Man Wanted in Cheyenne

By Richard McPherson

What makes a good man tick? And how can a sudden opportunity open our eyes and also blind us to its consequences?

Based on the award-winning short story by the same name, this new novel is set in the modern West, where cher

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unleash Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986274362

Richard McPherson

Richard C. McPherson's short stories and flash fiction range from mysteries to satire and have appeared in Living Springs' Anthology Through the Ages, the Black Fox Literary Journal, the Unleash Press 2022 Anthology Conversations, The Write Launch, Bright Flash Literary Review, and Moss Piglet. Man Wanted in Cheyenne is his first novel. He has provided communications consulting to many non-profit clients, helping generate support for the mission of NPR and PBS, the New York Public Library, the Juilliard School at Lincoln Center, the Center for Investigative Reporting, and women's rights organizations in the U.S., Europe, and Asia. He taught digital communications at New York University, Columbia, and UCLA, and lives on California's Central Coast with his wife Heidi, and dogs Bucky and Biscuit. His website is richardcmcpherson.com.

Book preview

Part 1: Nevada

Chapter 1

Jake scanned the rugged, never-ending Nevada landscape and breathed deeply, filled with peace. He stretched in his saddle, let his horse graze, and smiled at the vast ranch that was his personal sanctuary, even though he didn’t own a single acre of it. The wind in the Ponderosa pines and the scree of a red-tailed hawk over the lake were sounds that rose from the land itself. He frowned. Except for the alien whine of jet engines slicing the air, another private plane slowing for landing a few miles away.

The movie people.

When Mr. James, the seventy-year-old owner of the Circle J, told Jake a Hollywood crew, led by megastar Robert Lange, would use the ranch to film a western, he fought a surge of worry for his cherished solitude. He pushed the information aside, had to focus on practical questions. Would it complicate moving a thousand head of hungry cattle? Would the young boy-men who worked the ranch get excited, maybe careless, even with a hundred new Angus expected soon? And what in the world did it mean to Help out Mr. Lange, teach him about ranch life and such?

Jake yielded to a little curiosity. He enjoyed movies, especially ones with some history, like the one about Abe Lincoln. Of course, most weren’t as good as a well-written book, but movies could take Jake places he would surely never see. Like everybody, he knew that Robert Lange was a giant in Hollywood. Famous for playing a sea captain, spy, Wall Street tycoon. Had several Academy Awards, was worth a fortune, probably had any woman he wanted. Mr. James said the movie would bring fame - and much-needed cash - to the ranch. He was downright certain that Jake would get a kick out of helping Lange learn about cowboying. He had no idea what that meant but knew Sarah would have been tickled.

He closed his eyes. Had it been fifteen years since the last night Sarah was alive? The night before their fight, before the accident? She wanted to see a Robert Lange movie about a brave soldier in an unpopular war. On the drive home Sarah went on and on about the actors, especially Lange.

Do you think Robert Lange is really a brave man, as brave as that officer in Vietnam in the movie?

Jake pondered. He seemed strong, even a hero, that’s a fact. But it’s hard to know about someone who’s famous for pretending. He gave Sarah a tolerant smile. I’d have to meet the man to know for sure.

In a spectacular irony, that would happen in a day or so.

He indulged a last look around the spot where his horse nibbled the sparse thistle, the place he often stopped, the place he scattered Sarah’s ashes years ago. The shade-dappled hill, like the whole ranch, allowed Jake to remember his losses and mistakes, which he swore never to repeat. The present was enough, every day satisfying.

He took off his sweat-stained hat and wiped his brow with a shirt sleeve. Well, movie or no movie, he still had to make sure the boys scattered plastic feed supplement buckets around the grazing areas, to help the younger cattle through the relentless heat.

Jake turned slightly in the saddle and made a click in his throat. His horse shook its mane, raised its head, and began a steady walk back down the trail. Jake braced himself for the noisy confusion of Hollywood folks rushing around the placid ranch. Still, he thought, Robert Lange, right here at the Circle J. He rubbed his fresh-shaved face and spoke into the morning. I tell you, Sarah, who on God’s green earth could ever have imagined that?

