Desert Rose

by Victoria Hardesty

  Merle thought hard. “We don’t want to get caught out here. I don’t know if they can find this place or bring anyone to it. They’ve been wandering in the desert for who knows how long. Maybe they’ll die out there. But, maybe they won’t. We need to make a Plan B now.”

  “I say we get the heck out of here,” Wayne whined. “I didn’t sign up for no hostages. We just borrowed us a horse for a couple of days for some quick money. That’s not exactly worked out for us now, has it?”

  Dave agreed with Wayne. “If we leave now, we can’t be convicted of killin’. Let’s cut our losses and get out of here. Maybe we should head for that rodeo you were talkin’ about. We can always make a few bucks there on broncs and bulls, then head for home.”

  “What are we goin’ to do with that danged horse? We can’t take him with us. We got no papers on him, no health certificate or nothing. We can’t cross state lines with him. And we can’t take him back where we got him so what are we supposed to do with him now?” Pat asked.

  “We pack our gear and leave now,” Merle said. “Give the horse the food and water we have and leave him. If he lives, he lives. If he dies, he dies. But it won’t be on our heads either way. Let’s get our stuff together and get out of here. Let’s go to Prescott and the next rodeo.”

  It took them about an hour to get their things packed in the travel trailer, horse trailer, and the trucks. They turned on the highway and drove south to the interchange where they switched directions and headed for Arizona. None of them had much to say on the long drive to Prescott. None of them saw the haggard looking couple in sleeping clothes walking down the dirt road toward the highway when they passed them.

  CHAPTER | SIXTEEN

  Esteban Garcia got on the phone with his travel agent in California. They were still open. He remembered it was the dead of night for him but business in California was still working. He told the owner what he needed and held on the line as the woman checked flights and seat availability. He was in luck. There was a flight from Madrid to Los Angeles in five hours, and she could get him a seat on that flight. He booked it. He had a few things to do where he was. He talked to Louisa. She agreed he needed to go home and suggested he take their son Stevie with him.

  He called his travel agent back and got an additional seat for his son. He would take Stevie home so he could catch up on some of his school stuff. Because of the emergency nature of their trip to Spain, he’d been doing his regular school work by email with his teacher in San Juan Capistrano. He needed to be home for the tests he should be taking to stay current.

  He called Louisa’s sister who lived an hour away from their parents home. She agreed to come to help Louisa so Esteban and Stevie could go home.

  That barely left time for packing Esteban and Stevie for the trip. Esteban tossed the bags in the rental car and drove two hours to the airport in Madrid. He dropped off the car at the rental lot and took the shuttle to the terminal and checked in for their flight. They checked their baggage and walked to the customs area for screening. That took an extra two hours before flight time. They hurried to their departure gate with barely enough time to board the flight. The flight was nonstop to Los Angeles and felt like forever. They had first class seats which were roomier, but it was still tiring to sit for hours in one position. Stevie was able to sleep a good part of the way and watched movies the rest of the time. Estaban could not. He brought his laptop and did some business work. He worried about Cutter and what may have happened at the ranch. He worried about John and Rhonda. From what Mike Hartley told him, their vehicle was still in the driveway and they left their phones on the patio table in front of their home. It seemed unlikely they left willingly.

  He spent a good deal of the time daydreaming. He remembered buying Cut It Out as a youngster. He was struck by the beauty of the horse. The horse’s coat shimmered like gold in the sunlight and his mane and tail like silver. He was one handsome individual. He was always attracted to palomino horses, but he had a chance to own this one. Cutter had a certain dignity about him, but he was also very playful at times. They became great buddies. Esteban had a wonderful recommendation to Mike Hartley as a trainer for his new colt. He drove the hundred miles to Hartley Ranch in Pinon Hills and spent a couple of hours with Mike and his wife, Ginny. He liked them right off the bat. Mike was open and honest with him about what he could expect from his horse. He also loved his tour of the Arabian portion of the ranch and what Ginny had to say to him about them. He decided he would buy his wife an Arabian horse and have Ginny do the training so he would be able to ride with his wife someday. That’s about the time the seed of a ranch of his own crept into his consciousness. He would love to have a place in the desert for his horses and for his family to visit for weekends where they could ride.

