Chapter 1
At the tail-end of a prolonged rain storm, Danny Maxwell was negotiating the treacherous rocky 'Devil's Downhill Staircase' at 40-45 mph, the recommended speed for motor cross riders to smooth out the dips and rises of the terrain, when disaster struck
Tons of water, logs and debris were swept down the steep hillside above by floodwaters through the forest and across the staircase, smothering Danny and his 125cc Honda dirt bike and dumped them 200 yards below on to the flats of the valley floor.
Two hours later, farmer's wife Brenda Cummings, was walking her dog on a lead to inspect the damage to pastureland when Thompson halted abruptly and pointed to part of the extensive pile of debris just clear of the tree line.
She peered and said, "Christ, it's the arm and leather jacket of some poor sod who was stupidly riding the forest track despite the foul weather. I best notify the cops."
Brenda attempted to pull Thompson away to move on but the Labrador resisted.
She guessed what this was about. The victim might still be alive.
Brenda tied her dog to a stump and waded through the slush and climbed over solids until reaching the victim, err possible survivor.
His head and exposed arm were against a rotten piece of tree stump.
"Hi," he croaked, opening his eyes.
Brenda almost wet herself in fright, not having though about what she might find.
"I'm Danny, pinned by a log under mud. You'll need to get help."
She couldn't accept that.
"I can't leave you. I'm Brenda Cummings and this is our farm. I have a responsibility to ..."
"Then stay and possibly watch me die Brenda. We have no idea of the injuries I might have hidden under mud."
"Oh god, what should I do?"
"Speed off home quickly but safely and call the cops. Get them to send in a recovery team by chopper with shovels, a couple of chainsaws and crowbars."
"H-how can you be so calm?"
"It's probably influenced by my interest in survival Brenda. Lightly kiss me on the lips and off you go."
Christ, worried Brenda as she rushed off. She'd given him a wet kiss. Perhaps he'd realized she was emotionally fired by her discovery rather and considering she must be the local slut.
* * *
At the rescue scene, the female weekend medic in the search and rescue team, had left Danny's helmet on, saying well at least he'd been riding sensible dressed in the best safety gear.
She introduced herself as Ruby.
"Danny, your vital signs are all okay considering and I suspect physical damage is minimal at this point. Here's a shot of morphine and try to keep relaxed."
"That's promising. Give me a kiss and stand back and let the rescue crew extract me."
"I cannot kiss you; that would be unprofessional."
"You're acting as a medic, not a doctor Ruby. Just be Miss Nice once in your life."
She delivered the sweetest little kiss on his lips and stood back, smiling cheerfully.
"Gosh, that guy is overly-focused on kissing or perhaps it's the shock of his horrible accident. How he survived it I'll never know," said her aunt Brenda. "Perhaps he's the leader of a motor-cycle gang who move around the country fornicating at will and have trained themselves to cope with anything."
"Actually, Auntie I know of him. He's the operations manager of his parents' company First Choice Frozen Foods. They supply the university kitchens where I lecture week-days and my friend Susan Watts works in that firm's accounts department and thinks he's the catch of the decade."
"Are your sure he holds such a responsible position?"
"Yep, and perhaps he generally is a responsible person."
"That strains belief."
"Well Aunt Brenda, if you are up to your neck in muck and goo and pinned down by a log you might think a kiss or two before you die might be a good way of going out."
"Omigod dear, you're probably right. How uncharitable of me to think otherwise. Now realizing that, if he'd wanted more I may have obliged."
"Me too aunt," Ruby mused, surprising herself. She'd been off men big time since catching her hot boyfriend Mick Carter screwing one of her girlfriends over the front of his car almost six months ago.
* * *
Danny's horrific ordeal was splashed over the front page of the 'Riverton Clarion' next morning as part of coverage of the aftermath of the rainstorm that left washouts and flooding in its wake.
'Surviving the Jaws of Death' screamed the headline, describing Danny Marshall as a prominent Riverton young businessman, aged 34 and top sportsman and male lead in the winning duo of that year's paso doble Latin American Dance Championship.
Ah, that's why his face had looked vaguely familiar, Ruby (30) thought, sucking the tip of a lock of her blonde hair as she read the article for any praise of the search and rescue operation.
She'd watched the telecast with her mother and coloured when recalling her mother saying, "Omigod, look at the athletic body of that male dancer (Danny). You should have that up against you instead of the scrawny body of that Mick Carter, who I suspect has inherited the tom-cat morals of his father."
Well, Mick was history and Danny was unlikely to give her a second look and so where did that leave her? Lonely, frustrated and having only girlfriends for company, that's where.
She read the piece again where Danny was quoted as saying, "Farmer's wife Brenda Cummings, waded through stumps and muddy shit, excuse my French, almost up to her waist to check if I was alive. She told me she'd spotted my one arm raised through the debris and into the air after her dog Thompson stopped and pointed in my direction."
"Brenda was magnificent. She cleared crap from around my face to give me an improved air supply, kissed me and told me to keep staunch and waded off to get help."
"I awoke later to find a beautiful vision inches from my face, the gorgeous Ruby Salter, who works weekends as a volunteer medic with the Riverton-based search and rescue organisation. She managed to have me believe I'd survive and meanwhile other members of the team shovelled away shit, pulled branches off me and used chainsaws cutting away the thick log that had pinned me down."
"Thankfully, I remained mainly oblivious to the noisy mayhem around me because Ruby had me cradled in her arms and was humming to me as if I were her precious baby. I was lying uncomfortably and in some pain despite the pain-killers but over-all I felt like I was safe and in Paradise in the softness of her arms. Thanks Ruby and the team for performing a near miracle."
Ruby wiped her eyes, scarcely believing a male could express himself so graphically and sensitively. She now recalled cradling him amid the bedlam and her anxiety that they might be losing him because his vital signs had slowed perhaps more than would be expected in post-trauma.
The article concluded by listing Danny's injuries as a fractured right shoulder, three cracked ribs, dislocated right hip and severely bruised lower right leg. His condition had improved from 'critical' to 'serious'. He had fractured the proximal humerus of the right arm, displacing two segments. Surgery using screws and a plate was required to fix the segments together.
Ruby calmed somewhat. She believed the descriptions of her actions at the recovery scene were beyond reproach and the cuddling reference was nothing abnormal in attempts to calm a patient amid stressful conditions. The injured man's comments, although somewhat over-the-top, were nothing more than err eloquently expressed thanks for her doing her job competently and the expert attention he received assisted him significantly.
She smiled and thought if he could talk rather passionately like that to a newspaper reporter, then how well could he chat saying sweet nothings softly against her ear?
