I was suddenly awake, and covered in a cold sweat. I guess I had "The Nightmare" again but couldn't remember it. I guess talking to the "doc" had helped.
I knew I couldn't go back to sleep yet. The nightmare would only return.
I looked over at the alarm clock. It was 4:30 am. Almost time to get up anyway, so I might as well get dressed. Running a ranch started early in the morning and lasted late into the night. But I loved it.
I had 535,000 acres in the foot hills of the Rockies. My nearest neighbor was 50 miles in any direction. I'm sure of that fact because that is as far in any direction a person needs to travel to get to my property lines from the ranch house.
I went into my bathroom, shaved, showered and returned to my bedroom to dress. When I got all done, I looked like your typical cowboy. I was 40 years old, my hair had turned mostly grey, and my weight got down to 200 lbs from 260 lbs due to all the hard work on the ranch. My face had taken on a weathered look from the sun and the wind. Some of the women I had dated said I was really good looking in a rugged sort of way. I no longer resembled the man who arrived from back east 10 years ago.
Hell I didn't even resemble my Italian roots anymore.
But I was still alone. I just couldn't bring myself to get close to any of the available women.
Now that's not to say I didn't go into town to relive sexual tension. But I never found a woman I wanted to go farther with.
One of my ranch hands once told me, "If you wake up with the same hard-on you had a week ago, it's time to go to town." So I practiced what he preached. It served my needs. As I got older, the time between trips increased.
But I guess that happens to every guy.
I made coffee and took a cup into my office. I was planning on starting my day a little early. I flipped on a TV and tuned to a national news network.
I love my satellite dish. It allowed me to keep in touch with the world while still enjoying rural living, and besides my Dude Ranch Guests went into withdrawal without it.
This was a working ranch. We had herds of beef cattle; we bred horses, sheep and even a buffalo or two. After I had lived here about 5 years, one day a small family drove up my driveway pulling their travel trailer.
They asked if they could camp out on my property.
They scored a lot of points with me by just stopping to ask. Most people (inconsiderate bastards that they are) just set up camp without asking. I usually had to send one of my hands to tell them to leave.
I really don't know why I said "OK". Maybe it was the fact that they had stopped to ask, maybe it was the look of hope in their son's eyes, or maybe it was just the fact I had a good breakfast.
Whatever it was, I sent one of the hands to help them pick out a good spot that was near the stream and under the trees, but close enough to the main part of the ranch that electric, water, and the bathrooms were close enough to be usable.
Early that evening there was a knock on my front door. There was the son standing there with a huge platter of cookies.
He held them out to me and said," Thank you for letting us stay on your land. It's really nice here." I noticed his father standing in the shadows with a flashlight, for all intensive purposes, a proud father watching his son become a man.
The boy then went on to explain that his mother made the best cookies in the world and pointed out his favorites. I raised my voice so the father could hear me, thanked the boy, and invited both of them to join me for milk and cookies.
We had a good time; the little boy got me thinking about my own children.
It had been a long time since I had run away, never even taking the time to say goodbye.
The next morning I was working some of the horses in a corral near the main barn when I looked up and spotted the father and son watching me. I was due for a break so I rode over to the fence where they were standing. The boy immediately reached for the horse's head to "Pet" him. The horse I was on was a mean stallion that would bite anyone who got near enough.
I yelled at the boy not to touch. He jumped back and started to tear up. I really didn't mean to yell so loud at the boy and scare him.
I felt like a real jerk.
I got down off the horse, knelt down and explained to the boy about the horse biting and me not wanting him to get hurt. When I got all done, I got a hug from him.
I was feeling so bad, that I took him into the barn, and showed him a newly born colt that we didn't let outside yet. The mare was a pussy cat. She was as gentle as they came, so I let the youngster into the stall with them to touch the baby. He proceeded to ask me a million questions about the foal and her mother.
