Bold Venture

Chapter One

I will never let a wild horse throw me again. It’s too damn embarrassing.

I was sitting leisurely at my desk, one leg resting on top of the desk. Slowly sipping on my morning coffee, I was reading the morning paper and carefully reviewing the latest Professional Rodeo Cowboys results. This and other news helped me to relive the days. It also kept me abreast of the days when I rode the circuit and to keep up with my former competitors. This was my daily routine. I wanted no one to interrupt these precious moments of relaxation. For once I began work, I did not take breaks not even for lunch. A slight Knock, Knock, Knock on the office doorframe really pissed me off. Obviously this guy knew nothing about my routine and could care less as he opened the door and began approaching my desk. I could feel the annoyance seep into my brain which caused me to raise my eyebrows, glare over the top of the paper, and communicate to the man an unwelcome attitude. Before I could set my coffee cup down, the fellow marched further into my office and questioned me and I answered, Mark Williams?

Yes, but troubled that the guy didn’t know who I was. Who was this unwelcome visitor and what did he want; uninvited and pressuring himself into my office? Though irritated, sarcastically I managed a, Why not come in? You’re halfway to me now.

While still aggressively approaching me, he shoved an envelope toward me, abruptly turning to walk away. I did not take the envelope and the intruder turned toward me. Reluctantly I reached out to accept it but withdrew my hand. I remembered that I accepted nothing handed to me unless I knew what was being offered. This even included food. Squinting at the envelope, I attempted to determine what it was that was being shoved into my face. I tried to ignore the intrusion and reached for my cup and raised it to my lips, questioning him directly with as much politeness that I could muster, Who are you? What are you holding in your hand?

A summons server and this, my man, is likely a summons. I think you may be in some kind of trouble, now sounding supremely sarcastic.

A summons? For what? My foot, propped on my desk, hit the floor with a huge thud, surprising even me, as I sprang upright. I knew I had no outstanding traffic fines and I had had my share of those because of an extremely heavy right foot. Further, I questioned myself, Shot someone? Not lately! Rustled any cows lately? Nope! Punched anyone in a bar—not since I was home last in the bar in Buffalo Gap and Clayton threw the first punch? That was settled with a handshake and a beer. My impatience now began to grow and aggressively I barked at the stranger, A summons for what?

Like I said, man, I don’t know. All I do is deliver the envelopes. Good day and thank you. He recognized that I was not going to take the envelope. He threw it on the desk and stormed out of the office.

I cocked my head and stared at the envelope. The envelope only had my name on it with a return address that read, Petersons and Associates, Attorneys at Law. Jesus, what the hell is going on, I thought to myself. I ripped open the envelope and was stunned. The heading read Petition for Divorce. Now I was not just stunned, I was becoming dizzy with bewilderment and anger that suddenly engulfed me. The opening line read, Mary (Boyett) Williams vs. Mark Williams, in the matter of filing for divorce. I stopped reading, but noticed the date, April 12, 2002. I crushed the paper and shoved it deep into my pocket along with the envelope. As I ran from the office, John yelled out to me, Where are you going?

Home.

What about the B&R contract?

To hell with it. I’ll catch that later.

I couldn’t get to my car fast enough, and when I did, I slammed the door with such force the window rattled. Without looking, I backed out only to hear a howl of screaming tires braking on the concrete, a blast from a horn, followed by a few curse words, all of which I ignored. The streak of black I left on the concrete was at least four-foot long. The Turquoise blue Mustang was now growling and it literally galloped out of the basement parking lot. Freeway traffic always annoyed me but today it was intolerable. I remembered now why I bought the car. The 225 hp engine was something I had to have. When I stomped on the gas pedal, the car’s reaction was the same as spurring a horse in the flanks. It was the thrill of the burst of speed that I had to have to remind me of herding and cutting cattle. Quick cuts and turns came fast and furious as I hit 80 MPH. In record time, I rammed my way into the exit ramp and almost plowed into a pick-up truck idly moving in the lane. Dumb rancher, I thought to myself. Get the hell out of the way. With a quick turn to the right and then left, I cleared the truck and saw the fellow flip me the bird but now I was faced with a red light. Slowing enough to see that traffic was clear, I launched my thoroughbred into the right-turn traffic lane. My home street could not come into sight quick enough.

