks were with him.

“I thought you'd lost your nerve,” Joey sneered as Kevin approached. The garden hose dangled in his hands, squirting a steady stream of water from the spray nozzle onto the concrete pad. A bucket of soapy water was at the rear of the coupe.

“I'm here now,” Kevin replied. “Name your time and place.” He could hear the sound of a revving engine through the open service garage doors and hesitated. Suddenly he realized he hadn't wrapped his ribs the way his father had said. But he'd come only to arrange a fight, not to start one. The look on Joey's face told him he'd made a mistake.

He gauged the distance to Joey; he was twelve, maybe fifteen feet away, standing behind the left fender of the coupe. He decided to retreat and began backing away. “That's all I came to say. Name your time and place.”

Joey smirked. “Why not right here and now?” In one quick movement he raised the hose and sprayed Kevin in the face with a hard blast of cold water. Instinctively, Kevin blinked and Joey was on him. Joey's fist slammed into his cheek, once, twice, each blow delivering a jarring pain that had him reeling. He took
another sharp jolt to the chin as he pulled back and tried to knee Joey in the groin, catching him on the thigh instead, the blow hard enough to make him wince and momentarily stop punching. Kevin kicked again, this time on target, and Joey dropped to his knees.

The garden hose on the concrete pad continued to spew water and both of them were soaked. Wobbly, his face smarting and his head reeling, Kevin staggered to the bucket of soapy water, threw it in Joey's face, and kicked him in the gut. Joey grabbed his stomach as air rushed out of him like a deflating balloon. Shaking from a last burst of adrenaline, wet from head to toe, Kevin turned to find two shop mechanics staring at him.

“Better skedaddle, boy, before Mr. Stewart gets here,” one of the mechanics said.

Kevin took off at a slow trot up the hill behind Main Street. His jaw hurt, his right eye had started to swell shut, and his breath was jagged. He probably looked a mess but didn't care about that. What an idiot he'd been. He hadn't remembered half of what his dad had shown him to do. He worried about the trouble that awaited him at home, what would happen in the morning when Principal Becker called him to the office, and how angry Jeannie was going to be with him. The immediate future didn't look very bright.

***

H
e told his mom the whole sad story while she patched him up and inspected his ribs to make sure there was no further damage. He talked her out of a trip to see the doctor with a promise to tell her if anything besides his swollen-shut eye or his bruised jaw started to hurt.

She didn't yell at him, only pausing once during her ministrations to remark that he'd been dimwitted to go alone looking for Joey at his father's car dealership.

“I didn't plan on fighting him there,” Kevin explained through puffy lips. “I just went to set it up on the QT so I wouldn't get in trouble when we did fight.”

Mary chuckled. “Asking Joey Stewart to make an appointment to fight you isn't the smartest thing you've ever done.”

“I know it,” Kevin groaned.

A phone call from Principal Becker's secretary ordering Kevin to appear in his office at seven thirty in the morning with at least one parent in attendance proved her point.

“You're grounded for a week,” Mary said calmly as she watched him swallow two aspirins. “And I imagine your father might have something to say about your behavior when he gets home.”

Kevin nodded, hoping his dad might be more pissed at him for not using his advice, rather than for getting roughed up by Joey.

After arriving and getting the scoop from Mary about Kevin's bad behavior, Matt ordered him to the horse barn.

With a look of pure panic on her face, Mary blocked the back door. “Don't you dare whip him!”

“We're just going to have a heart-to-heart,” Matt promised as he guided Kevin around her.

Outside and out of earshot, his hand gripping Kevin's arm, Matt marched him to the horse barn. “Thanks for not squealing on me back there, otherwise we'd both be in trouble,” he said.

“That's okay.”

“We'll stay out here with the ponies for ten minutes and when we go back I'll tell your mother that I gave you a good talking-to, understood?”

Kevin sulked. “Mom grounded me for a week. I'll miss the big
school dance and the town fiesta.” The annual town fiesta ran the whole weekend with live music, bull riding and team roping, parades, contests, and a funky boat race on the river. Everybody turned out for the party. It was just about the best fun you could have in T or C year-round.