I guess I made a friend for life because every time for the next week, when I turned around the boy was right there next to me. The father apologized for his son's actions.
I said, "No problem, I enjoy the company".
As the week went on, I bonded with the kid. He was about the same age as my son. (My son lived back East, and I had not seen him in years.) I guessed the boy was filling a need I didn't know I had.
The little family stayed for a week. During that short period of time the boy managed to win over all the ranch hands that met him. We were all sorry when they left.
That fall I decided to start a dude ranch with a family orientation. There wasn't a lot I had to do. My ranch had six cabins with electricity and running water. I set the boys to cleaning them up, adding water heaters and anything else they needed.
My main house was huge. The dining room would seat 30 people; the living room was just as big. I also had a library filled with books on Western history.
So I guess I was all set. We'd just "wing" the rest.
I put a small ad in a vacation magazine back East that catered to families. I got a bunch of replies and a couple of deposits.
Not exactly a great start, but it was something.
As the time for the first guests to arrive neared, I called a meeting with all my staff. We decided what the customers would do around the ranch, what horses were even tempered enough for them to ride. What chores the guests could and would be allowed to do, and what the menu would consist of.
We had even cleaned up an old wagon and outfitted it as a "chuck wagon". Our plan was to take them on an overnight "trail drive" so they could get the real "Old west" feeling.
It slowly took off. After a couple of years we were booked solid all summer long. It was nice to have all the families running around. It made the ranch seemed lived in.
One morning as I sat, sipping my coffee, I started thinking about how I ended up on the ranch. It was a long and twisted journey.
I was a bookkeeper for my Uncle Vito. I worked in a small office over one of his restaurants. You may not think a bookkeeper was major job, but my Uncle was the head of one of the largest crime families on the East coast. I was in charge of all his money, both legally earned and "other".
I was well respected within the "family." On that fateful day, we had a small kitchen fire and evacuated the building. Since I couldn't work, I went home. The garage was open, so I just pulled in and walked into the side door.
The house was dead quiet.
I heard a slight noise coming from upstairs. For some reason, I grabbed my son's baseball bat from near the door, where he had left it, and went to investigate the noise.
I quietly snuck upstairs and walked into my bedroom, that's where all the noise was coming from. There was a site I'll never forget. I saw my naked wife riding a hard cock, and it wasn't mine. She was lost in the throes of ecstasy, begging to get fucked harder and harder.
Her eyes were closed and she was calling, "Tony make me cum again, I need it." My name was Sam.
I started across the bedroom toward them, when her lover turned his head and saw me. He looked at me and smirked. It was my enemy, Tony D'Amico, from another crime family. The look on his face, said it all. He was fucking my wife to humiliate me. He was rubbing my nose in it.
I really don't remember what happened next, but when the clouds of anger cleared, there was Tony lying in the bed with his head beaten to a pulp. I guess a 260 lbs guy with a baseball bat could do some serious damage.
He was dead.
My wife was on the floor, it looked as if I took the bat to her also, but she was still breathing.
I didn't know what to do next, so I called my cousin. He told me to calm down, get in my car and drive over to one of his businesses. He'd take care of the cleanup.
When I got to that business, I was put in a car and driven about 200-300 miles to the west where we changed cars and continued driving for the next two days.
We stayed in a small motel outside of Reno, Nevada for a couple of days.
I got my head straight there.
My handler explained that a cleanup crew, sent by my cousin, had made Tony's body disappear, and had tossed my wife down the grand staircase into the foyer. The crew wanted it to look as if she fell down them.
They then started the bedroom on fire to eliminate all sign of Tony's death.
The fire department found my wife at the foot of the stairs and assumed she had fallen down them trying to avoid the fire.
My wife's back had been broken when I had hit her with the baseball bat. The rough handling she received severed her spinal cord at the location of the break. She would not have any feeling from the waist down, she lost the use of both legs, and she lost all control of her bladder and bowels.
.... There is more of this story ...