GOLD RIVER (Book 1)

Chapter 1

A week ago, at the edge of his fifty-acre ranch, Tom Logan discovered a sandstone laced with gold. Naturally occurring. Nothing to get worked up about, but shiny objects always drew his eye, so he went online and ordered a metal detector from Amazon. This was kindergarten stuff compared to what he was used to, but he needed a diversion, something to take his mind off living alone in a big house. He needed a hobby.

Odessa, Texas didn't receive any rain this time of year. Late August stuck to Tom's clothes, his exposed skin, and other areas he'd rather not talk about. He suspected this location once had a creek bed carrying minerals and trace elements through the arid plain.

The evening sun glared in his face, the heat warming his cheeks and a slight hint of dry tumble weed irritated his nostrils. His cowboy boots scuffed over a barrage of tiny rocks littering the sandy soil. Sagebrush and cactus stood here and there. A few scraggly bushes came into view over the crest of a low hill and a giant hickory that reminded him of the tree of life.

The brand-new metal detector chirped... once... twice. He kneeled and rubbed a gritty rock between his fingers, clearing away a thin layer of sand. A gold streak ran through the middle of the sandstone with tiny veins branching out from the main line.

He chuckled and grinned big, a gleam in his hazel eyes. "Hello, you pretty thing. Any of your friends wanna come out and play?"

Tom pocketed the rock and resumed his search, treading down an incline, boot heels gouging prints in the loose soil.

The detector chirped again, a ding, ding, ding chorus that garnered his attention to the path ahead. The plate shaped head hovered over a large flat stone imbedded in the ground. Could be the mother lode, but he pressed on because the electronic chirp grew louder the closer he got to a boulder that came up to his waist.

Then silence. Apparently, he moved off target, but Tom continued on to see if he could pick up the trail again. He could always come back to the hot spot later.

He moved around the rock to the other side, his right hand held at belt level—and coiled up like a garden hose—a rattlesnake stared at him, split tongue slithering in and out of its mouth with a hiss, its upturned tail vibrating, rattling a warning. The muscles in Tom's forearm tensed up, his grip on the rubber handle squeezed tighter.

He was too close. A snake could strike and reach its prey if it was within range, the length of its body from head to tail. The viper wasn't moving, but neither was Tom. Then the metal detector chirped again—and the rattler lashed out at him. Before he could react, it sank its fangs into the top of his right hand.

Tom's eyes bulged wide open and his heart burst into a pounding kick drum rhythm—the metal detector crashed to the ground as the snake drew back, the damage done.

He stumbled backwards, tripping over a rock, landing hard on his billfold in the back pocket of his jeans. Scrambling to his feet, he wheeled around and caught sight of his truck at the top of the hill. Blood thumped in his ears. The landscape swayed with each step. His breath wheezed as he climbed the small summit to the waiting four-wheel-drive pickup.

In the clutter that was his brain, one thought repeated on a continual loop. Calm down, breathe, control your heart rate.

Easier said than done as sweat formed on his forehead.

Tom fingered open the door, crawled up into the seat and pulled himself upright behind the steering wheel. His left hand awkwardly turned the keys in the ignition, spurring the grumbling engine to life. Dizzy and panting for air, his left hand dropped the shifter into drive, and he slammed his foot on the gas. Given his location and the distance to civilization, he considered only one option if he wanted to survive.