Stranded in Oasis

Preface

Oasis is a series I contemplated for many months while completing other writing obligations. Finally, I was able to begin this first book and introduce Maximilian Rutherford and Pilar Armstrong, as well as a wonderful cast of supporting characters who will make appearances in all the books—characters that in no way fall into the category of normal.

Other than a general premise and the opening chapter, I had no idea where the story would lead. Day-by-day it unfolded. As an aside, when I got to Chapter Thirteen: Country Two-Step, I was surprised to learn the history of handyman Hank (perhaps overwhelmed would be a better description). Of course, I can't give a spoiler, so suffice it to say that Hank's story is memorable.

Another character introduced is Kade Blackwell. I knew when I began writing this series that I would bring a motorcycle rider/mechanic into the storyline; I just didn't know his name yet. Anyway, after scanning many lists of names, I kept returning to Kade. For me, the name seemed to embody a bad boy image, and adding the surname of Blackwell increased the allusion to that image.

Kade's story is told in book two, Branded in Oasis. And no, branded has nothing to do with cows. As for Kade's love interest, she is Maximilian's sister, Skye Rutherford.

Book three, Crashed in Oasis, continues this mini saga with a plane crash and treasure hunt.

The town of Oasis is a fabrication of my imagination, but the descriptions of terrain and surrounding mountains are accurate to the area I chose. Also, my characters travel to Williams, Arizona, and then to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Although I have taken a few liberties regarding that trip, the information about Williams and Phantom Ranch, and any history, is accurate.

I hope you enjoy this new series!

Verna Clay

Chapter 1: Reassignment

Veering off the U.S. 93 onto the off-ramp, Maximilian Rutherford III, ground his teeth and slammed his three quarters-of-a-million dollar RV to a halt at a stop sign with graffiti declaring, hot as hell, and then turned onto a narrow, two lane road with dips that even an outrageously expensive RV couldn't disguise.

The next sign he passed said, Oasis 12 miles. Staring at distant bluffs encasing flat desert of scrub brush, a scattering of mesquite and juniper trees, and plenty of cacti, he once again spewed a string of profanities at his grandfather.

Up until a week ago he'd considered his relationship with his paternal grandfather, Maximilian Rutherford I—someone he mostly saw only during management meetings because of their busy lifestyles—to be satisfactory.

He'd always called his grandfather by his shortened first name—Max. The old gentleman had never been Grandpa or Gramps to any of his grandchildren, but that was to be expected from one who ran the multi-faceted, multi-billion dollar Rutherford Acquisitions empire. There simply was no time for family get-togethers when you were globetrotting and looking for your next company to buy, overhaul, and sell to the highest bidder.

Max III, who was supposed to be a chip off the old grandfather block, scanned the terrain before him. Being the second of June, the weather wasn't outrageously hot…yet. He hated hot weather. Grinding his jaw again, he replayed the unfortunate circumstances that had landed him in the pits of hell in the Arizona desert. Oasis, my ass.

Ten days ago he had been happily—well, maybe not happily, but studiously—performing his job as the interim CEO of their latest acquisition, a company that developed and manufactured computer chips. His job duties with Rutherford Acquisitions involved taking charge and reorganizing the acquired company for the purpose of making it attractive to buyers. It usually took one to two years before the failing corporation made enough of a turnaround to sell for a profit, and that was one reason his grandfather's latest order was so confusing.

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Damn the old man! Max had flown all night from the West Coast to the East Coast and the headquarters of his grandfather's vast empire in Manhattan after he'd been summoned. His grandfather's call had come during the first meeting of a week of meetings that had been scheduled with IT moguls—men who were key to launching this latest acquisition back into the marketplace. It had taken Max weeks to set the meetings up and when he'd tried to explain that to his grandfather, the old man had just blown it off and insisted he reschedule because his presence was mandatory in New York.

The minute Max had entered the office of Maximilian Rutherford I, he'd known his grandfather was up to something. Respectfully, he'd greeted his elder, accepted a shot of bourbon, and declined a cigar. While the old guy puffed away and talked about his latest success in the stock market, Max waited to hear what his gut feeling told him he wasn't going to like.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Max, Sr. set his cigar in his crystal ashtray, sipped his bourbon, casually leaned backward, and said, I'm reassigning you.