Cutting the corner at a high rate of speed, I almost slammed into an oncoming car. Another flipped bird and a yell revealed the anger and cursing of the man behind the wheel. The Mustang came to a neck-snapping stop, missing the garage doors by a gnat’s breath. I jumped out of the car quickly, but had to return to the car to get my keys from the ignition. The engine shut down with a growl as I turned the keys and jerked them from the dashboard. Fingering for the front door key and finding it, I attempted to turn the lock but to no avail. Thoroughly frustrated now, my anger turned from red to white hot. When I feverously rang the doorbell, there was no answer but I knew Mary was at home, as it was not time for her to leave the house. With a forceful kick, the door slammed into the wall hard enough to break the baseboard and punch a hole in the sheet rock. Yelling for her and dashing from room to room, I became more infuriated with her not answering. Finally, a feeble voice came from the master bathroom upstairs, I’m in here, Mary coyly sang out, but bracing for the storm that was about to hit. I realized that his sudden appearance meant that he had received the Petition for Divorce. I was still putting the finishing touches on my makeup. As he appeared in the mirror, I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. I could feel his anger on the back of my neck as he approached. This was no time to be coy or cute. The vessels swollen in his neck were something I had never seen before as I stared at him in the mirror. It’s best to let him rant and rave, assuring myself that he had never hit me in his anger. We had had many fights in the past, but this anger was roiling with sediments of fury I had never experienced. Stay cool, I whispered to myself.

What the hell does this mean? Mark shouted, shaking the paper behind my head.

It means what it says. I’m filing for divorce, as I calmly continued putting on my makeup trying desperately to ignore his fury.

You didn’t have the guts to tell me face to face? Did you think you would get away with this without a fight?

There is no need for a fight over this. All you have to do is agree to it.

Agree to it. Why? Woman, I have loved you with a passion you don’t know. As I heard my own words, I flashed back to our days before marriage. Carefree, loving, and tender were poor words to describe my love for her. I longed for this woman as a deer satisfying its thirst from a cool spring, a love deeply engraved in granite. The moment I first met her, I fell in love immediately, though it was weeks before I introduced myself and asked for a date. But now? Who was this woman standing before me—the woman to whom I had committed myself so completely? I choked, but managed, What about the boys? Do you think you are going to get the boys also without a fight?"

We’re in South Dakota. The mother always gets the kids. Besides, you don’t have time to take care of them. Immediately, I recognized the poor choice of words and wished I could take them back. Mark spent more time with the boys than most husbands and certainly more than I. I recognized the good life Mark had provided me and the boys, but rarely expressed any gratitude to him. Too late now, this would only anger him more, but he interrupted me immediately, Oh, and you stay at home with them now and help them with homework and cook their meals? You know damn well that I do that when I get home. We even have to wait for you to get home almost every evening. We’ll see about who is the best parent. Where are they anyway? You were supposed to drop them off at school.

Tony took them for me. Now, I made the second really fatal mistake. I realized immediately that he had no idea that I was having an affair. Poor rancher, I thought to myself. That comment really cut him deep.

Who the hell is Tony and what the hell is he doing with my boys? screaming now and allowing my anger to rise unabated to a rolling boil.

Tony is the guy I’ve been seeing and he loves the boys.

Oh? Great! Mary, I’m stunned. You say this guy, Tony, loves my boys, and you don’t think I do? I was now numb with pain. A headache threatened to burst my temples. Could this be the woman I so loved that she spurned me for another man? Have I not done enough to demonstrate my love for this woman? I always gave her flowers for surprises now and always with a card expressing my love to her in my own composed words. Trips on each anniversary? Tender passionate love making? Where did I fail to communicate my love? I began experiencing a doubt that I never thought I could have. My mind searched for answers but I could only find one. Had I failed daily to communicate tenderness to her?

