A Pair of Second Chances (Ben Jensen Series Book 1) (2 page)

Ben laid his payment on the counter, noted that he’d have to add a few bills to the ‘roll’ in his wallet, to make it visible, made his ‘adios ‘till next times’ and stepped back outside.

Just outside the door, he stood for a few moments, looking across the street at the Cattlemen’s bank. His gaze moved to the toes of his boots, and back to the Bank. With a deep breath, and a resigned sigh, Ben dropped the can of ‘miracle engine restorer elixir’ in the bed of his rattle trap truck, parked at the curb, as he passed, and walked slowly across the street, into the quiet confines of the bank lobby.

Just inside the door he hesitated, reticent to walk into what he knew was coming. He watched the two tellers waiting on customers at their windows for a few seconds, screwing up his will, to endure whatever his ordeal would be. Linus McClaren, the Bank President had been his Banker for thirty years. They were more than Banker and customer, they were friends. Hell, they hunted together. That meant little these days. Used to be that Linus made a decision and that was the way it was… now-a-days… a board of directors had the final say. Linus still had some power, but it was shrinking.

Ben was about to turn back toward the office where he knew the axe was likely to fall today, when the booming voice of Linus McClaren filled the lobby. “Ben! Come on in! Thank you for coming in to talk to me. He ushered the rancher into his office and closed the door.

“How are you Ben? We’ve had a good summer. Plenty of rain. Grass doing OK up on your range Ben?”

“Cut the crap Linus. You don’t send me a… letter… asking me to come and talk to you… ‘less there’s some sort of problem. Hell, in thirty years of doin’ business with you, I don’t remember, a letter from you, ever. Cut to the chase old friend. What’s goin’ on?” Ben asked him, short and blunt.

“Ahem… yes… uh… Ben… You know… uh…”

Ben cut him off; “Quit all the damn stutterin’ Linus… spill it. I’m a big boy… Ain’t worn short pants in as long as… either of us… can remember… so talk.”

“Ben. I tried. I did everything I could.” He paused for a long time. The look on his face told the story. He had to tell his old friend, things he would have given just about anything, to not have to say.

“Ben, the Board decided… they refused to extend your loan. Not at least without full payment this year. They won’t allow you to make a partial. They won’t extend any more financing on your place…. Ben … there were words… uh… they’re concerned about your… uh… there are a couple members who think you drink too much Ben.”

“I drink what I want, Linus. It ain’t none of their damn business.” Ben snapped back.

“Ben, they see it as a, concern. They feel it is a factor in the… uh… the management, of your ranch. They believe it impairs your operation and it makes them nervous… Damn Ben!... Look at yourself! You came to town and didn’t even shave! Jesus Ben! What in hell are you doin’ to yourself? She’s been gone three years man. You have to let it go! You’ve got to move on, or you’ll lose that ranch… and I won’t be able to help you.” The Bank President spoke in almost a pleading tone.

“Yeah, well, I’ll think about that Linus… I’ll think about it.” Ben replied as he rose and reached for the door. “How long have I got?”

“I can hold ‘em off till the first part of October, but you need to find Seventy-five grand or they'll foreclose on you Ben… They’ll do it… and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

“October huh? Well that gives me what, six weeks to make more than I’ve managed in the last two seasons… That shouldn’t be too hard! Guess I better get at it” and Ben Jensen turned from the banker and started out the door.

“He didn’t Ben… I asked him… we’re all worried about you Ben… you’re drinkin’ way too much… you’ve got that… uh… look Ben, everybody knows what you did… what you went through… how you’ve fought through it… and we all saw what losing Ellen did to you… We’re here Ben… I swear we are… but, we can’t help you friend, unless you… accept the help. We can’t force you to take care of your self God Damn it!”

“Yup. That’s just what I was thinkin’ I needed. A God Damn nurse maid.” Ben turned toward the door but turned back; “Linus how long have we been doin’ business?”

“Must be thirty years Ben… I made you your first loan, to buy out your Father on that ranch, the summer you came home from the army… long time.”

