Magic Ball: the Billionaire in Ranch

13 The Stream Ranch

Michael came over with the necessary documents that he insisted Noah needs to thoroughly read and sign later on. He sat on the couch as he casually pulled out his box of cigarettes from his pants, and offered them to a dozing-off Noah beside him. If it wasn’t for the doorbell ringing like it would explode anytime, he would probably still be cocooned in his thick comforter by now.

Yawning, Noah saw the box of cigarettes being offered to him. He directed his index finger to the porch infront of his house as he made his way to the kitchen counter.

“Coffee?” he called out, his voice rough from just being woken-up.

He heard the sliding door opening, “No sugar,” Michael said as he settled himself on the wooden couch outside.

“I always loved these circle-shaped pillows,” he commented as Noah handed him his espresso.

Michael already had a cigarette stick between his lips. He was dressed in his usual corporate attire; his famous red tie and suit. Noah noticed he changed the shades of his necktie from wine red to a blinding red at times. He had this impression that the man was fond of the same color because it never changed—it was still the color red no matter what shade it is in. His dark hair brushed on the right side of his face as the wind briefly blew it.

Lighting his cigarette, they both sat in silence. Noah’s eyes stared straight unblinkingly, tears pooling at the side of his eyes when he yawned longer this time.

“Tired?” Michael asked as he lighted his cigarette.

Noah managed a nod before he stood while scratching his stomach. He went back inside the house and handed Michael an ashtray.

“I spent the entire night thinking about the Stream Ranch. It’s stirring my nerves,” he explained while taking a sip from his coffee. “I get this random jitter—like I was about to enter something risky, yet worth it.”

Michael chuckled, his voice a baritone, “Sounds like a wedding.”

“Pass me a stick,” Noah said, annoyed at him.

Such a topic was brought up all the time around him. He wasn’t that comfortable when it comes to talking about committing his life to a woman.

Smoke hovered in the air as Noah silently read through the documents that Michael placed infront of him. With a cigarette between his lips, he began going over the pages.

“35,000 acres, huh?” he said while flipping through another page.

Michael nodded slowly. He played with the handle of his mug.

“Is that too much?”

“It’s a good start.”

Noah nodded in agreement, his eyes concentrating on a paragraph below the fourth page. He inhaled, and smoke came out from his nose as he hummed with a low voice.

“We should check it out next week with Brice. He should be free by then.” Noah suggested. He had gone over the pictures Michael sent in his e-mail address, but he wasn’t the type of person that would base his judgment on photos alone. The only reason he’s considering owning property was that Michael was the one who suggested it. He knew the guy for months, and from what he has observed, Michael was meticulous when it comes to his recommendations. That meant he researched about it a dozen times before presenting it to his clients.

Michael’s cigarette stick was between his middle finger and index finger as he said “that should work,”

“It should,” Noah pressed. “Leave the documents here. I will mail it to you once we’re done checking out the ranch next week.”

Bringing the tip of the stick to his lips, Michael inhaled and blew smoke on the lawn infront of them. “I’ll arrange a service.”

Days went by peacefully, and soon, the three of them found themselves roaming the entire place as they chatted with a few locals passing by.

The itch to sign the papers came when Noah realized how much the Stream Ranch looked like his miniature farmyard inside the Magic Ball he kept safely on a vault he purchased months ago.

There was enough space to grow crops. The grass is green, and the soil is definitely healthy. It was nostalgic to be walking around on an accurate copy of the farmyard inside his Magic Ball. It’s not like the stream in the middle of the small forest a few miles from the stables had crystal clear waters that can trigger a growth spurt in dogs. Still, Noah was fascinated with the place.

He tucked down his gray newsboy hat as Brice commented that the place looked like the one in the movie called Conjuring. As usual, Michael laughed so hard Brice spat some vile words about him. The words kept rolling out of his mouth like poison as Noah made his way to the stables to check-out if it needs renovation.

The next week flew by with Noah signing documents and sending them to Michael for the final processing. They decided to lease the land in case the financial crisis retakes a visit to Noah’s life. That way, they can reduce losing the capital Noah had invested in his enterprise.

Brice, on the other hand, helped him look for local farmers within the proximity of the Stream Ranch that can sell him good quality livestock.

On a cloudy Thursday, Brice, Noah, and a farmer they paid to come with them drove to the place of a local that sold chickens and sheep. Noticing the lousy state of the facilities the local’s site had, Noah, didn’t bother haggling with the price the local offered for his poultry and livestock. He reasoned calmly with a fuming Brice that it was their means of helping, and besides, the farmer they met during their horseback riding weekend, checked the animals thoroughly. He reiterated that they are healthy enough and was obviously well-fed with ample mid-grade food.

Noah arranged ten pairs of animals to be picked-up within two weeks. He paid half in advance, the local’s eyes glistening with tears at the money that piled on top of his palms.