I tried as best I knew how not to anger him further. But I slipped again, thinking that the words would comfort him knowing that the boys would be in good hands, Not the way Tony does. He really loves those boys, especially Denny.

Mary, do you have any idea what you are saying? This Tony loves the boys more than I? Give me a break. Now settling down a bit, I asked in complete caring tones, Do you really think it is right to expose the boys to your lover? Denny is only six years old. He is too little to be hanging out with someone who is not his father. He is also old enough to know that you are screwing another man. Do you really think the boys don’t know what’s going on? You probably have coached them to say nothing to me. I reached and grabbed my head as I could hardly stand the drumming headache that rushed into my brain with the fury of a thunder storm. I realized I had to get out of this conversation before I burst into rage. All I could hear were words of an inauthentic woman who could care less about me or the children. It cut deeply and I was at a breaking point, almost in tears. But before I could walk away, Mary turned to me with hands on hips and with the full drive of sass drove a sword deep into my soul.

Well, Lenny likes him too. Tony gives those boys whatever they want and then some.

That’s it. I’ve heard enough, throwing the petition in her face. I took more than a bit of pleasure knowing that she couldn’t duck quickly enough as it smudged the mascara on her left eye as it flew by. Vainly, she turned to the mirror. Raising her chin, she appraised the damage I inflicted. She reached for the mascara and quickly repaired the damage smiling at me as if nothing had happened. She rushed down the stairs and slung her purse over her shoulder. Hopping on one foot she was able to put her right shoe on just before she got to the front door. The damage to the front door caught her attention but she chose to ignore it, realizing if she did, she didn’t want to reflect on how deeply she had hurt me. The realization finally did hit her. I could hear her say, Jesus is he mad. Whispering to herself she prayed, Please God don’t let Mark see Tony, as she raced across the sidewalk to the driveway.

I couldn’t get out of the house quick enough. When I slammed the front door behind me, it bounced back open. Bounding to the car I slid behind the wheel of the car, simultaneously pulling out my cell phone, flipping it open, and punching numbers feverously, Come on answer, I whispered to myself.

Finally! Allen! This is Mark. I need a big favor. You remember your friend who got a divorce about a year ago?

Yeah? What about it?

You said that his lawyer advised him to take everything out of the house before the divorce.

Yeah! That’s what his lawyer advised him to do. He was told to move out lock, stock, and barrel and then fuss about it later. Why? What the hell is happening?

Mary has filed for a divorce. She’s been seeing someone named Tony. I’ll tell you as much as I can later. Tell Mr. Phillips that I need your help, then go and rent the largest truck you can drive. Make sure that it has a trailer hitch and tow bar on it so that I can tow the Mustang. We’re going to pack up lock, stock, and barrel and fuss about it later. Oh, and get plenty of boxes and packing paper to pack in. I’ll pay you as soon as we’re finished.

But Mark . . .

‘No buts about it—just do as I’m asking you and get the hell over here now." I rudely snapped the cover on the cell phone.

A car pulled into the driveway behind me, and the guy just sat there staring at me. Immediately, Mary jumped into the passenger seat. She leaned over, kissed him, and then looked directly at me sarcastically. Seeing this, I got out of the car and started toward the Camry, with every intent of beating the hell out of him for messing with my family. The guy jammed it into reverse and sped away as I grabbed for the door knob. As the car vanished down the street I screamed at him, I better never catch you with my wife or children again.

Who the hell was that?

Oh! Him? That’s my husband, Tony.

He’s supposed to be at work. What’s he doing here?

He got the petition for divorce I filed, Mary laughed, thinking Tony would be pleased to hear this.

He got what? Tony was now completely shocked. He tried to remain calm and allowed her to go on.

I filed for divorce so that we can get married.

