by Verna Clay
Turning off of Main Street onto Third Street, Dottie headed toward the outskirts of town. Her short jaunt through the newly refurbished downtown had put a smile on her face. Most of the town was owned by an unknown benefactor, and the mystery person had spared no expense in updating his or her real estate. The town now boasted a business and tourist district to be proud of, and judging from the increase in tourism, word was getting around. Of course, a spread in a popular travel magazine had started the ball rolling.
The pictures had been taken by one of their own residents, Skye Blackwell. When the townspeople had questioned Skye as to who had hired her to create the spread, hoping it would shed some light on the owner's identity, she'd shrugged and said, "Sure wish I knew."
Thinking about Skye, Dottie's grin widened. Only a few months back the successful photographer had given birth to the newest addition to the community, a baby girl she and her husband Kade had named Sunny Shiloh—Shiloh being the name of the baby's paternal great-grandmother. Close to eighty years old, the woman was sharp as a tack and doing well after a hip replacement.
About a year earlier Skye had married Shiloh's grandson, Kade Blackwell, and they'd immediately started their family. Kade, the local mechanic, had pictures of his wife, daughter, and grandmother plastered all over the office in his garage. Dottie knew this because she'd brought her car in for an oil change about a month back and Skye had been there with the baby. Skye had insisted she join them in Kade's office for a soda.
Dottie had asked if she could hold Sunny and Skye had smiled proudly, handing the rosy-cheeked baby over. Kade, who had been talking to Tommy, another mechanic, had entered the office, and Dottie still got a lump in her throat when she remembered the love in his eyes for his wife and daughter. Dottie's own departed husband had once looked at her and Lucy the same way. After all these years, she still choked up just thinking about him.
She was so caught up in her remembrances that she almost passed her turn off. Braking quickly, she swung onto Gold Nugget Drive and followed it past several Santa Fe style houses built during the early nineteen hundreds, some restored, others needing major repairs, until she reached the road to her home, Schneider Way. Following the dead-end street past the only other house, she pulled onto the long drive at the end of the road. She'd once measured the distance by punching the odometer and found it to be approximately an eighth of a mile to the detached garage next to her house. The garage had been built back in the forties and Dottie was considering hiring Gator, the handyman at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park, who had been one of the main builders of the park's new recreation center, to tear the old garage down and build a larger one with lots of shelf space and an automatic garage door that worked all the time. The one she had now opened about half of the time, and thankfully, today, it decided to cooperate when she punched the fob on her visor.
Grabbing her purse and some invoices she wanted to review, she climbed from her car and stepped through the side door of her garage to walk the few steps to her house. Unlocking the kitchen door, she went to the small drop-leaf table and dumped her purse and paperwork. Next, she kicked off her shoes, stretched and yawned, and did a few toe touches. Because she was indoors most of the day running her dime store, she often did stretches to stay limber. She also jogged or walked just about every evening following a path that led from her house to one of the wilderness roads. Often people with three or four wheelers or jeeps used the wilderness roads outside of town for recreational driving. This particular road led to cliff views of amazing rock formations.
She changed into jeans and an old T-shirt, slipped on her socks and hiking boots, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge to place in her backpack. Checking to make sure her pepper spray was in a side pocket just in case of unpleasant encounters with wild animals or humans—something that had never happened—she tossed her cell phone in another pocket.
She pulled her shoulder length hair into a low ponytail and frowned when she saw another gray strand. Plucking it out by the roots, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Although forty-four years old, she had often been told she looked much younger. She'd even been told she looked more like her daughter's sister, than her mother. Now, scanning for more gray hair, she wondered if those days were over. Skewing up her face, she tilted her head from side to side looking for wrinkles. Yep, the creases around her eyes were becoming more pronounced. Glancing at her strawberry blond hair, she wondered if she should call Myrtle and make a hair appointment. Her wispy bangs needed a trim, as did the length, and she could ask what to do about the gray.
Staring at her own green eyes in the mirror, she smiled and asked, "Are you going through a midlife crisis?"
She grabbed a tube of sunscreen to cover her face and arms. Being a redhead, her complexion always burned. And even though it was only early May, the evening sun could be cruel to a woman with delicate skin. As a child, she'd often suffered sunburns by being careless, but she'd never developed freckles like so many redheads. Her daughter was the same.
Thinking about Lucy brought a smile to her face and made her forget about her "midlife crisis." Now a junior in college, Lucy was the pride and joy of her mother. Not a day went by that Dottie didn't send loving thoughts to Lucy. It had been almost a year and a half since her daughter had saved the life of a ten year old girl by donating a kidney to the child. It wasn't until a few days before the surgery that Dottie even knew what Lucy was up to. Lucy had said she didn't want to worry her unnecessarily.
The surgery had gone well and the girl now led a normal life, but Dottie had been furious with Lucy for not discussing her decision to donate her kidney. But that was Lucy—ruled by compassion. Of course, Dottie's anger had evaporated when she'd seen the outcome of her daughter's selfless act.
Before putting her backpack on, Dottie jogged to her mailbox like she always did, and then sprinted back to her house. Flipping through her mail, she saw that it was mostly bills and there wasn't anything from Lucy.
