Paint the Sky Ranch

There was a note on the front door for Sonny Fuller. It said, "I'm out checking fences. Put your gear in the upstairs bedroom at the end of the hall on the right. Make yourself something to eat in the kitchen. I'll be back in by sundown. Hoot Finley Haskell."

Sonny was grateful that no one was around to see him gawking at the place. He thought staying with his Uncle Red's cousin was going to be some kind of hill billy nightmare. He was dead wrong. This was Paint the Sky Ranch owned by Hoot Finley Haskell. Uncle Red's cousin was a damn millionaire and no one ever told Sonny.

As he wandered through the main rooms of the house, it began to dawn on Sonny that Hoot Finley Haskell was not only wealthy, he was damned smart too. The entire length of one hallway, from the entry hall to the game room, was lined with diplomas and framed pictures of the same man doing different things: bull riding at rodeos, shaking hands with the Governor, cattle driving about a thousand cows, and lastly in a tuxedo dancing with a woman in a ball gown out on the front lawn of this very house.

Sonny was sitting in a rocker on the front porch when Hoot came around the corner of the house. "So you're Sonny Fuller. Red told me you'd be here today. We had a long day out there, damn fences. What about we cook up a steak? Come on in and tell me about your plans."

Hoot's kitchen was nicer than any that Sonny had ever seen, even on TV. They were getting dinner ready when Sonny said, "I'm fixin' to try out for the minor leagues. Pitching. I appreciate your lettin' me stay with you while I'm tryin' out." Sonny was pretending to be a lot more sure of himself than he really was. Inside, he was a jangle of nerves.

Hoot could see the boy was scared shitless and said, "Well, I heard you were going ahead with it, and I sure ain't one to stop anyone from following his dreams. I'm just wondering what you're going to do if it all goes the wrong way. What a smart fella always has is a back up plan. What's yours?"

Sonny was sitting at the marble topped table, fork and knife in hand when he said, "I ain't gonna need no back up plan, sir. I can throw a pitch at over 90 miles an hour. I'm sure to get a place on the minors. From there, I'll get picked up to a major league team by the time I'm 21, that's in two years, sir."

Laying his linen napkin across his lap, Hoot said, "Boy, you truly are as dumb as you look, ain't ya!?"

Sonny's heel skidded off the rung of the wrought iron chair he was sitting on causing his sneaker to squeal like a piglet on the polished floor tiles. Beaded with sweat across his forehead, Sonny said, "With all due respect sir, I'm the best pitcher those minor league scouts are gonna see for miles around here. A pitcher is what I'm gonna be." They finished eating dinner in silence.

While they were clearing the table Hoot said, "Tell you what Sonny. I'll drive you out to the ball field tonight. You pitch a few to me. Lemme see if I can get a hit off ya. Go get your stuff. I'll meet you out in front in a few minutes."

Eagerly, Sonny grabbed his pitchers bag from his room and was out front at the truck in no time. Hoot went to the game room to get his custom made baseball bat. On the way, Hoot was thinking to himself, "That boy is gonna have a back up plan come mornin'. My batting average was good enough for the majors when I was his age. I just didn't like playin' baseball as much as I liked ranchin'."

As he walked down the long hallway with the photographs of himself lining the walls, Hoot could hear in his mind the old scouts shouting, "Here comes Shoot the Sky Haskell. Hoot Hoot!" It made him smile.

As he got in the truck, Hoot saw a similar smile on Sonny's face. It was the smile of confidence, calm and happy all at once. "Damn, I sure hope he is as good as he says he is," Hoot thought to himself. Out loud he asked Sonny, "You ever considered workin' on a ranch?"



click here to meet Sonny Fuller

click here to read more posts based on this picture prompt at Magpie Tales