"Save the lake!" That's the battle cry of Dale Sommers and his quirky friends as they struggle to preserve the natural beauty and quiet comforts of life on Lake Victoria. With time running out, can they overcome crooked cops, greedy lawyers, and violent gangsters? Sommers, raised to be a defender, believed his lake was like no other place on earth; it was his duty to protect her. A reclusive mountain of a man with a haunting past. Does he have enough strength to repel unscrupulous invaders and conquer his inner demons?
Claimed in the late 1800s by homesteaders, the coveted waterfront property accounted for most of Lake Victoria's pristine shoreline, eight hundred acres passed down through generations. Valued at over one hundred million dollars, the stakes were high; no one close to Sommers seemed to be safe from harm. 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 sapphire in the rough. It will take a monumental effort led by Sommers, an elderly squatter named Grumpy, and his loyal dog, Phelps, to save the day, and save the lake.
"Save the lake!" That's the battle cry of Dale Sommers and his quirky friends as they struggle to preserve the natural beauty and quiet comforts of life on Lake Victoria. With time running out, can they overcome crooked cops, greedy lawyers, and violent gangsters? Sommers, raised to be a defender, believed his lake was like no other place on earth; it was his duty to protect her. A reclusive mountain of a man with a haunting past. Does he have enough strength to repel unscrupulous invaders and conquer his inner demons?
Claimed in the late 1800s by homesteaders, the coveted waterfront property accounted for most of Lake Victoria's pristine shoreline, eight hundred acres passed down through generations. Valued at over one hundred million dollars, the stakes were high; no one close to Sommers seemed to be safe from harm. 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 sapphire in the rough. It will take a monumental effort led by Sommers, an elderly squatter named Grumpy, and his loyal dog, Phelps, to save the day, and save the lake.
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 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 renowned Townsend Dropoff below Victory Bluff, fresh walleye, and black crappie in their plans. The fifteen-horsepower Evinrude left a faint whiff of pre-mix and two-stroke exhaust in their wake.
A tattered copy of Field and Stream and a stained S & E Lumber coffee mug, half-filled, rested on a knotty pine end table beside him. Father Time, still unbeaten and untied, stalked Pop, watching, lurkingâa most relentless tracker. Sommers was making the pesky rival go the distance. He wasnât going down without a tussle. It was early morning, and he already felt drained. His eyelids were heavy, and his back 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 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 free from distractionâno fences, not at this lake. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted back to another warm spring many years earlier. It was a time when greed and violence almost washed this humble slice of heaven off the map. Decades later, Sommers could recall precisely 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. Godâs Country, they call it. Andie Hansen enjoyed the last stretch of her rigorous twelve-mile training ride. The golden rays of the sun, promising a warm afternoon, peeked over the treetops. A translucent full moon clung to the western horizon. The sky was cloudless, the early morning air fresh, and an overnight fog rose from low areas and distant bean fields. It was a 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 gems scattered across a parquet floor. The lakes were calm, dotted with an occasional fishing boat or blissful waterfowlâessentially cormorants, ducks, and loons. The intense greenery contrasted against the multicolored wildflower blooms. A gentle breeze stirred the unique country aroma, part agricultural, part conifer, and part aquatic. Most would agree, the earthy scents are as 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 wasnât Coronado Beach, but to call this a beautiful morning was to sell it far short.
Andie felt dominant and fast aboard her racing bikeâgloved 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 bandâabout to shave forty seconds off her personal best for this challenging route. Her record pace was another step forward as she trained for the grueling Iron-Girl World Championships. She placed in the top forty and achieved a qualifying time last summer in California. She looked forward to competing in Hawaiiâs prestigious triathlon during the coming fall. Andie pulsed with energy, anticipating a summer season of training at the lake. It had been ages since sheâd felt this alive.
Hansen planned to meet Sommers for lunch and scheduled a leisurely five-mile swim after work. Maybe lunch would lead to something more, and sheâd have to reschedule her workout. She cracked a sly smile, acknowledging the adjustments would be worth it. She was craving some conversation, some companionship, and the touch of a man. A Spotify mix played Beach Boys songs through her AirPods as she passed a yellow signâcaution soft shoulder. She found the warning alluring and poignant. Carl Wilson sang, âI may not always love youâŚ.â
One last gradual climb, Andie heard a vehicleâprobably a careworn, dusty pickup truck, approaching from the opposite side of the rise. Unusual for this early hour, she typically had highway eleven all to herself. Seconds later, as she 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. âHmm, foggy morning, no headlights? Good thing Iâm on the opposite side of the road.â The truck was traveling less than the posted fifty-five and slowed dramatically 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 didnât recognize this truck. Her eyes tried to penetrate the dark windows at the prospect of identifying the occupant. She shuddered, and a chill ran up her back as she sensed a dangerous driver peering at her from behind the reflective shadow. Out of habit, she reached for her iPhone, center-mounted on the handlebars. A quick photo, emergency call, or feigned protection, she felt uncertainâeven with a spotty data connection, her smartphone gave her a subtle sense of security.
