Uncommon Ground

Robert T. Schuetz

Description

“SAVE THE LAKE!” That was the battle cry of Sommers and his unusual group of friends as they struggled to preserve the natural beauty and retain the quiet comforts of life on Lake Victoria. But, with time running out, would they be able to overcome crooked cops, greedy lawyers, and violent gangsters? Dale Sommers came pre-programmed, raised to be a defender. Lake Victoria was like no other place on earth; he believed it was his duty to protect her. The only place he’d ever called home, Sommers promised to safeguard the lake at all costs. A solitary mountain of a man with a mysterious past, it would take Dale’s supreme strength to repel unscrupulous invaders and conquer his unforgiving inner demons. Claimed in the late 1800s by homesteaders for less than the price of a caffe latte, the coveted waterfront property accounted for three-quarters of Lake Victoria’s pristine shoreline, eight hundred acres, passed down through four generations. With a current valuation of more than one hundred million dollars, the stakes had become so high; no one close to Sommers appeared to be safe from injury or even death. A power-hungry U. S. Senator, backed by a corrupt sheriff, a team of shady lawyers, and a Native American crime syndicate, set her sights on snatching this crystal-clear sapphire in the rough, and no price would be too high. But ultimately, it would take a monumental team effort led by Sommers, an elderly squatter named Grumpy, and his loyal dog, Phelps, to save the day, and save the lake.

Sujets

• Adventure
• Fiction
• Action

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 19 août 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977248428
• Langue: English

Extrait

Uncommon Ground All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2021 Robert T. Schuetz v2.0 r1.0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-9772-4842-8
Cover Photo © 2021 www.gettyimages.com . All rights reserved - used with permission.
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Dedication and Acknowledgement Page
"You can accomplish great things through hard work, integrity, and kindness. "

That’s the advice shared with my younger brother, Bud, and me, from day one by our loving and supportive parents, Terry and Lynae. This story, sprinkled with reflective particles of our life experiences, is dedicated to all three of them.
Special thanks to my dad for turning me on to the melodic power of the written word. He suggested a few unconventional plot twists. Some made the manuscript while some did not. But, full disclosure, my dad came up with the fitting title, creating a vision for how this roller coaster ride would end. Leave it to mom to help me keep the characters grounded, practical, and sensitive. Stay tuned; there’s more excitement for Dale and his friends just around the bend.
Finally, I’m tossing bouquets of acknowledgment to my beautiful wife Natalie, and our four fantastic children, Jarrett, Trevor, Amanda, and Billy, for allowing me some time and space to purge my head of pervasive and sometimes wacky stories. The concepts usually come to me when I’m either driving along a comfortable stretch of rural highway or flippin’ a Texas-rigged Molix Sidus worm into shallows shaded by overhanging trees.
As Bob Ross said, "There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend." I hope y’all enjoy reading this book as much as I savored writing it. I’m goin’ fishin’.
Table of Contents
Dedication and Acknowledgement Page
Prologue: God Only Knows
Chapter 1: So Far Away
Chapter 2: The Waiting
Chapter 3: Let’s Work Together
Chapter 4: Evil Woman
Chapter 5: I Fought the Law
Chapter 6: Wicked Game
Chapter 7: Walkin’ After Midnight
Chapter 8: Ramblin’ Man
Chapter 9: Blue Clear Sky
Chapter 10: Kentucky Rain
Chapter 11: Stop the World
Chapter 12: Days Like This
Chapter 13: Time
Chapter 14: Garden Party
Chapter 15: Everything’s Broken
Chapter 16: Reason to Believe
Chapter 17: Everyday
Chapter 18: Stuck in the Middle
Chapter 19: Sweet Caroline
Chapter 20: Nowhere Road
Chapter 21: Bitter Tears
Chapter 22: Just to Satisfy You
Chapter 23: Back Home Again
Chapter 24: Running on Empty
Chapter 25: Different Drum
Chapter 26: Dreams I’ll Never See
Chapter 27: Suspicious Minds
Chapter 28: Mainstreet
Chapter 29: A Thousand Miles from Nowhere
Chapter 30: Roll Me Away
Chapter 31: Peace of Mind
Chapter 32: Ring of Fire
Chapter 33: Mama Tried
Chapter 34: Part of Me, Part of You
Chapter 35: Midnight Blue
Chapter 36: Summer Rain
Chapter 37: I Want It All
Chapter 38: Baby Hold On
Chapter 39: Here Comes the Sun
Chapter 40: Beyond the Sea
Chapter 41: Only the Lonely
Chapter 42: Pride and Joy
Chapter 43: California Dreamin’
Chapter 44: Drivin’ My Life Away
Chapter 45: Right Where I Need to Be
Chapter 46: Homegrown
Epilogue: Peaceful Easy Feeling
Appendix One: Uncommon Ground, Music Credits
Appendix Two: Uncommon Ground, Character Glossary
Prologue
God Only Knows
Brilliant morning sunshine warmed Pop Sommers as he sat snug in his leather-bound easy chair on the front porch of his lakeside cabin. The heavily upholstered back and seat of the old rocker worn shiny and smooth from hundreds of afternoon cat naps. Sommers squinted through his thick, black-framed glasses as he looked out across the shimmering water and splendid shoreline punctuated by an occasional boat dock. He watched a young couple in an aluminum fishing boat putt-putt across the lake towards the famous Townsend Dropoff below Victory Bluff, fresh walleye and crappie in their plans. Their Evinrude fifteen left a faint whiff of pre-mix and two-stroke exhaust in her wake.
A tattered copy of " Field and Stream " and a stained " S & E Lumber " coffee mug, partially filled, rested on a knotty pine end table beside him. Father Time, still unbeaten and untied, stalked Pop, watching, lurking, the most relentless tracker. Sommers was making the pesky rival go the distance. He wasn’t going down without a tussle. It was early morning, and he was feeling drained. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back felt stiff. Alone but for his best friend lying against his feet, Sommers blinked several times then scanned the horizon. With chirping finches and croaking frogs in the background, his mind wandered down a well-traveled historical path.
Folks wondered if preserving this place was worth his troubles. He certainly thought so, looking with pride upon acres of old-growth timber and the crystal-clear water of Lake Victoria. Was he a good man? Did he live a good life? Would the good Lord tap Sommers on the shoulder with approval when his number got pulled? Mornings like this allowed his spirit to run freely without distraction nor interruption, no fences, not at this lake. But, as he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted back to another warm spring many years earlier. It was a time when greed and violence nearly washed this humble slice of heaven entirely away. Decades after the fact, Sommers could recall exactly when and where the trouble began.