Donning her backpack, she headed back outside and jogged toward the trail. It was now around six o'clock and the weather was beautiful. Soon, summer would arrive and evenings would be too warm to jog after scorching days. She reached the wilderness road and slowed her speed to a brisk stroll, often stopping to enjoy the beauty of a desert in bloom. The white flowers of the saguaro cactus, Arizona's State Flower, always inspired awe. It amazed her that the cactus could grow up to 40 or 50 feet tall and survive as long as 200 years. Now, walking past a particularly tall one, she marveled at the blooms clustered and peeking over the top of the central shoot and the five shoots branching off from it. Another smaller cactus of a different variety, a prickly pear that was maybe three feet tall and spread out over about eight feet, caught her attention with its bright yellow flowers. In a couple of months red fruit would be ripe for the picking for those knowledgeable of harvesting a cactus. Being raised in the desert, Dottie had that knowledge and sometimes made prickly pear jelly.
In the distance she saw a small herd of wild donkeys lumbering slowly along a wash with a couple of foals sticking close to their mothers. It made her smile. A cactus wren, the state bird, flew to a saguaro and perched. It was joined by another and Dottie knew that the nest she saw may or may not be its home. The species built many nests as decoys.
As always, her evening walk invigorated her as she observed nature doing what it did best, surviving and thriving.
Two: Crash
Scanning the terrain below from his Cessna Skyhawk, Collin Banks enjoyed his birds-eye view. He'd traveled the world as a treasure hunter for twenty plus years and seen every landscape possible, but he'd always had a fondness for the desert. The starkness and vastness touched his soul, perhaps because of the starkness he recognized within himself. Although often surrounded by crowds and the media because of the success he'd experienced in his profession, he was a loner at heart who didn't want attention. However, publicity was a necessary evil in order to attract investors. Over the years, his s
ponsors had been well rewarded with finds of sunken treasure discovered in such diverse oceans as the Atlantic's Devil's Triangle, also known as the Bermuda Triangle, the Aegean Sea, and the Indian Ocean. He'd also uncovered hidden codices in an ancient tomb in Israel, and dug gold coins from an island off Australia's coastline. Those were the most notable of his finds, but many smaller caches had been unearthed over the years—caches that had required much study, insight, and luck to locate.
And that's why he was now flying his plane over the town of Oasis in Arizona. About two years back, he'd wanted to solve another mystery and after searching the internet, he'd begun an investigation of the Manfred Schneider Gold Heist back in 1911. Because of other obligations, he'd only been able to gather and review information periodically, but now his time was freed up enough to pursue this latest quest—locate the whereabouts of the stolen gold ingots.
Before actually visiting the town and surrounding areas, he wanted to get a feel for the terrain, and that's why he'd flown his Cessna from Florida to Arizona, with a few stops along the way to visit friends. Now he banked the craft over the town and dipped lower, viewing the grid of the streets. After that, he headed east of town, toward the Weaver Mountains.
He noticed three wilderness roads leading from town into the desert and decided to follow one. Flying lower still, he saw a lone figure walking the road. He passed overhead and banked to turn north when a loud pop rocked the plane, followed by another pop, and then a sputtering of the motor before complete silence.
"What the hell!" Conner shouted.
The propellers slowed and then ceased movement.
Connor had often found himself in dangerous situations, so he knew panic only increased his odds for an unfavorable outcome. The first thing he did was radio his situation and while doing so, he scanned for the best place to set down along the stretch of road. He wanted to get as close to civilization as possible without bringing harm to anyone below.
Thankfully, the plane would glide and not fall like a rock from the sky, and he positioned it for landing. Using the hand pump he lowered the landing gear and briefly saw the lone figure standing and staring up at his plane as he flew overhead.
Down, down, he came.
Three: Rescue
Dottie had watched the small plane and wondered who could be in it. Big jetliners were often seen on their way to and from Phoenix, but rarely did small aircraft fly over the area. The plane had banked and she'd figured it was leaving the vicinity so she'd lowered her gaze. That's when she'd heard a loud noise followed by another one. Gazing upward again, she'd noticed dark smoke pouring from the plane.
Now, in disbelief, she watched the aircraft suddenly drop altitude and position itself over the wilderness road. As it silently glided over the top of her, she knew immediately that the pilot was about to make an emergency landing.
Her heart pounded as she shouted a prayer, "Oh, God, please save the pilot!"
The plane's wheels touched down with a thud and then the unthinkable happened—the plane tilted and a wing crashed into the ground, sending metal, rocks, and dirt scattering everywhere.
Dottie started running toward the disaster. The craft continued its precarious landing until it finally halted about fifty feet off the road.
Except for the sound of Dottie's hiking boots hitting the ground as she ran, there was no other sound for a few seconds, and then a terrible hissing noise came from the plane. Dottie saw fire in the back end.
"NO! NO!" she screamed and pressed herself to run faster. It seemed an eternity before she reached the wreckage. The fire had grown.
She circled the cockpit frantically praying the pilot was still alive. He was slumped forward, perfectly still. Reaching for his door, she tried to pry it open, but it only moved slightly. She tugged again. Nothing.
