gently stroked his father’s leathery hands, and tenderly rubbed the square, stubbled cheek. Memories came flooding back of special times he’d spent with the man who now lay so still and gaunt upon the bed beside him. Up until the cancer, Robert Johns had been a robust, big-hearted, hard-working, loving parent entirely devoted to three things: his son, his ranch, and enjoying life. He preached his philosophy of life by example: work hard, but when it’s done, you get to play. In his book, both were equal ingredients in the recipe for happiness.
Robert Johns lost his wife when Michael was still a little fellow and spent the rest of his life in her sorely-felt absence determined to provide the best he could for his son. That included giving his all to the hard, day-after-day labor to build up a well-run, profitable dairy ranch his boy would someday inherit.
Michael learned at his father’s side the value of sweat and toil, but also to make every spare minute away from it count just as much. “Ya better like what ya do, son,” he heard his father say a hundred times, “because you’re gonna spend most your life doin’ it. But remember,” he would add with a grin, “work’s the thing we do to support our fun habit.”
While growing up, Michael was never far from his father’s heels and his father, in turn, spent every moment he could spare with his boy. There had been fishing trips every weekend in summer, hunting trips every fall and, in winter, they never missed a chance to take out the snowmobiles. Oh, if Michael had a dollar for every time they rode horses up the canyon to pick chokecherries for jelly and syrup! If he could have a dime for every time they chopped wood, practiced lasso tricks, or roasted wieners over a campfire! How he yearned for one more hike together to some lake hidden high in the peace and solitude of the Salt River Range, to spend the day telling jokes, singing old songs passed down from father to son since the days of Robert’s grandfather, or just plain lying back against a tree watching the clouds change shape.
It had been hard to move back to the ranch after three years of college in Laramie. But when your dad tells you he has colon cancer and needs your help, you come. The past seven months had been torture, watching his once-tanned and healthy parent waste away to nothing. In the end, all he had left was his pride in a life well-lived, a ranch well-tended and a son well-raised. If there was ever a good life lived, Robert Johns was the man who lived it.
Michael, suddenly overcome, put his head in his hands and wept. He cried a long while in that quiet room, mourning a good parent’s love bitterly lost and feeling keenly the silent emptiness in the room.
Gradually, the sobs subsided. Michael lifted his head and roughly wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.
“It was a long time coming, Dad,” he whispered, looking down at the face he loved so well, “but you’re free now. No more pain. No more grinding your teeth because you can't lend a hand. You look peaceful. You should. You deserve your rest. Go tie up a fly and find a big rainbow waiting for you under the riffles in God’s river. He knows how well you earned it.”
Michael attempted a feeble smile. “Don't worry about me. You know I'll be all right. You taught me all I need to know. Whatever happens, whatever I become, if it turns out good, it'll be because of you.”
The ache arose again. He had known the end was coming, but God Almighty, he wasn't ready for it yet. There was so much left unsaid between them that he felt strangely compelled to say it now. Who knew? Maybe his father’s soul was still close by enough to hear. For this reason, he continued talking aloud, hoping his father would somehow hear.
“We made quite a team all these years, didn't we? We can be right proud of this place. Prettiest little dairy ranch in Star Valley. There are a lot of people besides me who’d say so.
“Dad, I have to let it go. This ranch was your dream, not mine. I don't know what's out there waiting for me on the other side of these hills, but something in my gut says I'm supposed to find out. Now that you’re gone, there’s no reason for me to stay here. I want to make my own life my own way. Got to find out why the heck I’m on this planet.”
Michael pulled the faded Indian blanket up to his father’s chest and brushed back a few wisps of gray-streaked hair from the forehead, now full of peace and unfurrowed. He sat back, gazing at the man in the bed, slowly coming to realize that the ordeal was really over. In the first hours of that yet-unborn day, Michael Johns had held close the face of both life and death. It seemed a long mile of barbed-wire eternity between the two.
“I hear the cows bawling, Dad,” he said. “It’s four- thirty. The Grover boys will be here any minute to help with the milking. By the way, I'm going to call their dad this morning and we'll get the funeral set up. We'll do it simple, the way you'd like.”
He stood to go, got as far as the door, and stopped. “Uh, Dad? Be sure to stop by the barn and see Becky's new calf. She's a beauty.”
With that said, Michael Johns turned and walked out of the room, closing the door on all the certainty he had ever known.
2
A MIND LIKE THAT
Dr. James Omega stood outside the impressive cherry wood doors to the conference room, straightening his tie and stroking every whisker of his beard in place. He knew full well the outcome of the meeting ahead. Of course, he would be offered the position. Nevertheless, he wanted to make a good first impression on the people with whom he would soon be rubbing shoulders.
Dean Hyden, standing beside him, assured him for the tenth time how excited everyone was to meet him and how honored they were to have his application in hand. Omega thanked him and politely encouraged, “I look forward to meeting the committee. Shall we go in?”
“Of course, of course!” Hyden beamed and opened the doors.
Every person turned to stare as he entered the room with Dean Hyden whispering something into his ear. They rose from their seats in unison as if yanked up by a magnet. Despite their eagerness, Omega could sense the intense scrutiny being directed at him from this group as each professor’s eyes met his.
Hopefully, he seemed human enough. He was probably a bit leaner than they expected, most people having told him television puts on pounds. Personally, he liked to think of himself as fit, not scrawny. He had taken care to tie back his shoulder-length, white hair at the nape of his neck with a black satin ribbon. It complemented his gray-streaked beard, which was short and immaculately trimmed. He held his chin high, exuding a poise he hoped demonstrated a keen observance of his surroundings rather than arrogance. He knew himself older than most expected, and was quietly amused as he saw their faces reacting to it. Just what is his age, they were undoubtedly wondering—-sixty? A well preserved seventy? On that point, with his trim build, straight posture and the confident stride with which he now approached them, he hoped to keep them guessing.
With Dean Hyden at his elbow, Omega approached the front end of the table, nodded to the professors and waited politely for an introduction.
“Doctor Omega, welcome to Colorado State University,” Dean Hyden began. “May I begin introductions with Dr. Annie Groff, specialist in avian zoology, and our Biology Department Chair.” He gestured across the table.
Omega immediately left his place at the Dean’s side and went straight to the woman’s chair, sticking out his hand.
“Doctor Groff! If I am not mistaken, you and I have already met,” Omega commented with a wide smile, shaking her hand enthusiastically. “Three
