SNEAK PEEK: Desert Steve Novel (early draft)

Desert. Sun. Sand. And no roads or human settlements within 50 miles in any direction. The perfect place to found a town?

That’s what Steve Ragsdale believed. So he and his wife bundled up their four kids in their 1915 Ford Model T, bought a local prospector’s shack and a well, and built a fuel station (a 50-gallon drum), a repair garage, and café. He advertised “Free food on days the sun doesn’t shine” and “No drunks, no dogs—we prefer dogs.” He was the mayor, sheriff, rockhound, author, naturalist, desert guide, and Santa Claus at Christmastime. He became one of the local “Desert Rats” and earned the moniker “Desert Steve.” Along the way, he became part of history: the construction of the first State and National highways, the invention of prepaid healthcare, General Patton and World War II, the largest iron mine in the United States, flying saucer sightings, and much more.

Based on a true story, this is the tale of a quirky, clever, and bold man who pursued a dream, wrote bad poetry, and found ways to survive when many would have perished or packed it in.

Here is an early draft of the first scene from the novel. First scenes often get deleted once I realize that I started a novel earlier than necessary. But perhaps this one will stay.

His voice boomed across the dusty farmland.

“Sarah! Sarah!” The little girl came running our from behind the barn, the family beagle chasing after.

“Yes, Father?” Her calico sundress was dingy and a bit ragged. James grimaced at what the dirt might be. They did live on a farm, after all.

“I need you to go get your brother and babysit him—I’m going into town to get Doctor Johannsen.”

She screeched to a halt in front of the tall, bearded man. “Is it mommy? Is the new baby here?”

He smiled, his rough features softening. “She has started her contractions.” He didn’t say that the contractions were painful, along with other discomforts reported by his wife. Not like Sarah and her older brother Charlie. James had delivered Charlie himself, in the middle of the night. A midwife was present for Sarah. James wasn’t so confident about this one. “Now run along. I’ll be right back. Leave your mom alone unless she calls out.”

He watched her disappear into the house, the screen door slamming behind her, trapping the puppy outside, who began to squeal and dance about the door. James knew she would do exactly as he said—for seven years old, she was remarkably mature and responsible.

James strode to his horse, already saddled and bridled, tied up at the post. He’d had a premonition the baby might come today, even though it was early. He wondered again why this pregnancy was so different than the others.

He was headed to Main Street in Coffeyville—still an Indian trading post in many ways, though it had grown a lot in the 20 years since Colonel James Coffey founded it. James loved it. A place where a man could be a man, where politicians were scarce, and officials were concerned about practical life-and-death matters, not newfangled ideas like in the big cities.

Life was tough here. And James preferred it that way.

There was talk of the railroad coming through. That would change things. Some good change, God willing. But James had seen enough in his 29 years to know it would also bring some bad changes to the town and their lives. Outside influences, big-city ideas. He had a family of four now to protect and provide for.

The farm was only a mile outside the town. He didn’t really need the doctor—he had delivered Sarah’s brother Charlie himself because the birth came in the middle of the night. But always better to have an expert on hand if possible at a birth.

Especially with his premonitions about this one.

He prodded his horse a little faster, kicking up dry sand off the trail into town. He scowled at the sky. Gonna be a hot day for the new one.