The Inheritance
Mark Randall
The Inheritance
by Mark Randall
Copyright© 2019 by Mark Randall
A Mountain Man Story (1)
Description: A military vet inherits a dream house. But others want it too.
Tags: No Sex, Fiction, Military, Mystery
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-23
Size: 20,705 Words
Chapter 1
Cresting the hill, I looked down on a hive of activity. The typical spring round up. This was a scene repeated for over 125 years. Cowboys, not much changed from their predecessors. Herding, roping, and branding cattle. I guess that if the politically correct crowd cared, they wouldn’t call us cowboys. Probably something stupid like bovine care technicians.
Myself, I was returning from another time-honored activity. I had just spent the last 6 months at the high-country line shack. The line shack wasn’t exactly a chicken coop. A 30-foot trailer, with a generator for power, satellite tv and internet, microwave, all the comforts of home. Actually, better than home. Since I was retired, thanks to the gulf war, I had been living out of my truck camper, looking for a place to settle down.
Me? I’m Matt Reynolds, late of the 101st Airborne, Pathfinder. Wounded during Desert Storm and then medically retired from service.
Kuwait was the end of my army career and the start of the next chapter of my life. During Desert Storm I was assigned to the quick reaction force for the division, when word came down that the intel weenies wanted some prisoners. A couple of media types had reported some easy pickings and my team was detailed to bring them in.
As soon as the Blackhawk dropped us, everything went to hell in a hand basket. We had been dropped right in the middle of a republican guard operational area.
I immediately got on the radio and requested, read demanded, extraction. We were safe enough at the time, all the Iraqi firepower was trying to sink the moon, shooting at imaginary helicopters. But I knew it was only a matter of time before they started looking for us.
When I radioed for help, I was informed that not only was extraction going to be awhile, but we were ordered to hold in place. To add misery to misfortune, air support also wasn’t available. Seems an Iranian patrol boat was a little too close to the fleet. The Navy wasn’t going to do anything until that situation was resolved. Which meant waking someone in DC, who had to wake someone, who had to,,, well you get the idea.
I pulled my team in tight and explained the situation. I didn’t mince words with them. I felt our odds were slim at best. The only thing I could think of was that the best defense is a good offence.
I had a good view of the Iraqi bunker, and their security was almost non-existent. My idea was that we take the bunker. Then we would be in a safer position inside than outside with our asses hanging out.
We took the bunker, and in the process, I picked up some lead in my leg. The team ended up with various medals. I was sent to Germany and then the states. The surgeons were able to fix most of the damage, but they decided that my military career was over.
As a side note, the intel weenies wanted to have me drawn and quartered. They seemed think the I blew their nice neat operation. My saving grace was #1 my team backed me up during the debrief, #2 the radio traffic recording didn’t get accidently erased. And last but certainly not least was the Iraqi 2 star general, a full colonel and a command and control section taken prisoner. It stuck in their throats, Schwarzkopf himself said I’d done good.
After I was medically discharged, I was sent to the VA for rehab. After rehab I started drifting around looking for a home. The bar t ranch was one of the stops on my search, actually the best so far. The work was hard, but paid well. And I was out in the open. Cities were definitely not on my list of places to settle down.
For the last 6 months I had been at the line shack. It had been me and Shadow. Plus, my appaloosa mare Margarite and mule Jughead. I didn’t mind the solitude so much. I didn’t have to deal with people and wasn’t spending any money. Between my wages and the army retirement, I’d saved up quite a bit.
Shadow was my best friend. While I was in the VA physical therapy program in Tacoma, I ran into a guy that was running a pet therapy project. He would bring in puppies for some of the PTSD patients. It was supposed to mellow out the more violent guys, and bring out the guys that were withdrawn. He also trained these same dogs up for the police and military. Shadow was the runt of the litter, and was going to be put down. When I picked him up we immediately bonded. During the next 6 months, with that pro’s help, Shadow trained up to a good working dog, and my best friend.
Glancing around I found Shadow nosing around some scrub. I gave him a whistle and Margarite a little heel. Together we headed down.
As we came closer to the branding fire, I spotted Pete Rogers, the ramrod. I met Pete in Jackson Hole. We happened to be in the same bar, when Pete got into a disagreement with a yuppie ski bum over a waitress. Pete was smooth talking her, and she was batting her eyes at him, when the ski bum decided that he was better for her, and started working on Pete. Pete was cool about it up to the point that the yuppie reached out and tried to shove Pete. Pete grabbed him into a wrist lock and started explaining reality to him. That’s when the yuppie’s friends took offence and decided to jump in.
