Chapter 1

The tachometer needle moved rapidly back and forth from two thousand to twenty-two hundred RPM, and I could feel the engine’s surges through my hands and feet. It was getting dark, the visibility was poor, and I was lost. I looked out my pilot’s window, peering at the unfamiliar, rocky landscape below me. The Cessna’s radios and transponder were inoperative, and I had no cell phone to either navigate or to call for help.

I glanced down at the sectional chart spread across my lap. Somehow, I’d gotten away from the road I was following into Miles City, and nothing I could see on the ground matched anything on the chart. Worse, if I kept flying, and I found a small airport, I’d not be able to turn on the runway lights. If I didn’t find an airport, then I was facing an off-airport landing in the dark. So, I had to land while I could still see.

My hand shook on the control yoke, and I took a breath. Panic would get me killed, and I didn’t have the time to indulge in it. I decided to fly a ten-minute grid pattern, starting by flying due north by my compass, and then turn to the east. I reached up and steadied the liquid-filled compass, and turned until it showed I was flying north. Then, I pulled a knob on the panel to cage the ancient directional gyro, and cranked it to indicate north. Lastly, I took note of the time on the aircraft’s clock and wrote it on the sectional with the pencil I’d fished out of the glove box.

Ten minutes later, I turned east, having seen nothing on the ground except desolate, rough landscape. If I had to land there, I’d certainly wreck the plane, and probably hurt myself. The sun sank below the horizon, and I swallowed a fresh surge of panic. I had fifteen to twenty minutes of daylight left, and then I had to land, no matter what.

I flew east, and then I turned south. Looking carefully at the ground, I guessed that the wind was out of the west at about ten miles per hour. That meant that I would have to land to the west. The engine was running even rougher now, but that wasn’t much of a concern anymore. Five minutes went by, then six, then seven. The fading sunlight was weakening, and the shadows on the ground were beginning to blend into darkness.

Something ahead and to my right drew my attention. Lights! I sat up straight and peered over the cowling, trying to make out what it was. The visibility was only two or three miles, making it harder to get a clear view. The lights resolved into a vehicle’s headlights and what looked to be a couple of outdoor lights for a building. The vehicle was moving slowly in a straight line along what I hoped was a road.

Using the vehicle lights as a guide, I turned right to line up on their direction of travel. When I rolled wings level, I turned on the landing lights and aimed at the point where I’d first seen the vehicle. The real danger here was power lines, I knew. Trees and other obstacles would be visible, but power lines wouldn’t. I had no choice, though. If I crashed, then at least I had a chance of being rescued.

I descended quickly, and then a dirt road appeared in front of me, dimly seen in the deepening twilight. It was straight enough, but it looked like a postage stamp from the air. When I was sure I could glide to my chosen landing point, I closed the throttle and allowed the plane to slow down. The engine began to misfire in earnest, but I left it alone. I was still a little fast on the approach, so I extended the flaps with the handle, and flicked the trim wheel to compensate for the nose up pressure on the yoke.

Finally, my landing point came into range of my landing light. It looked to be wide enough for the wings to fit between the fences on both sides, and I didn’t see any power poles. The ground rose up to meet me, and I pulled on the yoke to raise the nose. A few repetitions of “too much down, pull, leveling off, push”, and the wheels thumped firmly onto the road. I raised the flaps, set the nose down, and applied the brakes to stop. The Cessna came to a halt in a cloud of dust, and I pulled the mixture control fully out, and watched as the prop came to a shuddering halt.

Wherever I was, I was on the ground in one piece, with a sick airplane, one suitcase, and three dollars to my name. The vehicle I’d seen came down the road toward me. As it came close, I could see that it was a pickup, and there was only one person inside. I opened the door, slid my seat all the way back, and climbed out of the cockpit.

The truck stopped in front of the plane, and I watched as a man opened the door and stepped down. He was tall, dark-complected, with an average build and dark, graying hair. He wore a blue button-down work shirt, black jeans, and work boots. I guessed that he was somewhere around thirty-five years old.

He stopped a few feet in front of me. “Are you okay?” His voice was a clear, mellow tenor, and he looked at me with concern.

“I’m fine, just some engine trouble.” I stepped around the strut and pushed my hair out of my face. “I hope it’s okay, but I had to land before dark.”

“This is my land, so you’re fine right here.” He hesitated as he studied me more closely. “You’re younger than I would expect.”

“I’m seventeen,” I replied. “I have my pilot’s license, though.”