Trying not to panic, she glanced quickly around and saw a piece of metal that had detached from the plane. Grabbing it, she winced at the heat still retained in the metal and jerked her tank top over her head, using it to shield her hands. She continued her effort to free the driver. Placing the scrap of metal inside the slightly open door, she used it as a pry bar and pushed with all her strength. The door opened a little, but not enough for her to pull the pilot out.
A quick spurt of fire scared Dottie more than she had ever been scared in her life and she knew there were only minutes, perhaps seconds, before the plane would be totally engulfed in flames. She repositioned the pry bar and screamed to the heavens for help as she pushed again. The door groaned as it shifted.
She now had enough room to pull the man free and silently prayed that moving him would not injure him more, but she had to get him out of that plane. Grasping him under the arms, she tugged. He moaned but didn't become conscious. Now half of his body was hanging out of the cockpit. The heat of the fire terrified Dottie but she stayed with the pilot.
In a burst of adrenal strength, she pulled him free and onto the ground. Taking only enough time to replenish her strength by inhaling deeply, she used what remained of that adrenaline to drag the injured man out into the desert.
It seemed an impossible feat, but when she had him about thirty feet away, the entire plane went up in flames, which released a final spurt of adrenaline, and she got him another ten feet before collapsing beside him.
Dottie had no strength remaining; she couldn't even move a finger. But her mind yelled at her to call for help. It took everything in her to remove her backpack. Somehow she retrieved her cell phone and placed a 9-1-1 call. After that, she fell back beside the man.
A few long inhalations later, she again summoned her strength to find her water bottle. Rising above the pilot, she straightened his body out and then checked for bleeding. He had several cuts to his face, but none were bleeding profusely. She then noticed his leg had a displaced fracture in his calf and she wanted to cry.
Using her T-shirt, she wet the fabric and gently sponged the cuts on his forehead and cheeks, all the while trying to comfort him with words. "You're going to be just fine. You didn't survive that crash not to be fine. I won't let you not be fine. You're going to get well and fly another plane. Well, maybe you won't want to fly again, but you look like the type who doesn't let setbacks hold you back, so I think you will fly again. Yes, you're going to be just fine."
She kept up her nonsensical repetitive monologue while wiping dirt and blood off his face. For a second he regained consciousness and opened his eyes. They were blue like the sky and stared deeply into hers. She must have been crying because he said, "Angel…don't cry for me," before losing consciousness again.
Shortly thereafter rescue vehicles began arriving, first the sheriff and then paramedics. While the pilot was being stabilized, other paramedics treated the minor burns on Dottie's hands.
She was standing off to the side answering the sheriff's questions when a helicopter arrived. Within minutes the victim was being airlifted. As the ground paramedics were packing up, she asked which hospital he was being taken to.
"He's on his way to Lifeline Hospital in Phoenix."
The Sheriff added, "It's a good thing you were there to see the crash or that guy would be dead. He owes you his life."
Dottie asked the Sheriff, "Do you know his identity?"
"It seems there was a distress call placed, but the powers that be are still verifying the identity of the person."
"If I call the station later, do you think you could tell me his name? I'd like to visit him in the hospital and see how he's doing."
The Sheriff reached into his shirt pocket and handed her a business card. "Call this number in the morning. I'll let our desk officer know he can give you the info if we have it."
All night Dottie tossed and turned with nightmares about the accident. Interspersed with horrific visions of the plane on fire were the pilot's blue eyes staring up into hers.
Before dawn, she was out of bed replacing the bandage on one hand and then sipping a cup of coffee. She figured she'd have to wait until at least
eight before calling the Sheriff's office, and if that was too early, she'd call back at nine after she opened her shop for business.
At seven she turned on the television just to have something to do. She had already dressed and loaded the dishwasher, made her bed, and straightened up the house. She flipped to a news channel in Phoenix. Perhaps they had picked up on the story, although she didn't think it likely since Oasis was such a small dot on the map.
She was wrong.
The intro-teaser was about a plane crash outside of Oasis in which the treasure hunter Collin Banks had been injured and airlifted to Lifeline Hospital in Phoenix.
Dottie gasped when her name was mentioned as the only witness to the crash and then her heroism in pulling Mr. Banks to safety.
Collin Banks. Collin Banks. Dottie searched her mind for anything she had ever seen or heard about the man. Suddenly she remembered a documentary about a hoard of treasure he'd discovered in the Bermuda Triangle. The find was considered one of the most phenomenal ever and the value of the relics incalculable. Much of the find had been donated to museums.
Dottie felt the backs of her legs touch the couch and she plopped down. All she could think was, Wow!
Novels and Novellas by Verna Clay
WESTERN ROMANCE
Contemporary
Romance on the Ranch Series
Dream Kisses
Honey Kisses
Baby Kisses
Candy Kisses
Christmas Kisses
Rock Star Kisses
Forever Kisses
Forgotten Kisses
Angel Kisses
The Last Kiss (2017)
Oasis Series
Stranded in Oasis
Branded in Oasis
Crashed in Oasis