Chapter 2

We’ll need that hill, so you’ll have to get rid of that big black cow with horns. And clear out all those orange plastic tubs I saw. Percy’s eyes darted here and there as he flung orders to Jake without even glancing at him. When Jake remained silent, the skeletal man brushed some offending dust off a red mockery of a Western shirt and glared at him. Is there any problem with that?

Jake was told to take care of the movie guests, but the location manager acted more like an invader. Well, the field is no problem, but those tubs have feed supplements to keep the younger cattle through the heat…

I was told our work would take priority, since our shoot is on a tight schedule. His smile was mostly a smirk. And Mr. Lange is paying a substantial fee.

We’ll move the herd for a couple of days, and the plastic buckets, but we need them back in short order. He ignored Percy’s deepening scowl. Someone’s coming tomorrow to help move that big black cow with horns, which we actually call a bull, but it may take a day or two. He’s hurt, and worth a lot of money. After he’s resettled, you can have your hill. Jake needed to draw a line. Or you can pick another hill. We have plenty.

The next morning Suzie arrived early, and Jake watched her sweet-talk her way close to Champ, scratching his enormous head, stroking him, whispering to him. Poor Champ, massive and black, with wise dark eyes, he looked indestructible. But he’d taken a beating from another bull and now had a bad hip, could hardly get around. Jake tried every trick but couldn’t budge Champ off the hillside. He didn’t want to call the dogs to herd him, adding fear to his pain. Mr. James had advised Jake to call the animal communicator, and the men guffawed at the idea of a bull whisperer. But Jake tolerated no disrespect for Mr. James, and sternly reminded the crew that there was plenty of mystery inside an animal’s mind. He called Doc Wagner, the best veterinarian in town, who told him to give it a whirl. He’d put aside his own skepticism and called Suzie, who turned to Jake.

Champ told me his hip hurts terribly when he tries to go up or downhill.

Jake just nodded, distracted by a text message from Percy: "Is that bull gone?" Jake replied, Working on it. He looked up from his phone and saw Suzie coaxing the big animal in short, halting steps, the first time he’d moved in two days.

Jake had failed to move the bull even a foot, so he put aside his doubts about her so-called communication with Champ. How long do you need?

If we push him too hard, he’ll just stop, and then all bets are off. Suzie looked at Champ almost motherly. We’re pretty far from the corral. I’d say two days.

The whirlwind day was filled with moving cattle and repairing fence while dodging knots of movie people and exotic equipment. Jake slowed to a stroll as he neared the ranch house. It was dusk, a time to savor the mountains purpling in the early evening, peaks glowing yellow in the sun’s dazzling farewell to the ranch. He never tired of it. He turned toward the lights from the kitchen, more than ready for a quiet meal. His crew had joined the movie people for dinner in their fancy meal tent, no doubt filled with bountiful tables and plenty of Hollywood gossip. But he’d had enough movie people for one day, was happy for Consuela’s fried chicken and the peace of the spacious kitchen. It was there, at the long, rustic table that Mr. James filled Jake’s coffee mug and offered him a job, a year after Sarah was killed. Jake’s broken soul was plain to see, but the rancher must have spotted something strong in him and gave him a chance. As the years pushed Mr. James toward his seventies, he became like family to Jake, his only family, able to nudge him out of his sorrow and guilt. The beauty of the land and rhythms of the animals slowly helped him heal. At first the rooster’s crow and distant mooing were just enough to get him out of bed at dawn, but in time he welcomed the days. Jake threw himself into ranch work and developed a steadiness with the young cowhands and wranglers. Three years ago Mr. James put Jake in charge of the Circle J. Now the whole crew - all nine of them - were under his watchful eye. Along with two thousand head of cattle and forty thousand sweeping, productive acres.

He reached the wide porch and passed a wooden rocking chair painted bright green with haphazard enthusiasm by Mr. James’ grandkids He reached for the door handle as the blare of a truck air horn jolted him, followed by a high-pitched animal cry, and people shouting.