Frowning, Max had leaned forward. But sir, I'm about to close a deal that will skyrocket the value of the company in California.

The old man made a dismissive motion with his hand. Your stepbrother can handle it. I've already reassigned him to the project.

Max shot halfway out of his seat. What! Without even consulting me!

Unfazed by his grandson's shout, Max, Sr. said in his most commanding voice, Sit down, Max.

Max could feel his blood pressure rising as he sat back in his chair.

Max, Sr. stood and walked to the bank of windows overlooking Manhattan sixty-three stories below. Without explanation, he said, As tough and mean as I am, I'll not live forever. I've been reviewing my will with my attorney and before I make final decisions as to the disposition of my company and assets after my demise, I need to know the tenacity of my heirs.

Those words gave Max pause. Was the old man dying of some disease?

Max, Sr. turned from the windows and answered his grandson's unspoken question. No. I don't have any dreaded ailment as far as I know. But I do have a driving ambition to know what my heirs are made of. My only child, God rest his soul, wasn't cut from the same cloth as you or I. He was a tree hugger who would have driven this company into bankruptcy had he lived and inherited my estate. He wanted to support every whiney cause that crossed his desk.

Max, Sr. seemed lost in his memories and Max's wrath softened. The old man continued, It was one of those causes that took his life. He drowned fording a river in the Amazon while heading up an expedition to save some rare bird. He shook his head.

Max had heard the story a million times, but he didn't interrupt his grandfather. As much as the old man bitched about his son's do-gooder ways, it was obvious he'd loved his boy. Max waited for his own fate to be revealed. He wasn't like his father. He was tough as nails, so the reason for being pulled from his latest assignment, when he was so close to success, irked and puzzled him.

Max, Sr. turned back to the bank of windows. After a moment of silence, he said, Don't take your next assignment lightly. It will determine whether I hand the reins of my company over to you after I'm gone, or give it to your step-brother, Bertram.

At the mention of Bertram, Max's anger renewed itself. Two years older than Max, the man was an ass-and-a-half. Bertie could play the part of a loving grandson when in the presence of Max, Sr., but he was a thorn to Max. Max rued the day his mother had remarried to an oil magnate four years after Max II died. Bertie's father had later lost his wealth due to wrong decisions and died of a heart attack when Max was twenty.

Max, Sr. spoke again and his words sent an arrow of foreboding down Max's spine. I'm sending you to Arizona for six months.

What the hell is in Arizona?

Max, Sr. turned from the window and studied his grandson. Quietly, he said, The keys to your fate, boy.

Max squinted and waited. He supposed he could deal with six months in Phoenix. He wondered what acquisition his grandfather had purchased there.

His grandfather's next words shattered his vision of working from a high rise in the capital city.

Max, Sr. walked back to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a paper. He handed it across the desk and Max reached for it. His grandfather said, This is where you'll be staying in the town of Oasis, about fifty miles northwest of Phoenix.

Max's frown increased as he accepted the page that had been printed off a website with the internet address of desertprincess.com. He furrowed his brow and read the page. Was this some kind of a joke? It was an advertisement for a trailer park.

Spend your winters at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park in beautiful Oasis, Arizona.

Max lifted confused eyes to his grandfather's. What are you telling me? he asked.

I'm telling you that you're going to manage that trailer park for six months and it will decide your future with my company.

Max, who oversaw billion dollar investments and hobnobbed with the most influential personalities in the world, couldn't wrap his mind around his grandfather's instructions. He simply looked from the printout with a picture of an assortment of trailers and RVs parked in rows amidst desert sand dotted with cacti, a few scraggly trees and scrub brush, back to his grandfather. The old man reached to push a button on his intercom. Peggy, when's my next appointment and who is it with?

Peggy, Max's secretary since the creation of man, who looked to be that old, said in her no-nonsense voice, You have a three-thirty with the governor of South Carolina.

Max, Sr. stood. Son, it's nice seeing you, but I've got some research to catch up on before meeting with the governor. He's looking for assistance with their transportation issues and I may have just the company to fit the bill.

Max, Jr. couldn't make his legs move. Softly, he said, Sir, you're joking, right? You're not really sending me to oversee a trailer park? He even managed a chuckle.

His grandfather, looking completely serious, replied, What part of 'head off to Arizona' don't you understand?