He nodded. “I figured. I can give you a ride to the house. There’s a room where you can stay, and a phone.”

I had no choice, so I nodded. “That sounds good. I need to take care of my plane, though.”

“What do you need for it?”

“I can leave it out, but it could blow over if the wind comes up.”

“I see. We can push it, right?”

“Yes. I can steer with a towbar.”

“My name’s Hollis, by the way. Hollis Daniels.” He stepped up and held out his hand. “Welcome to my ranch.”

I took it. If he was an axe murderer, I was done anyway. “Melody Freeman. I’m glad to be on solid ground.” His grip was firm, and his hand was warm and calloused.

“There’s a cattle shelter about thirty yards behind your plane. I can open the gate, and I think it’ll fit. We can push the tail inside, and tie it to the building. That should hold it. First, let me put your stuff in the truck, though.”

Fifteen minutes later, after we’d tied my airplane down in the shelter, Hollis showed me into his house. It was an older home, but it was well maintained and clean. We came into the kitchen, where he seated me at the bar. It was definitely not original; modern stainless steel appliances and two sinks sat flanked by oak cabinets and stone countertops.

“Are you hungry? I was about to start dinner.” Hollis bent down and retrieved a pot from a bottom cabinet. “It’s spaghetti night. I’m being lazy and using a box dinner, though.” He reached into a cabinet and took down a small box.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” I said with a smile.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Some water would be great, thanks.”

Hollis opened a cabinet, took down a glass tumbler, and filled it from the tap. “The water’s good here, and it’s cold right out of the ground.” He set the glass in front of me, acknowledged my nod of thanks with a smile, and returned to the stove. “So, how did you come to land on my driveway?”

“It’s a long story, but you probably know that,” I began. He glanced at me with a grin, and I set my water glass down as I composed myself. “My father died six months ago. I was in school when they called me to the office and told me. He’d fallen out of the barn, and our neighbor found him an hour later. They said he landed wrong and broke his neck.” I stopped and took a breath.

“It’s okay,” Hollis said quietly. “You can tell me more later.”

“No, I think I need to tell it. We’d had a couple of bad years, and Dad borrowed money to keep the farm going. There was a fire, and the house was damaged, and a tornado wrecked our combine, all in the same year. After he died, I found out we were behind on taxes. My father’s half-brother was the next surviving adult, and he is an asshole, and a lawyer. Somehow, when he was done, there was nothing left for me. He said that Dad owed back taxes, and that he had to sell everything to cover that and the debts. He was going to turn me over to social services until I could graduate, and then I would be out on my ass.”

I took a drink of water. “What Asshole didn’t know was that Dad had the plane, and he’d put it in my name instead of his. I was able to get my hours in it, but it needs a lot of work. The radios and instruments are really old, and now there’s something wrong with the engine. When they came and got my car, I got my stuff, and took the plane. Dad had a prepaid credit card for aviation gas that still works, and I’ve been using it and what little cash I could find.”

“What about your mother,” Hollis asked as he worked on the meal.

“That’s where I was going. Mom left when I was six, I don’t know why. She would write me letters, but she said she didn’t use the Internet or phones. She would tell me about living in Seattle, but the postmarks always said Everett. Other than his half-brother, Dad didn’t have any family, and I never knew if Mom did, either.”

“Where was home?”

“We lived in Missouri, northeast of Kansas City. We didn’t have a huge farm, but one of our fields was an old crop dusting grass strip. Dad mowed the runway and kept it up so we could use it. It was twenty feet wide, so landing was a challenge when it was windy, and it was a thousand feet long.”

“That doesn’t sound like much room.”

“It was enough. There weren’t any trees to worry about, and I got used to it.” I sniffed. “The sauce smells good.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I’m using the mix and canned tomato sauce, but I do doctor it up some.” He held up a shaker. “Extra garlic and Italian seasoning.” He turned back to the stove. “What are you going to do, now?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I shook my head. “I have enough left on the card, it was prepaid only, to fly to Seattle, but I only have three dollars to my name. My cell phone is gone, because Asshole cancelled my service and demanded that I turn it over, and I don’t have anyone to call, anyway.”

“I’m not trying to be forward, but you could stay here until you get your feet on the ground.”

“Is there a missus Daniels?”

“Nope, never been married. This ranch has been in the family since my great-great-grandfather claimed it back in eighteen seventy-one. Well, about a third of the original claim is still in the family. The rest has been sold over the years.”