Season TWO – Episode 4 – “In too deep.”  

6:02am… The sharded Willys Jeep Wrangler 4X clamored its way through the gates of the Gold Rope Ranch as a first-rate Montana sunrise percolated in the rearview mirror. Rusty, Sally, and River Jon made their final approach… Silent… Steaming… Emotions spinning… The weary travelers (mainly Rusty) were IN TOO DEEP to dare break the quiet among them.

The rear passenger tire, but a distant and not-so-fond memory, was somewhere back in sage country. A handy-man jack (no longer handy) was wrapped like a salty pretzel around the frame of the Jeep. As the vehicle crept along, the impending length of the jack stand sounded off with an incessant grinding, that continuously worked against the side of the cab… Wearing off both paint and metal.

At this point… There were no sparks between Rusty Flathers and Sally Squatsnfishes. The only flashes were coming from the Jeep, when the jack would lose its positioning and find its way to a more precarious position against the tireless, chrome plated rim. There, now you have sparks!

At long last, the Willys came to rest at the main lodge of the ranch… Sally quickly excused herself and headed for the main office to register. “Professional, Sally. Professional, Sally,” she coached over and over, igniting her core fashion model momentum for the day.

Rusty glared to the back seat as River Jon had also quickly escaped… Unseen by “someone” (potentially the boss man) making a cowboy-gated-saunter toward the new arrivals.

“Damn snake just slithered off…” Rusty thought. “I’ll catch up with you later River Jon.”

     “Hello sir! Welcome to the Gold Rope Ranch,” beamed a broad-shouldered man announcing himself as Ron Heimberg (Jewish Financier). “I’m one of the partners here at the ranch… Super excited to meet Ms. Squatsnfishes… Are you her personal assistant?”

     “Um… Well… Sorta… I’m Rusty Flathers. Thanks for having us. Sally’s inside getting checked in.”

     “Great. Let me help with the luggage and we’ll get you going in the right direction,” obliged Mr. Heimberg. “Sounds like the film crew is anxious to get started.”

Mechanically grinding… Rusty exited the Jeep by perching on the running board, stretching his weary sole… and then dismounting ass over tea kettle with a proper face plant.

Fortunately… By clipping the top side of his front foot inside the crease, between the Jeep and the running board, he was able to carry the momentum of the tumble into a more formal log roll… As he hit the dirt face first.

Many youthful summer hours, near Rabbit Lake Park, had been spent perfecting the intricacies of the “log roll”. So much so, Rusty had once taken a blue ribbon at the county fair. His friend and fierce competitor Axel (log rolling perfectionist) had collided with a stump near the finish line… Thus, paving the way to his blemished victory. There was forever an asterisk next to his name in the record books.

It was one-hundred-thirteen-yards down the lakeside hill.  Incredible amounts of speed were built with the rolling-rolling-rolling. Unfortunately, the accident drew more attention than the victory.

Axel (later nick-named Stumpy) was carted away to the county emergency… Treated for bumps and bruises… And then had a rectangular metal plate implanted into the forefront of his cranium.

There were future travel issues with metal detectors at airports… He would never competitively log roll again… But Stumpy eventually got his wits about him and wrote a collegiate thesis on the art of log rolling.

In addition… He went on to TEACH first responders the effectiveness of log rolling (made $$$ loads) as a means for the “STOP-DROP-AND-ROLL” procedure… Thus, saving millions of students’ lives, who were in constant threat of catching on fire.

“Mon-funckin-tana” Rustly grumbled… Picking himself up and dusting himself off. “Welcome to the Gold Rope Ranch.”

Ten suitcases later, strategically mounted on the back of a stout thoroughbred pack horse, they made their way toward the entry as Sally bounced out the door and down the steps. “Here she comes,” motioned Rusty.

     “You must get in here and see this magnificent lodge. Absolutely breathtaking,” as she approached. “And you must be Mr. Heimberg?” Sally queried.

     “Yes ma’am… But please, call me Heim. We’re all about faith, family, and ranchin’ here at the Gold Rope.”

     “Wonderful!” she replied… “Rusty, let’s go. I told them inside, that you’d take care of all the luggage. We have two rooms on the top floor (three full flights of grand lodge steps) overlooking the veranda.

   “Yes, wonderful,” Rusty agreed under his breath. “Too bad they didn’t have an eight floor.”

Sally and Heim made their way toward the breakfast dining hall, while WHO NEEDS COFFEE ANYWAY Rusty ventured into the lodge and approached the main desk in the lobby. Standing behind the counter, with her back to him, was a tall athletic build of a woman.

Her long-straight-natural-flowing blonde hair fell mid-length, toward the small of her back.  She stood promptly on two-inch boot heals and was cutely outfitted in a modern-day cowgirl stye that stated, “I belong in the west.” From behind… With her hourglass figure… Short of the blonde hair… She could have doubled for a stand-in, for a Sally Squatsnfishes outdoor photo shoot!

With tired eyes pried open with toothpicks, he inhaled the presence of this natural beauty. There was a sixth sense (goose bumps on his forearms) potentially indicating more to the eye than what one could see.

Quietly clearing his throat, he cautiously ticked the bell on the counter. Then… He instantly forgot how to breath.

As the woman casually turned to face Rusty… He hit the hardwood floor and collapsed in a pile before she could say, “How may I help you sir?”

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark. He came to, scratching the sleep from his eyes… Slowly regaining consciousness. 

“Is it day? Is it night? How long have I been out?” questioned Rusty.

And MORE importantly… Was that Ellie FRICKEN Waylayer that I just bumped into… A woman ten thousand miles from nowhere… THE woman ten years removed from my amazing (one and only) high school summer romance! It couldn’t be!

In hyper-speed a tidewater of memories hit Rusty more like a tsunami. Post grad senior high school summer… Jensen’s quarry… A flirty blonde and breasty Ellie Waylayer (#SmokeShow) choosing HIM from a crowd of would-be courters. And then… An all-ensuing and all-so-innocent teenage romance.

It was apple pie and ice cream: Endless summer nights with beaches and roaring campfires… Infinite summer days walking wooded trails and holding hands… Never-ending summer mornings with fishing adventures…

Rusty and Ellie had become inseparable for days… Carrying on with the harmony of cicadas sounding off across the region. Their entire scene had been completely, utterly, and unforgettably magical. And then one day it ended.

Rusty packed his bags and headed to East Jesus University to study fisheries biology under the tutelage of Professor Cosmoid Scale. Ellie chose westward, landing in Boseman at Montana State University. She earned an athletic scholarship for volleyball and complimented it with an academic scholarship (high school valedictorian) to be applied toward a Hospitality and Tourism degree.

Neither regretted their decision, nor held ill manner toward the other. It was a mutual parting of ways… One that led them geographically and passionately in opposite directions.

A gentle knock at the door… “Uh-Yeah-Sorry-Who is it?” Rusty sounded off in reply.

     “Mister Flathers, this is Geoff Loonsuckle (Railroad Transportation Mogul)… Co-owner of the ranch with Heim… The two of you met earlier today… He wanted me to stop and check on you. Is everything OK sir?”

     “Uh… Yeah… Come on in. (And potentially keep me from losing my mind!)”

Geoff entered… Flicking on the overhead light… Rusty remained vertical from sleep deprivation, shock and disbelief.

If this WAS Ellie Waylayer… HERE at the Gold Rope Ranch… Bless his sole, he was IN TOO DEEP.

–            To Be Continued –