I was standing at the bar. Watching, but not really interested. When the other 3 guys stood up. I figured that 4 on one was a bit too much, so I started from the outside, while Pete worked on the inside. When the cops showed up, Pete and I were standing back to back. The yuppies were face down, bleeding and moaning.
The cops didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. The yuppies went to the hospital. Pete and I went to jail.
During our time in the tank, we got to know each other, and I was hired on at the Bar T. The judge was going to throw the book at us until the Bar T’s lawyer showed up. The yuppies couldn’t come up with a better shyster. When it was pointed out that civil charges were likely against the pissant that started it. The kiddies decided to drop the charges. When the bar owner received the check covering the damages, everything was hunky dory. Pete and I got 6 months unsupervised probation, the yuppies were sent back to LA.
Pete spotted me at about the same time. “Matt, you lazy s-o-b, it’s about time you got back to honest work.”
“You’ve found some honest work around this den of thieves?” I replied laughing.
“Climb on down and have some coffee. It’s been on awhile, but it’s hot and strong.”
As I took the cup I said “Thanks Pete, is this that sheepherder crap you usually brew?”
“Of course it is. Good for all that ails you.”
Blowing on the cup, I took my first sip. “That’s good coffee, Pete. I ran out about a week ago. Been looking forward to this.”
Looking back to the work, Pete asked “How are things in the high country?”
“Greening up nicely, shouldn’t be more than a week and it’ll be prime range.”
“Good, that’s about what I figured. What else.”
“Well, the fence lines are in good shape, that is what I could get at. There’s still snow in the deep canyons. I just finished the sweep day before yesterday.”
“That’s good. Give the boys something to do later on. What are the critters like?”
“I saw a couple of bears, blacks, but they were headed down river. Saw some cat sign. It looked like it was just moving through. But you never know.”
“Yeah, something else for the to do list.” Pete glanced over at Jughead. “I see you got some new hides.”
“Two bucks and a bull elk.”
Nodding his head, “I sure hope you left some of the meat for Mrs. Higgins. She’ll have your hide if you didn’t.”
I grinned at the mention of Agnes Higgins. “I know better than that. I kept half the elk and most the venison for her.”
“Good, that’ll keep her off my back and make her happy. Anything else?”
Thinking for a moment, I replied. “No, that’s about it.”
“Fine, get that meat up to Mrs. Higgins. I’ll meet up with you after dinner.”
“You got it boss.”
Chapter 2
As I headed towards the cookhouse, I could smell bread baking. My mouth started watering. Agnes Higgins was probably the best range cook I’d ever met. Short, heavy, and mean. That is if you crossed her, but the milk of human kindness if you took the time to get to know her. I started on her good side by bringing in game to add to her larder. Later she took the time to point out wild herbs and plants to add to the menu. Walking in the back door of the cookhouse, Mrs. Higgins started yelling, “whoever that is, you’d best get your ass out of my kitchen. Chow ain’t till 6, and I am not giving out any freebies.”
“Mrs. Higgins, its Matt Reynolds, and I’m bringing a peace offering.”
“Matt, “she squealed as she came around the corner. “you’ve finally got tired of your own cooking.” Grabbing me in a bear hug, she tightened up to where I could hear my ribs creak.
Agnes was a good 6 inches shorter than me, but she had at least 50 lbs. On me. And strong, I’d once watched her punch a summer help tenderfoot who had bitched about her cooking one too many times. We had tried warning him to watch his step. But like most city boys, he knew better. After I reset the knotheads broken nose, Pete handed him his pay and told him to get off the property before Pete took over where Agnes left off. The punk looked at the rest of us as we started to rock, paper, scissors for who was going to follow Pete. He was in his car and down the road in 10 minutes.
Here’s a word of advice if you’re on a working cattle ranch. Don’t piss off the cook. A good cook is hard to find. A good range cook is damn near impossible.
“Matty boy, what did you bring your momma this time?”
“Well, Mrs. Higgins...”
She punched me in the shoulder, “Mrs. Higgins, my ass, Agnes dammit.”
“Agnes, I’ve got about 75 lbs. Of venison and another of bull elk.”
“Good, it’s about time we had something other than beef on the menu,” Agnes said. After we had moved everything to the meat locker, Agnes grabbed my arm and dragged me into the mess hall.
“You’re a good boy Matt, now you go sit down, and I’ll get you something to eat. Ham and eggs, alright?”
“I think that would go down a treat, Agnes.”
As soon as I sat down, Agnes brought out a cup of coffee and my mail. Agnes also acted as the unofficial mail clerk for the hands. Delivering mail in the cookhouse made more sense than trying to get everybody together for a mail call. Each hand had a mailbox just inside the door. But because I had been gone for so long, Agnes held my mail in her office. I started going through my mail. Out of all the usual junk, one jumped out at me. It was postmarked from Butte Montana, and the return address was one of those fancy multiple name lawyer offices.
