Chapter 2
Jorge
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Other than indicatinga wrong turn into a pasture, the GPS in my truck takes me directly to the Turquoise Creek Ranch. I decided to drive from the east coast and use the time to consider the direction of my future. I’ve hosted a variety of outdoor renovation and pool design shows and I need a change.
Dios, I’ve been doing this for half my life. No wonder the routine and network backstabbing is getting to me. I’ve made good investments so I can retire and do whatever I want.
I just don’t know what that is.
I pull over to the side of the road just inside the large ranch gateway sign and study the land spread out before me. I’ve done some research on the Nebraska Sandhills as groundwork for the show but wasn’t prepared for the beauty of the softly rolling hills covered with long rows of crops and open grassy prairies. The clear blue sky and distant ranch buildings feel more like home than most places I’ve been.
Despite my concerns over working with an up and coming designer, I sense this will be a good shoot, resulting in excellent ratings for the network. After the trouble I got into early in my hosting days nearly ended my career, I wouldn’t mind leaving the network in good standing. This might just be the time to finally move on.
Letting my future concerns fade, I follow the curving road into a shallow valley and the ranch’s main buildings. Two houses, one a traditional farm house, the other a newer mid-century modern sit close together. A huge barn with corrals on both sides sits across the wide drive. Further on are the newest buildings built in a style that feels both modern and traditional.
Interesting place. The documentation I was given states the ranch raises quality horses with sought after bloodlines. Recently, they’ve added vineyards and a winery that will soon be open to the public. There’s been a few guest houses built in anticipation of becoming a ‘destination’.
Exiting my truck I lift my sunglasses and squint toward the small buildings. I’m here to add a custom designed pool to the offerings. We’re here. I’ve got to remember I’m part of a team this time around.
“Hey, welcome to Turquoise Creek Ranch.”
I turn at the friendly welcome. The woman striding toward me wears worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and a wide grin. She holds out her hand. “I’m Alice Wilson.”
“Jorge Chavez. Nice to meet you.” Her handshake is firm, her smile genuine. “Thank you for allowing me to show up a few days early.”
“Not a problem. I like to get settled in early, too. You’re the first here although others are planning to show up in the next couple of days. You and your co-host are set to stay in the guest houses. We’ve put the director and some of the crew up the road where we’ve got empty ranch hand apartments. The rest have to make the drive to and from town.”
Although a knot tightens in my stomach at the mention of how soon others will be showing up, I hide my disappointment behind a smile. I would have liked being alone a bit longer. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
She laughs and the sound lightens my mood. “I’m a fantastic organizer—or so I’ve been told by my brother and husband often enough. This operation wouldn’t be where it is today if I wasn’t. And I love the challenges.”
“I drove straight through from the coast and I’m beat.” An understatement. I’ve been on the road for over seventeen hours. When I was younger, this wouldn’t have been an issue. Now every muscle aches from inactivity.
“Say no more. You’re in the first small building past the winery. Left hand door.” She digs in her jeans pocket and hands me a large, old-fashioned key. “Your key. I’ve got catering set up once filming starts, but nothing until then. We’d love to have you join us for supper tonight.”
The thought is tempting, but stretching out for a long sleep is even better. “Can I have a raincheck? I just need sleep right now.”
“Of course. You’re welcome anytime. There are some snacks in the room to tide you over. If you’re up, breakfast is at seven. Tomorrow’s...” she pauses and glances to one side in thought. “Oh, yeah, Thursday. Pancake day.”
“Tempting.”
“Great, see you in the morning. You can meet the rest of the family then. You’ve got my number, so if you need anything, just call or text. Have a good night, Jorge.”
Like a whirlwind, she’s off in another direction, heading for a fenced area and an interested bunch of small goats. Looks like there’s a lot of things going on here. I’m certain nothing happens on the ranch she doesn’t know about so she has everything under control.
I park my truck beside my designated home for the next few weeks and study the small building. An interesting combination of farmhouse and Victorian, it somehow fits into the mishmash of architecture of the ranch. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Inside the space is decorated with comfort in mind. The bedroom is separate from a living and working area with a small desk. A short counter holds a—thank god—full sized coffee maker, microwave, and a basket of assorted snacks. A miniature fridge holds water and a variety of sodas. I’m set for the evening.
Grabbing a packet of fig cookies and a bottle of water, I take my bags to the bedroom. These folks are doing it right. The king size bed calls to me. First a shower in the luxurious bathroom. Ten minutes later, I crawl naked between the sheets, munch on a cookie, down half the water, hope whoever eventually occupies the attached unit isn’t a late night partier, and close my eyes.
The sun is just cresting the eastern horizon and streaming through a window into my eyes when I wake. With time to spare, I walk down to the main buildings and am welcomed by a young boy and girl. After they introduce themselves as Alice’s kids, they grab my hands and tug me inside for a huge breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs.
The time with such a loving and close family triggers an unusual longing in my chest. Mierda, I’m getting maudlin in my old age. I gave up any thoughts of love and family long ago. After witnessing the public airing of a friend’s failed relationship, I’ve steered clear of entanglements. Been a lonely life at times but easier in the long run.
I join Micah, the ranch owner, at the corral fence to watch one of his hands lead a saddled horse in a circle while holding his tiny daughter in his arms. If I believed such things, I’d think fate or some vindictive karma’s out to mess with my life. I don’t want what I don’t have. I’m good alone.
Alice joins us but before we set out to the proposed swimming pool site, her phone rings. She moves away to answer but as she talks, she’s having a difficult time keeping from laughing. Joining us again, she calls out to the man in the corral.
“Hey Brody, do me a favor?”
Leading the horse, he joins us. “Sure. What ya need?”
“Would you ride up to the gate and watch for a red SUV? Direct them here?”
The man laughs and slips the reins over the horse’s head. “Tell Meghan we’ll be right back.”
With an easy grace he mounts while still cradling his daughter. Micah opens the gate and he urges the animal into a trot. The girl’s sweet giggles carry back to us through the still air.
Micah turns to his sister. “What’s all this about?”
She watches me while she answers. “Seems our other host has driven past the gate numerous times but just can’t seem to see where to turn.”
The other host? Ah, pinche. She’s here.