“How about cattle?” Brice asked as they rode Noah’s Rove Ranger.

“Machinery first. I’ll consult Nick about guns.”

“It’s like you’re making that place a hunting ground.” Brice scowled. “Don’t turn into those assholes who make trophies out of killing animals.”

“Guns are for protection, Bri,” Noah said with a frown, disappointed that his friend even thought of him doing such a thing. He knew the risk of owning one. He had read countless newspaper articles in America about the negligence of its people with handling guns that, in turn, resulted in violence. He’s aware of the paperwork surrounding in owning a gun, his head throbbing at the thought of going through them again.

The process is what kept every transaction running smoothly, but Noah had gone through a lot of processing for half a year of his stay here in Maple City.

From taxes to owning a house and leasing the payment for his Stream Ranch, he was thankful for Brice and Michael’s help. Even with Nick—the lawyer he met while jogging around Maple Park—had been calm and friendly in answering his inquiries from time to time, especially when he had his citizenship going on.

They spent the rest of the day procuring tools and vehicles from one motor shop to another.

“Trucks,” the farmer suggested, “you definitely need those since you’ll be transferring livestock and poultry from time to time.”

Noah thought about it. “Good idea.”

“I would also suggest a mule. Helps a lot with transporting things around the ranch.”

Noah nodded in agreement as the three of them continued down to the road.

They managed to purchase a lot of stuff that the farmer suggested they own. Brice had a thing or two to say, especially when he saw that Noah was hoarding everything that came his way. While they were having a smoke at the back of his car, Brice reminded him to keep the cost to a minimum as possible.

“You haven’t made money out of it. Better safe, Noah.”

Noah mumbled his agreement as they had lunch at a nearby restaurant.

The evening sky took over the blues, and soon, stars covered the vast space above of them. They dropped the farmer back to his house as Noah took his bank account and promised to send the money tomorrow morning.

The farmer was rejecting the offer, but Brice poked his head outside the Range Rover’s window and basically lectured him how outstanding his job was for the day, thus the payment.

“You purchased stock whips, livestock trailers, handcarts, a lot of power and hand tools—” Brice listed. “Don’t waste this, NM. You’re not getting younger.”

“If I lose this, I’ll make you pay the two million dollars.”

Brice scowled, the frown line deepened on his face. “Are you serious?”

Noah gripped the steering wheel as they turned a corner, “Of course not, asshole. Who would do that?”

“You?”

“No,” Noah shook his head slowly, eyes on the road infront of him, “go build that dream.” He urged.

“I am,” Brice answered calmly. “Just you wait.”

“Make a website—for the ranch.”

“Are you blogging or something?” Brice teased as he scanned the screen of his phone.

“Maybe? It’s mainly for promotion.”

“Anything for my financer, right?”

“How about getting dinner at a local bar around here?” Noah scanned his eyes and happen to drive by a local bar to his right.

Both of them sat on the bar counter and ordered a mug of overflowing beer.

“I don’t see you around here,” the man handing them the beer said. “Nice to meet you.” He reached his hand and Noah took it.

When Brice had a full swig on the mug, he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. His face lit like a child had just tasted the best candy in the world. His face whipped to the man he assumed was the bartender, “Man, this beer is everything!” he made sure to emphasize the world everything.

The bartender placed his hands on his hips, “Thank you, lad.”

Noah looked inside his mug and had his own taste of it. Brice wasn’t overreacting when he called this beer everything. It was on a whole different level from the ones they bought at the convenience store. It was a straight A-grade, to say the least.

“Do you produce your own beer?” Brice asked cheerfully, the liquid inside the mug already in half.

The bartender watched him, his head beckoning into a slow, sure nod. “Definitely.” He turned around and rubbed some drinking glasses, placing them carefully on the cabinet. “It’s our family’s pride. The recipe had been passed down for three generations. It never ceased to be number one here.”

“What?” yelled Brice. “You’re the owner? I mean, the maker?”

“He’s the one, Bri. He’s the one.” Noah hauled him down to his seat as people around them spun their head to the direction of his voice.

The bartender—who also happens to be the owner of the bar—smiled sheepishly at them, the smugness hiding beneath those thankful eyes.

“Indeed.”

Noah shook his hand again, “I’m Noah. And that overreacting guy is called Brice.”

“What brings you here, though?” the big man wondered, a wrinkle forming on his forehead.

“We bought a ranch,” Noah started, “and we’ve been busy with it.”

“I see,” the bartender nodded expressively. “It’s tough at first, but you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Another tab, old man!” Brice beamed as he slid the mug back to the laughing bartender.

While he was refilling Brice’s drink, Noah took an opportunity to ask. “Do you know anyone around here that I can hire to run my ranch?”