“Sir, it is my unfortunate duty to advise you of the passing of Jacob Stanislaw. Mr. Stanislaw was killed in a hunting accident this past October. As the executor of Mr. Stanislaw’s estate, I am informing you that you are named in his will. Please contact this office to finalize your inheritance.
Signed S. Gerald Fitzpatrick, Esquire Butte Montana.”
It took me a minute to figure out who Jacob Stanislaw was. Agnes had brought in my ham and eggs. Seeing my pensive look, she asked, “Bad news?”
“Not good, Agnes. “I replied, “I just found out that a good friend died.” Seeing that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer. I started telling her about M.Sgt. Jacob “Jake” Stanislaw.
When I divorced my wife, I was wiped out emotionally. After everything was said and done. And the vultures had finished picking over my bones, financially.
The vultures? My ex, her lawyer, and my lawyer. After they finished dividing the spoils, I was standing on the courthouse steps with the clothes on my back and a $20.00 bill in my wallet
I’m not sure, it might have been my shell-shocked look, or him watching the court docket, but the recruiter didn’t have a lot of trouble convincing me that the Army is where I needed to be. After signing the paperwork, I had a motel voucher for the night and a plane ticket to basic training.
Basic and advanced training was rough, but I got through it. My first duty station was Korea. This had sounded pretty good at the time. Between the bonuses I got for going Infantry, I was in decent shape. In Korea, I was assigned to the 2nd Infantry division. My army career didn’t start off on the best foot, however. I guess it was probably my anger at my ex, but I wasn’t what you would call a good soldier. Between drinking, whoring, and fighting, I was in trouble from day one. After one particularly obnoxious event, the NCOs’ got together and decided I needed an informal counseling session. Master Sergeant Jake Stanislaw was elected, or I should say, volunteered for the job.
Jake invited me behind the barracks. Being full of piss, vinegar, and booze, I took him up on his offer. After Jake handed my ass to me, three falls out of 3. We started talking. I told him everything, my parents, Mary, the miscarriage, divorce, betrayal. By the end, I was in worse shape, bawling my guts out. From that point on, Jake took me under his wing. It’s not that he taught me how to be a soldier, he also taught me how to be a man.
Jake confided in me one day that he had decided that I was to be his legacy to the Army. Mandatory retirement was coming up, and he felt that someone needed to take his place. I was that someone.
Before he left, Jake convinced me to keep going. He also told me what was needed to succeed in the Army. He told me, “Matt, the Army is kind of like the boy scouts. To get ahead, you’ve got to earn your merit badges. The obvious ones are the medals and ribbons. Another obvious one is your rank. Another one that will count, and will put you ahead of the herd are school badges. Airborne, Ranger, Special Forces badges show everybody that you’ve went above and beyond.”
When I re-enlisted, I asked for and got airborne school.
From airborne, I went to ranger school. However, when I tried for special forces, and later, sniper school, I was turned down. They said that my psychological evaluation stated that I had a deep-seated anger based on my experience with Mary, my ex-wife. I guess calling her ‘that miserable bitch’ to the lady psychologist wasn’t very wise.
After I was turned down for sniper school, I was able to get into pathfinder school. This was fine with me. I could be a big fish in a little pond and making big waves. I knew it was just only a matter of time before I would have my senior NCO stripes.
I should explain about Mary. It wasn’t always bad. But the end sucked major league.
My ex-wife and I were the typical high school sweethearts. But not from a typical high school. We were raised in a small town in rural Washington. My dad ran the local hardware store, and her dad was the local game warden. It was inevitable that we would get together, our graduation class only had 15 kids in it.
During my senior year, the three worst things in my life happened. Mom and dad were on their way back from a trip to Spokane when a semi drifted over the centerline and ran them over the side. The state patrol officer tried to convince me that they didn’t feel anything, but I knew better.
I had just turned 18, so I avoided the social services busybodies. And I was able to get my inheritance without interference. The bad part was I had to drop out of school to run the hardware store. My rock during this time was Mary.
After Mary graduated, she announced that she was pregnant. As shocking as that was, I was overjoyed. Of course, we had to get married. Her parents were less than enthusiastic about the situation. That is until I showed them the books for the store. Then they were all for me taking their wayward daughter off their hands.
I was working when my next tragedy struck. Mary called from the hospital and told me that the baby had miscarried.
I was devastated, this was my child, the third death in my family. We closed the store for a week for mourning.
After the tears and grief, we talked about what to do next. Mary said that she wanted to go to college. That would be good for both of us. She said we could get over her grief.