“We'll let it stand for now,” Matt said. “I'll plead your case in a day or two, but no promises. If your mother holds fast to her decision, so be it.”

The glimmer of hope raised Kevin's spirits. “Deal.”

***

P
rincipal Becker kept his early-morning meeting with Kevin and his parents short and sweet. Because Kevin had gone to Owen Stewart's place of business, thus causing the fracas, he was officially suspended for three days. And because Joey had not been the instigator, he would receive no censure or discipline.

Neither of Kevin's parents raised a fuss about his decision, although their boy looked pretty knocked around. With great relief Becker ushered them to the hallway, secretly thankful to Kevin for screwing up so that he could find a way to avoid expelling Joey for the rest of the school year. The last thing he needed was a raging, tyrannical school board president breathing down his neck.

Although Matt shared an office on the university campus in Las Cruces, he was rarely there. Since his original appointment as an equine and rangeland specialist in the Ag College he spent ninety percent of his time in the field working directly with ranchers, county extension agents, and farmers on a variety of projects to improve degraded agricultural lands, manage wild horse populations in conjunction with federal and state officials, restore pastures invaded by woodland junipers and piñon trees, and supervise containment protocols to combat infectious disease outbreaks among livestock.

While there were other tasks that got his attention, including assisting aspiring doctoral candidates and graduate students at remote research locations managed by the university, by and large he worked with the men and women who either made their living on the land or devoted their careers to improving and protecting it—and he loved doing it.

The job was a perfect fit for ranchers, the children of ranchers, or anyone with a strong connection with animals. Those with a
love of the land, an appreciation of wildlife, and an enjoyment of the outdoors were drawn to the work. Starting out, those were exactly the kind of people who'd joined Matt in the field. But times were changing and the new hires were up-and-comers with master's degrees specializing in subjects such as the moisture content of rangeland soils, the analysis of botanical matter found in steers grazing on desert grasslands, and the foraging preferences of sheep on irrigated pastures. Most of them moved quickly into PhD programs with the hopes of landing tenure-track faculty appointments at Ag colleges. And while Matt didn't doubt the value and importance of such research, it didn't attract his full interest as much as the hands-on, get-the-job-done work that he did.

In the time he'd worked for the university, he'd been promoted twice, and for the past several years he'd been area supervisor of the southwest quadrant of the state. Because of his position, he was often asked to judge 4-H competitions and FFA contests, serve as an official at county rodeos, award plaques to ranchers for their conservation efforts, and speak to civic and farm groups about the latest federal and state wildlife regulations, rangeland restoration practices, and emerging trends in modern livestock-production techniques. He never turned down an invitation unless it interfered with work, and when he couldn't go, he made sure to send a substitute.

For many years, his old boss at the university encouraged his participation at local events. He considered it an essential part of the job for his staff to spread goodwill for the Ag College by promoting community understanding of the important work it did to sustain agriculture in the state. But since the arrival the year before of Dr. Julius Nicolls as the new head of the Animal Husbandry Department—a transplanted Midwesterner from a larger, much more prestigious university—that attitude had changed. Now
rather than informally accepting an invitation from a community group and simply showing up, Matt had to first submit a form detailing the specifics of the event and secure permission in advance. If the event was considered too important for an area supervisor to handle, someone higher up in the department with the right credentials or degree got the assignment.

Never a fan of unnecessary bureaucracy, sometimes Matt accepted last-minute requests from a group to meet with them without securing permission, figuring the goodwill he created far outweighed his failure to fill out a silly form. Sidestepping the new rules worked fine until he agreed to be a substitute speaker at a meeting of the Catron County Cowbells, a ladies' auxiliary of the New Mexico Cattle Growers' Association. In that neck of the woods, getting the cooperation of the old-timers who were set in their ways about ranching and not eager converts to modern practices was a challenge, so he never wanted to miss an opportunity to make more inroads, especially if he could influence the wives to influence their husbands.

Unfortunately, his appearance was reported in the Las Cruces paper and brought to the attention of Dr. Nicolls. For the infraction, Matt received a verbal reprimand by phone from a department underling. Never in his life had he been slapped on the hand by a supervisor for any reason. Over such a trivial matter, the censure smarted.