Hearing that reply, Tony slammed on the brakes and loosened his seat belt, turned to her and asked, Who the hell said anything about marriage, Mary? I’m still married and have three children, and I don’t want to divorce my wife. It would be way too messy for me. You’re married also and have two sons. Are you out of your mind? I thought we were just together for the good ride, not marriage. You know that two people can love each other and not get married. Besides, we have been very discreet about this affair and neither of our spouses knew anything about what is going on, at least until now. Yes, we did talk about marriage jokingly, but that was in the abstract.

Did you think all that sex was free? Besides, you love me and like the boys.

Yeah, the sex is great and I love you and the boys, but that’s all there is. Marriage is out of the question.

You mean to tell me you never had any intention to marry me? We both love each other and we talked about this. For weeks now, I have operated under the impression that our conversations about marriage were serious. I am stunned to hear this. How in the world could I have misread your intentions? Do you think this is some kind of a joke?

Not on your life, and that’s the end of the discussion.

I re-fastened my seatbelt, pulled away from the curb, and did not say another word. Mary asked a question or two about our relationship but I never even looked at her or grunted a yes or no. When I pulled up to her office building, I sat still staring straight ahead, waiting for her to get out of the car. Mary attempted to kiss me but I turned my head away from her and looked out the driver’s side window. She received the rejection loud and clear and, for now, she apparently thought it best just to go to the office. Besides, it was a little past nine and her boss did not tolerate her being late. She got out of the car and closed the door quietly not knowing what else to do. Although quite angry, she obviously did not want to make a scene in public, slamming the door. I took my foot off the brake and eased into traffic. I wondered in bewilderment what in the world she was thinking. This is the last I would see of Mary. At least that was what I thought.

As I watched the Camry disappear around the corner my anger began to well up within me. How could I have been so stupid? Surely, there had to have been signs or even signals that things were going badly with our marriage. Maybe all those late evenings at the gym? I slumped into the Mustang, slamming my forehead repeatedly against the steering wheel. I honked the horn furiously, in rapid-fire succession. Slowly regaining my composure and raising my head, I looked up to see Tasha, my next door neighbor peering into the passenger side window. I waved at her with a gesture and a weak smile that offered her some assurance that things were okay. Before she turned I managed a strained but friendly smile. I lowered the window, Tasha things are okay. Mary and I just had a little spat. As she walked back toward her house. I fell back into the seat. My mind began racing. I thought that life had been pretty good up until now. But as the thoughts raced through my brain I slowly came to the realization that things really were not all that great in my life.

I was raised on a ranch and always had difficulty adjusting to the city. Wide open spaces, cattle and horses is what I missed every since I enrolled in college. In spite of the fact that I did very well at the University, and landed a great job as a computer programmer, I never really could get comfortable in my surroundings. I daydreamed often of the bone chilling mornings and hot summer days when I had to do chores before going to grade school and high school in Hot Springs. So many times my father labored with me side by side, always coaching me on new tasks. Over the years, a deep bond of trust and love developed between us. When finished, dad and I would return to the kitchen and eat a manly breakfast. These breakfasts were always special. Steak and eggs were common. My favorite breakfast was hot pancakes covered with heaping mounds of fresh butter and maple syrup. My mother would always lecture me about the huge mounds of butter, but never attempted to curb my appetite in her chidings. Mom and dad would go over the days’ events as I ate; each day had a purpose and a meaning. The days always varied but the weather or season could never interrupt the daily ranch chores. Cattle and horses had to be checked on regularly to guarantee their health and safety. During blizzards this was never a fun chore. Herds had to be found to ensure they were not cornered in fence lines and freeze or smother to death huddling against each other for warmth. I remembered one particularly bad storm. Dad had taken the pick up to check on the herd. When I returned from school that afternoon, snow was still blowing and drifting. Mom was worried sick because nightfall was less than an hour away. When she asked me to go and try to find dad I felt sharp pains of dread in my midsection. Regardless of the consequences, I had to go; no one could ever be left out in a serious storm. Furiously I gathered a survival bag. This consisted of blankets, candles, some canned goods and a large search light. I stomped through the drifts already accumulated between the house and barn. The old Dodge four wheel tandem truck was as reluctant to start as I was to leave. After several cranks of the starter, the diesel engine grunted and belched huge smutty black clouds from the muffler and upright smoke stack. The engine idled lazily for awhile, and groaned when I put it in reverse, reluctant to move. Even as the truck began to move, the diesel engine hesitated and belched again, as if to tell me this was no storm to challenge and surely it was not fit for man or beast to think otherwise. I got stuck in the first drift, having forgotten to engage the four wheel drive. Pulling the four wheel lever back, I raced the engine against its will and reversed through the drift. The engine hesitated again, gave another huge belch of black smut and groaned against spinning tires, reluctantly backing out of the drift. I only pushed the engine harder with a heavy right footed stomp on the gas pedal. Clearing the drift, I forcefully rammed it into first gear to lunge forward so angrily that I in went into a skid barely missing the barn. After clearing the barn I eased off the pedal and put it in second gear. The truck now knew this was serious business and began behaving as it should, moving forward with a determined pace. I knew the trails that dad likely would follow to search for the herd. Even the truck sensed the familiarity of paths driven many times, and obediently obeyed each turn of the steering wheel.