He turned and raced to the end of the driveway. A long freight truck was stopped at a crazy angle in the road, headlights shining on two of his crew. They whistled and shouted commands to a skittish horse on the far side of the road, and to Augie, the donkey, frozen in the truck’s headlights, braying at the top of her lungs while a dog barked furiously.

Jake strode into the chaotic scene, as a movie guy dragged the snarling dog off the road. He called to the wrangler. Anybody hurt?

The wrangler held the donkey’s mane with one hand and soothed her with the other. No, ever’body’s fine.

The truck driver hooted from his cab, Hey, cowboy, what kind of screwed-up operation you got here? I barely missed that animal! If I’da jack knifed, you’da had a world of trouble with me, I guaran-damn-tee it.

Jake waved, Sorry, mister, we’ll get her cleared off and you can be on your way. He turned to the wrangler. What happened?

A coupla movie folks was poking around the main corral and left the gate open. Their fancy dog started raising holy hell, and Blaze and Augie just took off.

Jake’s jaw worked back and forth. A city dog, clueless around livestock, let loose on a ranch. And people without enough sense to close a gate. The big rig straightened out and clanked away, gears shifting in anger. Goddammit. The filming hadn’t even started, and things were already out of control. He would give Mr. Robert Big-Shot Lange a piece of his mind.

Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Jake rode to visit Suzie and Champ, underway beneath an already-hot sun. It would be a long day for them both. He talked briefly with Suzie, cast a worried gaze at Champ, then started back to the barn, braced for God-knows-what disruptions.

At the corral next to the barn, Jake prepared to dismount, then hesitated when he spotted a woman bearing down on him at a determined pace. He’d been told to expect someone named Lydia, Lange’s all-powerful right hand. He decided to remain on his horse, force her to look up at him. Childish maybe, but he needed to clear up any confusion about the importance of the people and animals on this ranch. He rested his hands on the saddle horn and his horse shook its mane and turned to look at the stranger.

She stopped a few feet away. Respect? Fear of the horse? Jake nodded. Morning.

You’re Jake, right? I’m Lydia, Mr. Lange’s EA. His executive assistant. I need to set a time for you to meet with Rob. Not today, of course, he’s in the house talking to Mr. James. Tomorrow’s too soon…hmmm…

Jake took in the short, stout woman with a melon-shaped face and close-cropped black hair, like somebody cut it to the shape of a bowl. She was wearing battered khaki shorts, a bright purple t-shirt, industrial strength sandals revealing purple toe-nail polish. She looked like what Jake would call an odd duck, but her take-charge tone and her title left little doubt about her importance to Lange.

How about day after tomorrow at 3:30? No, 4:00. It didn’t sound like a question.

Jake decided he’d best lay down some rules. We need to clear up a few things. About which parts of the ranch you can - and can’t - use for your movie.

Lydia grimaced, let her iPad and clipboard drop to her sides. Ah. Your meeting with Percy didn’t go well.

You could say that. Percival was…

Obnoxious. And pushy.

He spat out the words. In spades.

Lydia sighed and began what sounded to Jake like a speech she’d made before. Shooting a movie on location is unbelievably complicated and ridiculously expensive. Losing even a half-day is a very big problem for us. Percy is a challenge. I know that. Rob knows that. But he’s the best location manager in Hollywood. He makes things happen other people think are impossible. Jake remained silent. Rob has the utmost respect for private locations we use. She made a sweeping gesture with her phone hand. Especially a magnificent place like the Circle J. We considered several locations, but Rob saw something special in your ranch. I’ll ask Percy to be more mindful of the ranch’s needs.

Jake softened a little. I know you’re spending a pretty penny to use the Circle J. But it’s not about paying money, it’s about paying respect. The work that goes on here is more important than the money.

To Jake’s surprise, Lydia laughed. You sound just like Rob. It makes the producers crazy when he says, ‘the work is more important than the money, because the work lasts.’

Well, he’s right. His tone became matter of fact. Now what time did you say?

Day after tomorrow at 4:00.

I believe I can make that work. I suppose a coupla thousand cattle will understand.