Matt had met Nicolls in person only twice: once at a gathering of personnel to welcome him to the Ag College, and soon afterward during his fact-finding tour of all projects, research stations, and off-site field operations under his direct organizational control. Unlike his predecessor, Dr. Ervin McAlister, who'd been affectionately called “Mac” by everybody who worked for him, Julius
Nicolls preferred being addressed as “Dr. Nicolls” and allowed no such informality among his staff.

He was a tall, skinny, stuffy man with a narrow face etched in a permanent frown. Matt doubted the man had ever willingly smiled. Word from the campus soon confirmed that he was autocratic, unbending, and punitive. He quickly surrounded himself with people of like minds.

Unlike the slower pace on campus during the summer, Matt's workload in the field always picked up in advance of fall works when the ranchers had not yet gathered, shipped their livestock, and tallied their once-a-year payday—if they were lucky enough to have one after the bills got paid. When ordered in the middle of July on a day's notice to travel to Las Cruces and meet with Nicolls, Matt was both surprised and slightly wary.

With Nicolls it was SOP not to inform those summoned as to what the purpose might be, so Matt called the other area supervisors to see if they'd also been ordered to appear. Learning he was the only supervisor invited, it left him wondering what was up. His annual job performance evaluation was a good four months off, and he knew of nothing of a political nature happening in his bailiwick that might create concern for the higher-ups.

He shrugged off worrying about it, got on the telephone, cancelled several appointments and a meeting, and called Mary, who was at the ranch with Kevin. When he told her he'd be heading to headquarters to meet with Nicolls early in the morning, purpose yet unknown, she thought it odd.

“It's probably nothing,” Matt reassured her. “I can't think of anything that should worry me.”

Not fully reassured himself that there was nothing to worry about, and thinking it best to be as prepared as possible, Matt hit
the highway early enough to arrive on campus before the end of the workday and check in with a couple of guys in the department he knew and trusted. They had no idea why Matt had been called down so unexpectedly, and could think of no pressing reason Nicolls needed to see him. They reminded him that Nicolls was notorious for nitpicking about trifling issues. That was enough to let his worries slide.

Erma was in Europe for the summer studying French Impressionist painters and had rented her house out, so a free place to crash for the night was out of the question. He took a room at a mom-and-pop motel on Main Street and chowed down on some good New Mexican food at a nearby diner before taking in an early evening movie at the Rio Grande Theater, a John Wayne Western he'd missed in T or C.

In the morning, he presented himself to the department secretary ten minutes early and was kept waiting an additional twenty minutes before Nicolls made an appearance at his office door.

Given a quick nod of greeting and motioned into a chair, Matt sat. “What can I do for you, Dr. Nicolls?” he asked pleasantly.

Busy scrolling through a sheaf of papers, Nicolls didn't answer immediately. He put the papers aside, folded his hands together and peered at Matt. “Mr. Kerney, as you know the department has been upgrading the area field supervisor positions over the past year,” he said without preamble.

“So I've noticed,” Matt replied.

“Yours is the last position to be reclassified and now calls for the incumbent to hold a master's degree. I've decided not to grandfather you into the position.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Matt asked sharply, knowing full well he was about to be bumped.

Nicolls frowned at Matt's retort and held up a hand. “No need
for you to worry. Based on your satisfactory employment record with the department, your exemplary war record, and the fact that you are a university alumnus, I have found what I believe to be a very suitable assignment for you.”

“Which is?” Matt inquired tersely, not giving an inch.

Matt's insubordinate tone earned him a suspicious gaze. “You are to be appointed the resident supervisor at our Fort Stanton Experimental Ranch in the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains.”

“I am?”

Nicolls pursed his lips before answering. “As you may know, it consists of almost twenty-six thousand acres used for wildlife, livestock, and range research studies and experiments. It's quite a lovely area. With your background in ranching, we find you particularly well suited for the job.”

“Do you?”

Nicolls stiffened, squared his shoulders, and gave Matt a stern look. “Are you dissatisfied with my offer?”

“Surprised is more like it.”

Nicolls relaxed slightly. “You'll keep your current salary.”