I should have realized it at the time. She already had the brochures and applications in hand.
So, Mary went off to Seattle and journalism school. I reopened the store and started working my ass off. Between what I had left of the inheritance and what the store was bringing in, Mary was reaching for her star.
My third and final tragedy hit because of a long weekend. It had been a couple of months seen we had been together. I was feeling a little lonely and a lot horny. The store was doing good, and I decided a surprise visit would be nice. A nice dinner, dancing, and a fancy hotel for the weekend. I would sweep my bride off her feet and give her a cinderella weekend.
The first fly in the ointment was when I showed up at Mary’s dorm room. She wasn’t home, in fact, her roommate told me that she had moved out three months earlier. The roommate had been forwarding her mail to an off-campus apartment.
Knocking on the apartment door, there was Mary, wearing a bathrobe, disheveled hair, and clutching a $20 bill. Looking over her shoulder, she called, “I’ve got it, honey.”
“Mary?”
“Matt, what are you doing here?”
“Mary, what’s going on? Why are you living here?”
Mary pushed me back and stepped out with me, closing the door behind her. “Matt, I can explain...”
“Explain what Mary, what’s going on here?”
That’s when the door opened, and I had all the answers I needed. Standing in the doorway was a tall, dark-haired guy. Like Mary, he was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. He didn’t feel the need to have the robe closed.
What followed was a 2-way confrontation with myself as the recipient, but not a participant.
Mary seemed to think that, because I wasn’t around, didn’t have the sophistication, and eventually wasn’t rich enough, it was my fault that she had to stray from our marriage.
Dwight, between the 2 of them jockeying for abuse rights, I learned his name, went for my manhood. Telling me in no uncertain terms that only a real man, like himself, could provide Mary with what she needed.
Two things happened during the verbal slugfest. I naturally started getting angry. The second actually saved me from what would have been the worst thing I could have done.
Between the two screamers, the neighbors started poking their heads out. Seeing them was like a bucket of cold water dumped over me.
Shamed and humiliated, I turned and walked away. When I got outside, I ran to my truck and took off.
For the next hour, I drove around Seattle. Not seeing anything, or having a destination. Eventually, I got hold of myself and decided to head home. I knew that my marriage was over, my future plans destroyed. At least home would provide an anchor.
I was just outside of Spokane when the state patrol pulled me over. I had never had any dealings with the police before, and it seemed a little excessive for three cars to pull over a speeder, I was only 5 miles over the limit. Things got even weirder when they started using the bullhorn, telling me to come out with my hands up. When they hit me with the blindside tackle, I hit my head against the car and blacked out.
When I came to, I was in the hospital wing of the county jail. During the next week, I found out that I was charged with assault and battery (domestic violence), breaking and entry, assault with a deadly weapon, and trespassing.
After I was released from the hospital, I was finally able to call my lawyer. Unfortunately, Mary had already called and hired him. I was able to find another, that’s when I found out that the bank accounts, both our joint account and the business account for the store had been emptied. I had to sign a lien on the store and the house to get a lawyer to take my case.
The criminal cases were taken care of quickly. It seems that somebody neglected to read me the mIranda warning or note it on my file. It also helped that Mary’s neighbors showed up on my behalf. They testified that when I left, both Mary and Dwight were undamaged.
Unfortunately, the criminal case didn’t end it. The divorce was round two. Between the settlement and my lawyer, I was wiped out. The store and house were sold at fire-sale prices. Mary had already ruined the bank accounts. What was left of the insurance settlement paid the last of the debt. After everything was said and done, I was standing on the courthouse stairs with the clothes on my back and a $20.00 bill in my wallet.
Looking up at Agnes, I finished, “Jake and I, we kept in touch with each other for a couple of years. The last time I heard from him, he had bought some land and a cabin in Idaho.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt, what are you going to do.”
“Apparently, I’m named in the will. I guess my next step is to call this lawyer and find out what’s next.”
After dinner, I pulled Pete off to the side and explained the situation to him.
“Matt, after six months at the line cabin, I figure you’ve got some time coming. You run up to Butte and take care of your business.”
When I tried to object to leaving him shorthanded, he interrupted me.
“Boy, you’re good, but if this spread can’t get along without you, then you should be wearing my hat. And I would be sitting on the porch. Get out of here. Take your horse and mule with you. If things don’t work out, I’ll see you in the fall for the roundup.”
“Thanks, Pete. I’ll let you know what’s going on. You know that if you need me, all you’ve got to do is ask.”
“I know Matt, but I don’t think you’ve found a home yet. If this works out for you, great, if not, then you can always come back in a year or a day.”