“Yeah, long time… and in all that time Linus, through all the… dark times… Has this bank ever lost a nickel with me?... one, stinkin’ nickel, Linus?”

The Cowboy and the Banker locked eyes for a few seconds… No words necessary… and then the Cowboy, stomped out of the Bank.

Back in the sunlight on the sidewalk he cursed all the “God Damn busy bodies won’t leave a man be!” and strode across the street, back to his worn out old truck, parked in front of the NAPA store.

The bowlegged cowboy climbed onto the seat, put his hands on the wheel and just stared through the windshield. The face of Ellen, his wife, floated across the glass, her hand extended to him…

He clamped his eyes shut, trying to shut out the vision… close out the pain… and all that did was open up the space for the sounds of screaming, dying men. The Cowboys head sagged, his forehead pressing against the steering wheel… a low moan, almost a sob, escaping his chest… “God please… please… “he softly pleaded… until the darkness faded from his eyes… his heart stopped pounding in his chest… and the pain receded… until the next time.

Ben sat there, in his truck, leaning on the steering wheel for several more minutes, allowing calm to return… then slowly, he pushed up straight, taking a deep breath and looking around to see if any of the local busybodies had observed his… spell… knowing if they had, the word would run from one end of the town to the other before he was half way back to his ranch. “God Damn townies… Didn’t they have anything better to do than ride his ass?”

The truck started, one more time in a cloud of blue smoke. “Shit! Forgot the damn treatment.” He cursed. Leaving the engine running, he climbed back out, retrieved the can of “Engine Restorer” from the bed and raised the hood to pour the goo into the smoking motor. It only took a few seconds to empty the small can. With a toss he flipped the now empty can into the bed, climbed back into the cab and proceeded to smoke and rattle out of town… heading back to the peace and respite of his ranch.

He may have been well liked in Columbus, but right then, he was in no mood for sociable doin’s of most any kind. Deep within lived a beast he hadn’t tamed. It had been caged for many years, but never domesticated. The loss of Ellen, the love of his life, threatened to release that raging creature. It had been her all these years, that had kept it under control… She had been the one with the key… and now she was gone… now, his anchor was gone, and he was lost, adrift.

Ben watched out the rear view mirror as he rolled down the highway. He held it at the legal speed limit, yet probably a few faster than that old heap would endure for long. He wasn’t absolutely sure, but he believed the volume of smoke was already reduced… He hoped it would help… If he could just buy a little more time… If he could just catch a break… get a bit of a breather. All he needed was a bit of time to catch up, to catch his balance.

“God Damn it! You Red Headed son-of-a-bitch!" he screamed at the Devil; "Stand me to my face! Always sneakin’ around behind a man's back screwin’ with things! You yellow hearted son-of-a-bitch!”

On occasion, his anger and frustration spilled over and somebody would overhear his howling at the devil. Combined with his drinking, it wasn’t doing any favors for his reputation. With folks in the region fairly familiar with his history, they were juuuust a mite concerned if he went on a binge in town. As long as he contained his self abuse to the wild country surrounding his cabin, they felt it really wasn’t their place to interfere, and after all, wasn’t he due a little consideration? But in town… well, that was a different matter.

Luckily this latest outburst, complete with pounding on the steering wheel as he rolled down the state highway toward his mountain ranch, went unseen by anyone other than a hitch hiking drifter, who lowered his thumb as the screaming, pounding cowboy rolled by in the ancient, smoking, green Ford pickup.

One of the pints of Old Crow never made it back to the ranch. The empty bottle would be found the next spring in the grass along the road by the volunteers from Chesney Funeral Home. They'd pick it up during their annual civic duty clean up of their mile of highway.

The truck managed to make it back to the ranch, carrying its cargo of groceries, booze and Cowboy without further incident. The eggs and meat were dropped into an icebox, along with the ice. It was already partially filled with a few odds and ends of groceries cooled by a couple inches of water and half melted ice. All except, that is, for one steak which found itself in a cast iron frying pan on the wood stove. HOOO Wee!… genuine, fried, Cowboy cuisine.