Nicolls wasn't doing Matt any favors. He would lose his present pay grade and be at the top of the salary scale for experimental station ranch managers, which meant no more annual increases based on seniority and job performance. It was a dead end for any future advancement.

Matt paused. He could delay accepting the offer and talk to Mary first, but there really wasn't anything to discuss. Nicolls wanted him out, didn't have a legitimate reason to fire him, so he'd carefully orchestrated a move to make him quit. It had worked on several other ex-employees, but it wasn't going to work on him. Not yet, anyway.

He looked across the desk at Nicolls and smiled. “I'll take the job.”

Nicolls didn't flinch at Matt's unexpected acceptance. He cleared his throat and eyed Matt expressionlessly. “Very well. There will be a stipend to help defray your moving costs, and a housing allowance will be provided until you're re-settled. You start on September first. My deputy director, Dr. Virden, will provide particulars. We're finished here. Thank you.”

Dumbfounded and amused by the man's arrogance, Matt stood. “Is that it?”

“Yes, you're excused.” Nicolls returned his attention to the papers on his desk. After a few seconds, he looked up as if startled to see Matt still standing there. “Is there something else?”

“September first is six weeks away. If you want me on the job at Fort Stanton by then, I'll need some administrative time off with pay to make all the necessary arrangements to move my family from T or C.”

Nicolls tapped his fingers together. Moderately irritated by the man's tone and his unwillingness to graciously resign, he did not feel generous. “You have adequate accrued vacation time to cover those activities, I believe.”

Matt shook his head. “No, sir, I'm not using my vacation for this, nor do I have to. I want administrative time off with pay starting on August first and I want it in writing.”

Nicolls snorted in irritation. Employees who had a smattering of knowledge regarding their personnel rights were invariably troublemakers. He'd have to find another way to get rid of him after his transfer went through. “University rules allow for two weeks of administrative leave with pay in such cases. I can authorize no more.”

“Okay, put that in writing like I asked,” Matt said.

Nicolls stifled a grimace. “I'll have Dr. Virden give you a memo.”

The men locked eyes. Matt wasn't about to thank Nicolls for screwing him. As he turned and left to find Dr. Virden, Nicolls reached for the phone.

***

M
att met with Virden, got his memo, picked up some mail in his office in-basket, and called Mary at the ranch. Without railing about Dr. Nicolls, he briefly told her what had happened. After she recovered from the news, they agreed to meet at the cottage as soon as possible to hash things out. He got home to find Kevin in the driveway changing the oil in Mary's car.

“About done?” he asked.

“I just finished up,” Kevin replied, closing the hood to the car.

“Good, come inside. We've family business to discuss.” He looked over to see Mary at the back door impatiently waiting.

“Mom says they want you to work at Fort Stanton.”

“Yep, but we've got a lot more to talk about than just that,” Matt said. “Come on, jingle those spurs.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Not by a long shot,” Matt answered, smiling at Mary as he walked up the back steps with Kevin at his heels. The delicious smell of a fresh-baked apple pie greeted him as he gave Mary a kiss.

“Did you make a pie for me?” he asked.

“No, it's an experiment,” Mary replied, straight-faced. “I'm thinking I'll bake twenty pies each week and have Kevin sell them door to door all over town so we won't be homeless when you tell Nicolls to stuff the job he offered you.”

“Is that what I'm going to do?” Matt asked with a grin.

“I don't know, is it?” Mary asked arching her eyebrow.

“Let's talk about it over a slice of that pie,” Matt countered as he guided Mary to the kitchen table, his arm around her waist.

She pulled away. “You damn well better tell Nicolls to stuff it. For a man of your caliber and reputation, a forced transfer and demotion is unthinkable.”

Matt settled into a chair and examined the huge apple pie, the perfectly browned crust rising almost three inches above the pie tin. “I agree, but we need to plan what comes next. With no more paydays, getting back to ranching isn't going to be without risk. And we can't ask Al and Brenda to carry us while I build up our horse business.”

She sliced into the pie and put a wedge in front of Kevin, who had his fork at the ready. “We cash in everything, sell this place, and just do it!” she announced, her tone suggesting argument would be fruitless.