Red Rock Ranch (eBook)

- Sapphic love story
- Healing in nature
- Opposites attract
- Finding home where you least expect it

“Come on, Henry. You can do this.” The engine of the old pickup truck protests, and although I’m ever the optimist, something tells me I may not make it to Vegas. The plan was to drive there with my belongings in the back, then sell the truck and buy a smaller, more practical car. All I need is to make it to the city. My friends warned me against arranging the move myself, but Henry’s never let me down before, so I thought I’d take a chance and save myself a ton of money.
“Please, Henry,” I beg when he stutters again. “Please, please, please. Not here.”
I shouldn’t have taken a detour, but the desert is supposed to be beautiful during sunset. I wanted to take in the scenery while driving toward my new life, so I made the stupid decision to turn off the desolate highway onto a narrow dirt road.
It was spectacular indeed. The sun, a fiery ball of orange, glowed low on the horizon while the sky was ablaze with color. But then the engine light started blinking, and now my eyes are fixated on the dashboard instead. It’s been red for a few weeks, but it never blinked until five minutes ago. I’m miles from the highway, and I haven’t seen a car in the past twenty minutes. Why did I go into the desert today of all days? I could’ve booked a tour from Vegas once I was settled or driven here after I bought a new car.
I turn and head back in the direction I came from. If I break down, the chances of someone passing are much better closer to the highway. Besides regretting my decision to venture off-plan, my eyes feel dry, and my muscles are aching. The thought of stopping for a rest is enticing, but I’m afraid Henry will give up the ghost entirely if I do so. I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I doubt anyone will find me here tonight.
The low sun casts long shadows across the barren landscape, and darkness is falling way faster than I anticipated. My satnav doesn’t work here, I have zero bars on my phone, and although it seemed pretty straightforward to navigate the few roads, in the darkening landscape, it’s not so simple anymore. Was I driving toward the sunset, or was the sun to my right? Reaching one of the crossroads, I’m confused, and through my growing unease, I can’t remember which way to turn.
Think, Dakota.
I turn left, following the road, but I don’t recognize anything. I suspect I went the wrong way, as I should have reached the highway by now. Didn’t I pass a weird rock formation that looked like an elephant? There was a single shoe in the middle of the road too, but I don’t see it. Realizing I’ve lost all sense of direction and that I have no clue how to get back to the highway, panic takes over.
It’s crazy how dark it gets once the sun has set, and even with my lights on, I can barely see anything. Am I still on the road, or am I literally crossing the desert now? I suddenly feel a sharp jolt, and then the truck starts pulling to one side. The steering wheel vibrates while I step on the brakes until we stop. What was that?
Startled and shaky, I turn off the engine and blow out my cheeks. I can hear it through my open windows; there’s a hissing sound coming from the right back tire.
Getting out and using the torch on my phone to inspect it, I see it’s been ripped or punctured by something and it’s completely flat. “Fuck!” I curse out loud, then wince at the sound of my voice cutting through the silence.
I have a spare tire with me, but I never bothered to buy a new jack after a friend borrowed mine. Even if I did have a jack, I’ve never changed a tire before; I always relied on roadside assistance in California. Would they come all the way out here? And where is here, anyway? Even if I could call for help—which I can’t, I establish when I check my network again—what would I say when they ask me where I am? Somewhere in the desert near Vegas? It couldn’t possibly get any vaguer than that.
“This is bad, Henry,” I mutter, then let out a long sigh. Leaning against the pickup, I contemplate what to do. Should I start walking and hope to find a sign of life somewhere? Or would that be the worst possible idea? If I lost my truck too, I’d be in serious trouble. At least I have water and blankets in the back, so it’s probably wise to stay here until the morning when I can see where I’m going. Besides, it’s eerie out here in the dark, and I don’t feel safe. The only sound is that of lizards slipping past or the intermittent gusts of wind that send tumbleweeds scurrying across my feet. A vast expanse of nothingness stretches for miles in every direction, only broken up by the occasional cactus or yucca plant, standing tall and proud in the harsh environment. They look like figures, their twisted branches reaching out like arms ready to grab anyone who comes near, and the sight of them is unsettling.
What about coyotes? They live in the desert, don’t they? And scorpions? That thought makes my heart race as I glance down at my feet in the flimsy flip-flops I’m wearing. Rattlesnakes? I curl my toes and point my torch toward the ground, and within seconds, I’m back in the pickup.
I couldn’t have messed up more if I tried. On Monday, I’m supposed to start my new job, and I need time to get settled into my apartment. What if no one finds me over the weekend and I don’t show up for my first day at work? What if no one finds me at all? What if I die out here? My stomach tightens, and I remind myself that doom thinking won’t get me anywhere. Mom will get worried; I promised to call her when I reached Vegas, and if she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll alert the police, so hopefully, they’ll come looking for me.
I’m going to sit here until it gets light, I decide, and if I climb onto the roof in the morning, I might be able to see the highway. If not, I’ll wait until someone comes to the rescue. Yes, that’s better. That’s a safe plan.
Something flashes in the dark, and I narrow my eyes as I focus on the direction it came from. Did I imagine it? I’m getting pretty tired and suspect my mind is playing tricks on me, but then I see it again, and there are two lights this time.
“Help! Over here!” I yell out of the window. “Help!” The lights seem to change direction, so I turn on the headlights and honk the horn over and over, until the lights—there are at least five now—come closer. They move in a funny way, almost in a swaying, drunk motion, and when their silhouettes come into clear view, I realize they’re horseback riders with lights attached to their cowboy hats. Then my relief is replaced by fear. How do I know if I can trust them? Is there such a thing as desert pirates? Could they be bad people? As they near, I see two of them are women, and that brings me some comfort, so I get out and wave at them.
“Hey, ma’am.” The woman who rides up front taps her hat. “Are you lost?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” I point to my pickup. “And I’ve got a flat. I must’ve hit something—I couldn’t see much in the dark. I have a spare, but I don’t have a jack, and there’s something wrong with my engine too.”
“Okay…” The woman glances over her shoulder and addresses the group. “Do you guys mind waiting for a minute?” She turns back to me, comes closer, and glances curiously at the full trunk of my pickup. “Were you planning on vacationing out here or something? Because it’s prohibited to camp in this part of the desert, and it’s also unsafe with all the critters.”
“No. I was on my way to Vegas. I’m moving there.”
“Oh.” She arches a brow. “Why on earth did you go off-road in the dark?”
“I wanted to see the sunset,” I say sheepishly and blush when the group chuckles.
“God, you couldn’t have fucked up worse.” The woman looks amused. “Right. Well, I’m in the middle of something, so I can’t help you right now, but if you go and sit in your truck and lock the doors, I’ll be back for you in about three hours.”
“Thank you.” I cross my heart and give her a smile. “Thank you so, so much. I can pay you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now stay inside with those open-toed sandals. I don’t want to return to find you poisoned or worse.” She turns her horse and beckons to her companions to do the same. “Three hours. I promise I’ll come back.”