  He remembered when Mike first started working with Cutter. He was gentle and firm at the same time, encouraging Cutter and giving him credit for doing what he asked of him. He never saw an ounce of mean-spiritedness in Mike. He was always kind to his boy. He took Cutter on trail rides to get him used to stepping outside his comfort zone and seeing different things too.

  But Mike noticed Cutter would often stare at the cattle he had on the ranch for his cutting horses. It hadn’t occurred to him to train Cutter for cutting cows until he watched him watching the cattle. He knew cutting cows was not something Esteban would be doing with his horse. Just for the fun of it, he put cows in the work arena one day and took Cutter in to see what he would do. History was made that day! Cutter was a superb cutting horse. He zeroed in on his cow, cut it from the herd, and refused to allow that cow back in the herd. He would get down on the cow, weaving from side to side with his front legs while his rear legs stayed planted in one position if the cow waivered direction. He would nearly drop to his knees on the front to keep up with that single cow and spin and turn on a dime and give you nine cents change back. He would stare at the cow until the cow just stood there quivering, afraid to move. He was a champion in the making! He talked to Esteban about it. Esteban agreed to let him try Cutter in competition. For the next four years, Cutter won every time he set his hoof in the ring with cows. He made his training fees back many times over. Esteban had multiple offers for Cutter, some at outrageous prices. But, how could one possibly sell something as precious as his “Caballo de mi Corazon?” Esteban couldn’t think of life without his buddy. The more he thought about it, the more afraid he became. He hated to admit to himself, but he would have been just as upset about his son being missing as he was about his horse.

  Once they landed at Los Angeles International Airport, they had to pass through another customs screening before Esteban and Stevie could get a limousine for the trip to San Juan Capistrano. Stevie fell asleep during the drive from the airport to their home. Esteban woke him when they pulled into their driveway.

  Esteban and Stevie arrived home almost 30 hours after leaving Louisa’s parents home. He had very little sleep on the plane. Esteban was too worried to sleep anyway. Stevie ran upstairs to his room while Esteban went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He noticed the answering machine on the counter blinking. He clicked the play button and listened to the messages. The first few calls were junk calls trying to sell something. Then he got to the messages from Becky Howard. They caused him to pause. Why in the world was Becky Howard calling him? He jotted down her phone number and kept listening to messages.

  Then he heard the Texas drawl of Merle demanding $100,000.00 for the safe return of his beloved Cutter! He checked the date on the machine for when that message came in. He realized he was far past the deadline of 48 hours to respond. He ran the timeline through his head. That would have come in the same day the housekeeper left on her vacation. Nobody heard that message until now. Esteban Garcia panicked. Was he too late to save his beloved Cutter?

  CHAPTER | SEVENTEEN

  John and Rhonda walked toward the highway with lighter steps after spotting the first car they’d seen in days. John hoped he could flag some
one down that would take them to a police station. The road they traveled had ruts and peaks and valleys along the length of it.

  They came over one rise about two miles from the highway when they saw two trucks traveling south. What caught their attention was the fact the first truck hauled a travel trailer that looked like the one that sat outside the mobile home. The second truck was hauling a four-horse trailer like the one that brought Cutter from Apple Valley. They squatted down so not to be visible. If that was the four guys who held them hostage, they were getting away! They were not close enough to see if there was a horse in that trailer or not.

  John encouraged Rhonda to speed up as much as she could. The two trotted as far as they could and slowed to rest before picking up the pace again. They were at the highway sooner than John thought they would be.