Chapter 2: Trailer Park Blues

Following the winding road to Oasis past prickly cacti and blowing sand pushed Max's attempt at anger management past the red mark. He pulled his RV over in a turnout that barely fit its forty-five foot length. He had a sudden craving for a smoke, a nasty habit he'd kicked five years back. Rounding his Mercedes CLS550 that was being towed behind the RV, he paused to gaze out across flat arid land dotted with sparse vegetation, toward a ridge of mountains. Leaning against the RV he sucked some calming breaths and closed his eyes. What a nightmare!

His anger morphed into determination when he visualized his grandfather shaking his head in disgust if Max was to turn the damn rig around, head back to New York, and refuse to go along with this idiotic request. But if he did that, he'd blow his chance of inheriting control of his grandfather's empire, something he'd been groomed for since the age of seventeen, when he'd joined the corporation as a mail sorter. It had taken eight years and a university education for him to move into the ranks of management, and now, at the age of thirty-four, he was a mover-and-shaker in the world of corporate reorganization and resale. His grandfather needed his expertise, which made his demand that Max waste half a year in some God forsaken place called Oasis, unfathomable.

Max opened his eyes and felt a little calmer. Movement at his feet caught his attention as a finger-sized lizard skirted across the toe of his Hogan sneakers. For a second, remembering his fondness as an adolescent for all things reptilian, he almost reached to pick it up.

With the craving for a cigarette gone, and his anger manageable, Max climbed back into the driver seat of his luxurious RV. At least I'll live in comfort in this godforsaken place.

* * *

Pilar stepped out the front door of her trailer, actually, the only door, and breathed deeply. She'd worked a morning and evening shift the day before at Desert Princess Diner. Her employer, Belle Starr Thatcher, named after the notorious female outlaw of the nineteenth century, had lived in Oasis for over fifty years. To those who managed to get on the receiving end of Belle's sharp tongue, she was known as BS, but to most in the community, she was called Princess. Her critics said she was older than the distant mountains, but Pilar guessed her to be in her mid to late seventies. When she'd asked Pilar to work extra hours because Aggie was out ill, Pilar had readily agreed. Princess had given her a job five years earlier when she'd desperately wanted to move to Oasis.

Moving her gaze to her new white picket fence, Pilar grinned. Willie was going to love it when he got back from visiting with his father in Phoenix. So what if the fence wasn't surrounding a cute cottage nestled in the midst of mountains or perched on a jagged coastline. So what if it surrounded a forty-two foot, 1984 trailer, in a trailer park in the tiny community of Oasis located in the middle of nowhere. It was still her pride and joy. She'd always wanted a white picket fence and she'd saved for over a year to buy it. Life was good!

A dust cloud in the distance captured her attention. It was too early to be a snow-birder. Usually, they began arriving in October. She wondered if it was old Mr. Howard who always drove down from Canada, but then decided it was too early even for him. Pilar smiled. Mr. Howard, who insisted everyone call him Howie, always had a story to tell and a piece of hard candy for Willie. Her son hated the stuff, but never let on to Howie. Her boy was kind and courteous; traits she was enormously thankful for.

Turning on a faucet, she watered the few cacti she had growing in pots and then raked the ground of her newly enclosed tiny yard. Running her hand lovingly over the pickets of her fence, she turned her attention back to the RV that was now discernable. It was a big one. A big fancy one. A big expensive one. And it was towing an expensive Mercedes. Pilar figured the owner must be lost because RVs of that caliber never stayed at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park.

The motorhome braked at the entrance to the park and Pilar wondered if the driver was going to attempt to turn around. There was barely enough room. She was surprised when he continued forward and followed the sign that said OFFICE with an arrow pointing to the right. She watched the RV navigate the short stretch to Belle's 1970s-ish trailer and then brake. Belle liked to garden, so she had a profusion of odd plants selected to survive in the desert growing haphazardly around her trailer. Like Belle, the plants were unique.

Pilar lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun as she watched a tall man descend from the RV. He was far enough away that she couldn't distinguish facial features, but not so far that she didn't pick up on his air of authority. He was a man with attitude. Pilar grinned. Well, Mr. Attitude, you've met your match in Belle.

Briefly, the newcomer glanced in her direction. She watched him scan her trailer and new fence and then her. Standing a little taller, even though she was