Ben sat at the small table, taking pulls from the first of the Johnny Walker bottles, waiting for the meat to sear enough to eat. Most times, he could just about eat it raw… And the way he was pullin’ on that bottle, he wasn’t going to be in a shape to be much concerned with the quality of his supper for very long, anyway.

A.H. lay across the room, at the foot of the bunk, homely head resting on his paws, watching the man. The dog knew something had changed in the man. Something was missing. But he was a dog, what did he know? He hadn’t a clue. But, when the man passed out again, like he did, most every night these days, he’d be there to stand guard over him. He’d make sure nothing got to him in the night. It wasn’t much, but it was what he could do.

Ben poked at the meat sizzling in the pan, took a strong pull on the bottle and asked, glancing at the dog; “So, A.H., whad-a-ya-think? Ya big ugly mutt! How do ya suppose we’re gonna scratch up the cash to keep that God Damn Banker off our asses for another year, huh?”

With another pull on the bottle, the Cowboy just looked at the dog for a long, few seconds. “Well? Ya lousy mutt! I’m talkin’ to ya! Ain’t you even got the manners to answer a simple, damn question?”… and another pull. The dog just laid there, head on his paws… eyes fixed on the man… tail wagging.

“You are right A.H. Why should I expect you to know? Hell you’re just like me. Nothing but a big, God damned Ass Hole!”

“Maybe Linus is right A.H. But… damn it… I miss her… I can’t look anywhere on this ranch… ‘thout seein’ her hand... I… “ and a wracking sob exploded from deep within the man…

A.H. rose from his bed and rested his head on Ben’s thigh, brown eyes pleading for some way to help.

“Well Ol’ bud, you’re still hangin’ on with me, ain’t you?” the man said softly to that homely mutt, his hand resting on his great head. His thumb softly stroking one ear. “I still got you.”

“I guess, tomorrow, we better go find some horses… the way the market is, they ain’t worth much, but maybe if I get lucky and can catch up half of ‘em, I might could squeeze a few thousand out of ‘em. Cull out more of what’s left of the cowherd… hit the sale on the right day… maybe I can save this deal… for another year anyway… maybe…”

He raised the bottle to his mouth one last time, and as the glass touched his lips he stopped. The vision of Ellen floated in front of his eyes. Her eyes sad and pleading…her hand reaching out… Ben clamped his eyes shut, squinting with all his strength… the hand holding the bottle sagging to his side.

“No… No more… not tonight… no… more…” and sitting there, in a battered wooden chair, in a raggedy one room cabin, the broken hearted Cowboy passed out, sitting in his chair, his chin sagging down on to his chest... his supper starting to smoke on the stove.

Chapter
2

Her eyes scanned up and down the hall, furtively, fearfully. A small boy was held in her left arm, head on her shoulder, as she picked up a medium sized, blue gym bag from the floor, pulled at the straps of the large purse hanging from her other shoulder, and pulled the door closed. The door lock clicked, sounding like a sonic boom to her in the empty hallway. On bare feet, shoes in her hand, she hurried down the hall toward the elevator, cringing when its bell seemed to crash down the hall when the car arrived at her floor.

As the doors slid apart, she rushed to get in, before they had fully opened, and with almost panicked haste, repeatedly punched the button for the lobby.

While the doors were closing, her hand was already reaching for the cell phone in her purse and punching the speed dial number she'd programmed.

As she started to put the phone back in her shoulder bag, she froze for a second with the cell in her hand. The image of her phone charger flashed in her head. The image of her charger, plugged into the wall socket beside her nightstand. "Damn!" she thought. She raised the phone back up and pushed the power button to turn it off. "I have to try and remember to get a new one soon. I'm sure I'll need the phone for something... at least until I get a new one."

The girl, carrying the heavy load of a small boy, an apparently fairly full, blue gym bag, and a large shoulder bag, hurried across the lobby to the front door of the building unseen by the doorman. He'd sat down on one of the couches, to 'rest his eyes for a minute' and had promptly fallen, soundly asleep.