The road that turns off the main highway is nondescript, paved with black asphalt for at least the first half mile. But it soon turns into a well-maintained dirt and gravel road that is fairly wide and lined on both sides by wildflowers. Another quarter mile down the road and the actual entrance to the ranch is revealed with a huge, red-stained sign that hangs over the road with carved and burned lettering that says “Double J Ranch” in large, chunky letters and below that “Teton Division”.
Woolf drives under the arched entrance and casually asks Casey, “Have you ever been to Wyoming before?”
“No,” she says, her voice almost reverent as she continues to look out at the amazing scenery. “But you can damn well rest assured I’ll be coming back. This may be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
Woolf chuckles, and I know that scored major points with him. He loves his home with a passion.
As we get closer to the main house, my insides start clenching with apprehension. In just a few minutes, Casey is going to understand that my family’s ranch is a bit more than just a small-time operation.
The curving road finally straightens, crosses over a small bridge that traverses the Gros Ventre River, and then breaks free of a copse of cottonwood trees to reveal my family home sitting atop a butte.
Casey gasps audibly and I wince, lowering my gaze to my hands clenched on my lap.
“That’s your house?” Casey asks Woolf in disbelief as she looks at the low, sprawling home that seems to cover the entire top of the hill.
“It is,” he says matter-of-factly, and he cuts his eyes in the rearview mirror to me. I can see his question clearly, “Doesn’t she know anything at all about you?”
The Jennings homestead is a little ostentatious, and Casey can’t even see the entire house from this vantage point. While my great-grandfather, Jared Jennings, started out in a modest three-bedroom log cabin when he started the ranch, my grandfather, Louis Jennings, decided that it didn’t necessarily convey the right message to the other cattle ranchers. He wanted to be the largest, most powerful cattleman, not only in the state of Wyoming, but also in the entire United States. Fueled on—no pun intended—by rich oil wells on our vast property, he built a home that rivaled that of the Vanderbilts.
Over fifteen thousand square feet of pine logs, slate stone, and three-story walls of glass make up the monstrosity that I grew up in with my parents and only sibling, Woolf. Fuck… the house is so large that Woolf and I had our own separate wings and would sometimes go days without seeing each other. From where we approach, Casey can only really see the top floor, which looks like it lays across the top of the butte in a lazy-like fashion. What she doesn’t know is that it actually spills down the back of the hill, cut partially into the earth and dribbling down three stories.
“That may be the biggest house I’ve ever seen in my life,” Casey practically chokes out.
Woolf chuckles while I wince again. He has no clue what’s running through Casey’s mind right now, although I have a pretty damned good idea. He thinks she’s just really impressed, but I know different.
“Yeah… the house is pretty monstrous,” Woolf says with a grin toward Casey as she leans forward to peer out the front windshield. “But it’s a blip really when you consider the size of the property.”
“And just how big would that be?” Casey asks quietly.
“Close to two-hundred thousand acres here in Wyoming, which encompasses both the cattle land and the oil wells,” Woolf says with a good deal of pride in his voice. “But we have another hundred thousand or so acres in Montana and Idaho.”
I’m sitting directly behind Casey, so I can’t really see the front of her face. Just the outline of her jaw, which seems to be popping back and forth. I don’t miss the fact that she becomes noticeably quiet after that.
Woolf doesn’t seem to notice either but follows the drive, which now turns into flagstone pavers that leads into a giant semi-circle in front of the house. Casey’s head turns slightly to the right as she takes in the detached eight-car garage constructed in the same pine logs and slate stone. It’s climate controlled and holds my dad’s toys… a loaded Silverado pickup truck that he used for ranch work, a vintage Hummer, a Mercedes G550, and a Corvette. The fifth spot is taken up by Woolf’s Land Rover, the sixth by my mother’s Jaguar that my dad refused to get rid of even though she passed away almost two years ago, and the remainder of the space is filled with Gators and ATVs that my dad would use to drive the property. What Casey can’t see is the long cookhouse and three bunkhouses that hold the resident ranch hands, which sit about five hundred yards past the garage.
The truck comes to a stop in front of the house, and we all exit. When I step down behind Casey, I resist the urge to reach out and try to massage the stiffness from her shoulders. I know her well enough to know she’s angry and confused right now, and she won’t accept any measure of physical touch from me.
But I also can’t let this fester further so I bluntly tell her, “Double J is the largest cattle ranch in United States.”
Her head turns to look at me, and the flash of heat and condemnation in her eyes smacks into me. “That’s kind of a surprise,” she says just as bluntly.
I scratch at the back of my head, trying to figure some way to diffuse her, but I’m distracted as Woolf pulls our suitcases out of the back of the truck and casually says, “After you get settled in, we need to talk about the funeral arrangements. We have some decisions to make and we need to choose a date. Governor Hayes will be attending, so we’re going to have to get that information to him so his security detail can get set up.”
I wince again and can feel the burn of Casey’s eyes on me. Yeah… my dad was very close friends with the governor. As a land, cattle, and oil baron, my dad had a lot of political friends.
Taking our suitcases in hand, I trudge up the front steps to the long porch that sprawls a hundred feet in each direction. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in dad’s office,” I say over my shoulder to Woolf. And then with a curt, “Come on, Goldie,” I decide to get her up to my room where I can confront the beast.
Casey is absolutely silent as I lead her inside. I imagine she’s at a loss for words as she takes in the immediate fact that there’s far more to the house than you can see from the front. Inside the foyer, there’s a balcony of polished timber logs that overlooks the interior of the house that falls away down the butte. Below us is the great room, which is furnished in dark leather, mahogany, and rustic art, with two massive fireplaces, one on each end. The east end of the room is a floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooks the valley where some of the horses are grazing and the Teton mountain range in the back, along with the lazy curl of the Snake River that borders it. I cringe when I hear Casey’s gasp. Ordinarily, I’d be proud of the fact she finds beauty in what she sees, but I’m afraid it only means she’s going to be more pissed at me that I was hiding all of this.
I lead her down a staircase into the great room but take an immediate left down a hall that leads into the wing that holds my old room. Mom had it redecorated when I left for the Marine Corps, removing the twin bunk beds and rodeo posters I’d tacked all over the walls, trading it in for rustic pine furnishings, dark burgundy walls, and masculine plaid fabrics. I think I’ve stayed in this room maybe twice since I got out of the Marines.
Casey follows me into the room, immediately walking to the windows that overlook the Tetons. I drop the suitcases, close the door behind me, and wait patiently for her to say something.
She doesn’t make me wait, turning slowly from the windows to face me. Her face is filled with confusion and distaste. “Why did you lie to me?”