Her smile was quick. Thank you, we appreciate your help, especially Rob. You know what they say, ‘time is money.’

Yes, ma’am. So are cattle. She inclined her head in a gesture of respect and he touched the brim of his hat. Jake swung his leg over the saddle to dismount. That’s more like it.

The movie people were everywhere. Equipment trucks crowded next to the main corral, prompting curious looks from the horses and open amazement from the ranch hands. Jake took it all in with outward serenity, despite his worry that the mounting chaos was just a taste of what was in store. He was able to clear the hills the movie people wanted, except the one occupied by Champ. He would damn sure protect Champ’s tortured progress to his enclosure.

He studied the two biggest trailers, the last to arrive. Imposing, spotless, big enough to house the egos and paraphernalia of people with absolute authority. Signs had been affixed, the name of the director on one and Mr. Lange on the other. Smaller trailers in various states of repair were arrayed like supplicant moons, distant but accessible on a moment’s notice, bearing signs with purely functional designations, as if the occupants could easily be substituted: Script/Writers, Sound, Make-up, Wardrobe, and the like. The trailers swarmed with life, except the two largest, like silent shrines waiting for a divine presence. That day had come - the director, and Lange, were here.

Chapter 4

Rob’s still on the set, but you should go over to his trailer. Courtney will let you in. Lydia added, Sorry for the last-minute notice.

Finally. After three days of cancelled meetings, Jake and Lange would now have their first talk. Jake used the delays to snoop around the set and crew. He was intrigued by the level of attention given the smallest detail, by the mind-boggling complexity of filming. He couldn’t deny a growing respect. He was willing to help Lange learn about ranching, but first he had to get a few things off his chest. Percy, animals loose on the highway, the careless attitude of the movie crew. He had to set Lange straight that his people were guests on a sprawling, hardworking ranch, Mr. James’ life work, Jake’s life.

At the trailer Jake was intercepted by a tall, young blonde woman, Hollywood starlet-pretty he thought, with a phone in each hand. Hi, I’m Courtney. Go on in, I unlocked the door. She assessed Jake. Rob rarely lets anyone in his trailer alone.

Jake was growing nervous about confronting Lange. After all, the man was idolized by millions of people and was paying a shed full of money to spend two weeks at the Circle J. Still, Jake thought as his jaw set, respect matters more than money. He took off his hat, slapped a little dust off his jeans, and opened the door. He took a determined step into the trailer and banged his head on the low entrance, hoping Courtney hadn’t noticed. He stopped and looked around. He expected lavish furnishings, maybe an elegant spread of fancy food, walls of photos or awards, a shrine to the importance and wealth of Robert Lange. Instead, he confronted a no-frills workspace: a small round table with three utilitarian chairs, two laptop computers open on a small table, and a clutter-filled sofa at the end of the room. A door, Jake assumed, led to a bedroom.

Lange’s thick script lay on the table, open to a page covered in notes. Jake thought how much this experience would excite Sarah. He disregarded a twinge of guilt, bent over the dog-eared script, and began to turn pages. He was looking into the actor’s thoughts, revealed by bold handwriting: Too wordy. Further down, More voice, less action.

Jake returned the script to its original place and studied the room. A silver bucket sat neglected in the corner, an unopened bottle of champagne submerged in the water of melted ice. He picked up a faded sweatshirt on the sofa (Michigan State Varsity Swimming), uncovering a pristine Stetson hat box. It was encircled by a thick silk ribbon, with a gift card on top, apparently tossed there by Lange. Like the champagne, the box was unopened. He dropped the sweatshirt back in its place.

Jake knew that filming days were long, dawn till dusk, nonstop physical work for actors and crew. Time was short, with rushed meetings between takes, more in the evenings, easily adding up to sixteen-hour days. Jake turned toward the nearest chair, piled high with books and magazines, many decorated with multi-colored post-it notes. A history of Nevada, actual diaries from cattle drives, a cowboy poetry book, and a DVD – not a movie, but a documentary about the old West. Lange must pour over this material in the wee hours. Jake ran his finger down the spines of the books and stopped at