  They looked like they’d been through a war. Neither had bathed in days. The desert dust clung to their damp skin, leaving tracks where sweat poured from their unprotected heads. Sweat and dirt left stains on their clothing. Rhonda’s long silky hair was now dreadlocks coated in dust. And they were exhausted from the trek across miles of desert. John worried they might not be able to get someone to stop for them.

  He saw a large truck approaching from the south and took a chance. John jumped out in the roadway in front of the truck and waved both his arms in the air. He was about a quarter of a mile from the truck when he made his leap. The driver put his brakes on immediately. He saw the woman standing beside the road. The man jumped out of the way. The driver pulled to the side of the road a short distance from the couple. He opened the passenger door on his cab and leaned out.

  “You two in trouble?” he shouted.

  Despite their exhaustion, John and Rhonda sprinted toward the truck cab. “Can we get a ride to the nearest police station?” John asked and had to stop and grab his knees to breathe. Rhonda grabbed the doorframe of the truck for support.

  “Are you two okay?” the driver asked again.

  “Yes, and no,” John coughed out. “We were taken as hostages during a crime and we need to talk to the police as soon as possible. Will you give us a ride to the nearest police station?”

  “Climb on in,” the driver said. “Can I get you anything? Do you need water? By the way, my name’s Red.”

  John helped Rhonda step up into the cab of the truck. He climbed in and sat beside her. Red handed them each a bottle of cold water from the cooler he kept behind the passenger seat in his cab. “If she needs to lie down, there’s a bed in the back.”

  Rhonda was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life. She took his offer of a place to lie down and crawled between the seats and fell fast asleep on the bed. “Thank you so much for stopping for us,” John told him. “Would you be willing to drop us off at the nearest police station? I don’t even know where we are.”

  “We’re about 30 miles south of Ridgecrest, give or take a mile,” Red said. “I’d be glad to take you there. I think I know where the Kern County Sheriff’s Office is. Let’s get this truck back on the road!”

  Red put the big rig in gear, checked his mirrors for clearance and pulled the huge truck onto the highway. He turned off the radio and chatted with John as they drove. John filled him in on what happened to him and his wife as the big diesel engine pulled it’s 80 thousand pound load up hills and down into arroyos along the desert highway. Soon they began to see small homes along the road, a few trees planted in yards, and other appearances of civilization. At the end of one long sweeping curve, the city of Ridgecrest came into view. Red expertly downshifted gears to slow the truck as they pulled off the highway onto the main road and headed into town. The sheriff’s office was not too far from the highway. Red pulled his rig to a stop across the street from the office and shut off the engine. There was a quaint coffee shop beside the road. “Might as well take a rest stop and get something to eat before I get back on the road. I’m heading for St. George, Utah and then Denver. Can I buy you two something to eat before you talk to the sheriff? You look like you could use a meal.”

  John and Rhonda gratefully accepted Red’s invitation. The three of them sat in a booth and had coffee, then breakfast as they talked. “I’ve been a long haul trucker for 25 years now, and I’ve seen a lot of people alongside the highway. But I have to admit I’ve never picked up a hostage before,” he laughed. “At least I’ll have a new story to tell my wife when I call her tonight. She’s not going to believe me!”

  Rhonda, a little energized after her short nap in the truck and decent food in her belly, suggested, “If you have one of those fancy phones, why don’t you take our picture so you can show her? Maybe she’ll believe you then. We must look a sight right now.”

  Red did exactly that. After he took their picture, he asked “Why don’t you give me your phone number? I’d like to call you in a couple of days and make sure you are okay.”

  After Red paid the check for breakfast, the grateful couple thanked him profusely and walked with him back to his truck. As Red took off down the road, they walked across the street to the sheriff’s office. They walked up to the service counter and waited while the deputy on duty finished a phone call. The deputy walked to the counter and asked, “May I help you?”

  John cleared his throat and said, “Yes, we need to talk to someone. We were taken hostage from a ranch in Apple Valley eight or nine days ago we think. We escaped last night. Can you help us?”