She took a quick peek into her rear-view mirror, and then exhaled a full cleansing breath as the mysterious truck continued beyond her view. She felt silly. It was most likely a lost fisherman looking for his turn. Her apprehension fizzled as the unmistakable scent of fresh-baked rolls told her Grayâs Corner Market was only two miles away. During her training, rare treats included a steaming latte and a sweet pastry. They would top off this gorgeous morning just rightâa tasty reward for achieving her personal best.
Andieâs thoughts jolted back to the present as the roar of a speeding vehicle shuddered the pavement behind her. After another split-second glimpse in her mirror, she jerked her bike to the shoulder, fearing the worst. Drowned by a roaring engine and howling tires, Andie wanted to scream, jump, or fight. There was no time for any of that. The glancing impact of the truckâs front fender smashed into her left side, launching Hansen and her prized racing bike over the skirt of a steep embankment.
Time lost all standard measure as she toppled face-first end over end, past a guardrail and between two large trees. Andieâs left foot came out of her riding shoe, her opposite foot strapped solidly to the right pedal. The front rim crushed flat as her bike smashed headlong into a discarded utility pole. The handlebars drove into her side, causing a sickening grunt and a blinding sting to her ribs. Two or three dizzying rotations came to an abrupt halt with the loud crack of her helmet striking a hollowed hickory stump.
Her body still, her mind whirling in dark confusion, Andie could hear the slowing clicks of the bikeâs spinning rear sprocket and the bubbling flow of a nearby stream. From somewhere behind, higher in the distance, she heard truck tires skidding to a stop. Still dazed, her momentary hope soon dashed, hearing the echoes of an indistinct voice, a door slam, and the squeal of tires as the wicked truck sped away. Her head pounded, her side throbbed with pain, the weight of her mangled bike lay twisted across her legs as the warm, acidic taste of blood and vomit filled her nose and mouth. Wavering, sputtering, unable to catch her breath, she reached out for something, anything. The bicycle clicks slowed to a stop. She closed her watering eyes and dreamed of waves tumbling along a scenic sandy beach. Andie drifted off, whimpering. âIf you should ever leave me...â
Halfway up the embankment, the Beach Boys harmonized. âGod only knows what Iâd be without you.â
The book tells a relatively simple tale of a syndicate hoping to make a hundred million dollar real estate killing out of properties on Lake Victoria in the American mid-west in an area of outstanding natural beauty. And they are prepared to stop at nothing to gain control. As the deeds are of such antiquity they hope to coerce one set of owners, the Petersons, into claiming the land by aversive possession as they have farmed sections of it for many years but have to suborn the county clerk and the local judge to do so. They are backed by a local Senator who is able to call the shots and one of the main protagonists, Andie Hansen,  a beautiful young woman, is used as a pawn to find the information they require. At first the owners of the properties (including the handsome rugged Sommers, environmental custodian,  whose friend Joy Moon Deer is a skilled tracker as well as being overtly sexy), and other locals donât realise what is going on but when Andie is run off the road and nearly dies and the bodies start to mount up they begin to take a rear guard action.  Will the little band of owners and environmentalists succeed against such powerful opponents? And will Sommers get together with Andie or Joy Moon Deer?
The beauty of the American wilderness area figures strongly in this book, and the small town charm of a  midwestern US  state is lovingly evoked â pecan rolls and chocolate milk at Grayâs Corner Market figure largely and the smell of cinnamon rolls runs like a theme throughout. The cast divides heavily into the good and the bad so we are in no doubt that Sommers and friends should prevail. In fact I found that the personalities were somewhat caricatured â Grumpy the old friend with the steel leg â Brian, the naĂŻve scientists sent in to take earth samples, and the god-fearing champion axe-thrower Sommers, set against the foul-mouthed, adulterous cocaine-snorting syndicate leaders, whose back-stabbing, double-crossing tactics alienate us completely. They were a bit too obviously villainous for me to wonder whose side they were on. There were, though, lots of exciting scenes and the story progressed at a steady lick so you didnât get bored and if you like country and western music you'll be in your element as it figures throughout.