I searched all the familiar places and found nothing. Darkness was settling in and I knew further efforts were in vain. On the way back to the house I traversed different trails just to make sure dad may have taken a different trail home. Several times the truck would falter on the deepening drifts. My only answer was to back up and build up sufficient forward speed to plow through the heavier drifts. The truck knew what had to be done and obediently plowed through each drift. It even seemed to express its pride with a deep sigh of the engine as if to relax.

Mom had been impatiently watching for either truck to return to the barn. When she spotted headlights approaching from the pasture, she grabbed her heavy jacket and gloves and waited in the blowing snow outside the barn. I arrived with tires spinning all over the barnyard. As I slowed to pull into the barn mom jumped on the running board, hanging on to the rear view mirror and began asking about dad. I had no good news. Dad was still out there. It would not be the first time, nor would it be the last, that he had to spend a night in the truck during a blizzard. The knowledge of him always coming home safely in the past, however, did not comfort my mom. As we went into the house I explained where I had looked and she agreed that I had looked in the most likely places. The warmth of the house soon took the chill of the night off both of us as we took off our coats and hung them on the familiar pegs next to the door. Mom went to the kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee knowing that it would be the first thing dad would ask for. Nor would it be the last pot of coffee she made as she and I stood vigil all night. The agonizing wait did not end until well after noon the next day. School had been cancelled and mom and I rushed to meet dad when he pulled into the barnyard, cheerfully tapping the horn of his truck. He unfolded himself from the truck seat and kissed his mom and hugged her closely whispering that everything was all right. He allowed that he might lose a few head of cattle as he continued talking quietly to his mom. Inside the kitchen, he sat at the table. His mom served him a cup of coffee. He drank a sip or two and then began to explain what happened.

He had pulled into the large Cottonwood grove to have a drink of coffee from his thermos. Little did he realize that the bump he felt as he pulled into the grove was a large dead limb buried in the snow. As he pulled through the bump, the branch was large enough to lift the left rear wheel off the ground. As it was already dark he didn’t wish to fool with it but instead prepared to spend the night in the truck protected by the large trees. It took him a couple of hours that morning to free the truck. He cleared the snow and jacked the truck off the ground high enough to pull out the branch from underneath the truck. After that he allowed that he drove for awhile, still checking on the cattle. I had wished that this would be the last time this ever occurred but South Dakota winters have a way a teaching the same lessons repeatedly, as if one would forget what had already been learned.

Summers were special, as I could lay in bed awhile and enjoy the lazy breezes caressing my body before I had to get out of bed. It seemed to me now that I raced through my teens. I smiled as I remembered imagining a beautiful woman folded unto my chest sleeping beside me. I would gently rub her imaginary face, kiss her and hold her tight as she continued to sleep. I often thanked God that the pillow could not tell of my fanciful sexually oriented daydreaming. The noise in the kitchen though would always slap me back to