  CHAPTER | EIGHTEEN

  The deputy at the service desk escorted John and Rhonda into an interview room at the sheriff’s office. He asked them to wait a few minutes while he got a detective in to speak with them. He offered them coffee, soft drinks or water which they both declined. When the deputy left the room, Rhonda spread her forearms out on the table, overlapped her hands and dropped her head on them. Her exhaustion won. John sat beside her for five minutes before joining her in sleep.

  They were startled awake about 45 minutes later when a plainclothes officer opened the door and entered. “Hi, sorry it took so long. I’m Detective Ron Evers. I understand you need to talk to someone about a crime you were involved in?”

  John jumped to his feet and took the offered hand to shake. “I’m John Powell, and this is my wife, Rhonda,” he told the detective. “Yes, we were involved in a crime. We need some help.”

  The detective pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, “Let’s sit down and you tell me all about it.” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and began writing their names down in his notebook.

  John told everything he knew from the time he and Rhonda heard a noise outside their cottage to when they walked into the sheriff’s office. It took him a while. Every once in a while Rhonda added a detail or two. The detective scribbled wildly in his notebook and asked them to repeat many details of their experience. Rhonda gave him the Texas license plate number that she saw that night as they climbed into the truck bed. “ ‘I ate three times before six’ helped me remember the last four numbers of the license plate, 8346, on the truck that pulled the horse trailer,” she told him. She admitted they forgot to check the plate on the other truck in their haste to get away the night they finally picked the locks on the handcuffs. They each showed their wrist to the detective, showing the bruises and raw marks on their skin.

  “That’s some story, John,” Detective Ron said when they finished their narrative. “So you believe the four men came to the Hacienda Rancho to steal Cut It Out and hold him for ransom? And you and Rhonda interrupted their scheme, so they took you along for the ride?

  Do you have any idea how they communicated their ransom demand to the owner? You also said the owner is not even in this country now because the family went to Spain on a family emergency? Is that essentially correct?”

  “That about sums it up,” John admitted. “Sounds like a pretty strange story even to me.”

  Rhonda was mad. “Yes! That’s what really happened! We’ve been strung up to a cast iron headboard for days and days. Those
clowns forced us out of our home at gunpoint for their stupid get-rich-quick scheme. I’m worried about the five horses left there with no provision for food and water, and in this heat too! We’ve got to get back to the ranch. We don’t have any money with us. We were forced to leave our cell phones there so we can’t even call anyone! What are we supposed to do now?”

  Detective Ron was taken aback by the anger she displayed. Up to this point, Rhonda had been fairly mild-mannered. “I see your point, Rhonda. The actual crime took place in San Bernardino County. You are sitting in Kern County where the thieves took you and the horse. So part of the crime took place here because you two were held against your will here as well as the horse who is stolen property. I’m going to have to reach out to the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department for some help and cooperation. I know you’re going to have to tell your story to them as well, same as you did here. Let me get on the phone and make some calls. I can probably get a San Bernardino County Deputy up here to pick you up and take you back home after they get a full report from you there.”

  “Those horses we get paid to take care of could be dying right now!” Rhonda nearly shouted. “We can’t just sit here and talk while they die!”

  “I understand your concerns. Let me make a few phone calls. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” the detective asked her.

  “Not unless you can find me some clothes to wear and a hot shower,” Rhonda snapped back.

  John stepped in. “Honey, we have to help these people find those four creeps. I’m worried about the horses at the ranch too. Let Ron do his job and we’ll get through all this sooner, okay?”

  Rhonda slumped defeated in her chair. She never got riled up like that. It must be the exhaustion she felt. She was slightly ashamed of herself for snapping at the detective. She’d hold her tongue in the future. She laid her forearms on the table and crossed her hands again, dropped her head down and closed her eyes. Sleep would be wonderful. Sleep in her bed at home would be heavenly.