Peace, purifying freedom, harmony manifesting. She thought this to be one of those glorious mornings that feed your soul and restore your faith in the recuperative powers of spring in the north woods. God’s Country, they call it. Andie Hansen was enjoying the final stretch of her rigorous twelve-mile training ride. The golden rays of the sun, promising a warm afternoon, were beginning to peak over the treetops. A translucent full moon clung tenaciously on the western horizon. The sky cloudless, the early morning air fresh and crisp, with an overnight fog rising from low areas and distant bean fields. It had been an unseasonably warm spring, and the ice had been out for almost two months, one of many signs of climate change in the upper Midwest. Distant lakes by the dozens sparkled like aquamarine gems scattered across a parquet floor. The lakes were calm, dotted with an occasional fishing boat or blissful waterfowl; cormorants, ducks, and loons, mostly. The intense greenery contrasted with the multi-colored wildflower blooms. A gentle breeze stirred up the unique country aroma, part agricultural, part conifer, and part aquatic. Most would agree, the earthy scents are as fresh and captivating as the visual spectacle. As she crossed over meandering Spring Creek for the fourth time, Andie envisioned a souvenir postcard. She pictured this enchanting panorama with " Welcome to Minnesota " in bold block letters splashed across the top. It wasn’t Coronado Beach, but to call this a beautiful morning was to sell it considerably short.
Andie felt solid and fast aboard her racing bike; gloved hands relaxed on the bars, her shoes clipped to the rotating pedals. Her movements were smooth and powerful, yet she displayed an effortless rhythm. Sweat dripping from the tip of her nose, Andie glanced down at her fitness band. She was about to shave forty-five seconds off her personal best for this hilly route. Her record pace was another step forward as she trained for the grueling and prestigious Iron-Girl World Championships. She placed in the top forty and achieved a qualifying time last summer in California. She was eagerly looking forward to competing in Hawaii this coming fall. Andie pulsed with energy, anticipating a summer season of training at the lake. It had been quite some time since she felt this alive.
Hansen had arranged to meet Sommers for lunch and was planning a leisurely five-mile swim after work. Maybe lunch would lead to something more, and she’d have to reschedule her workout. She cracked a smile acknowledging the adjustments would be worth it. She was craving some conversation, some companionship, and honestly, the touch of a man. A Spotify mix played Beach Boys songs through her Airpods as she passed a yellow sign, " Caution Soft Shoulder ." She found the warning alluring and poignant. Carl Wilson sang longingly, " I may not always love you…. "
One last gradual climb, Andie heard a vehicle, odds favored a careworn, dusty pickup truck, approaching from the opposite side of the rise. Unusual for this early hour, she typically had highway eleven entirely to herself. Seconds later, almost as predicted, a dark pickup truck, shiny clean, with big tires and tinted windows, met her at the crest of the hill. She muttered to herself, " Hmm, foggy morning, no headlights? Good thing I’m on the opposite side of the road. " The truck was traveling much slower than the posted fifty-five and slowed, even more, when Hansen and her bike came whistling over the rise.
During the past few weeks, she became familiar with nearly every vehicle that traveled these carefree highways, but she didn’t recognize this truck. Her eyes tried to penetrate the dark windows in the prospect