The Cattle Drive [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek] (Siren Publishing Classic) (3 page)

Taking a deep breath, she shook off the vivid images and emotions flashing through her head and body, quickly leaving the barn.

How could you be so stupid? You know you can’t go near that car. Why must you torture yourself? You lived and they died. You should be concentrating on other things, like the ranch. This ranch is all you have left. Why must you persist in dwelling on things that you cannot change?

Wishing she could just escape back to her cars, she sighed as she entered the cold tomb that was her farmhouse.

The house was cold and musty.

As the door slammed shut behind her, a sense of being trapped and suffocated engulfed her. Unable to escape, she quickly made her way through the maze, heading upstairs, ignoring everything around her. Slamming her bedroom door shut behind her, she collapsed on her bed and sought the refuge of sleep.

* * * *

Standing on the front porch, he looked toward the ranch next to his.

He had purchased the small house with the one hundred adjoining acres for its close proximity to Rachael Mason for little to nothing. The small house was modest enough, three bedrooms, a living room, small kitchen, and one bath. They didn’t need much. It was just what they was looking for.

He’d spent the better part of the day unpacking the boxes that they had brought with him, making sure there was still plenty of room for his son. Though he only brought what he needed to pull off this endeavor, he still wished he could have brought his own bed. The one he found at a yard sale the day before did the job, but it had already started taking a toll on his back. Stretching, he’d give anything right now to feel that nice firm mattress underneath him and a peaceful night’s sleep once again.

Leaning against the porch rail, he was watched the sun set as he heard the sirens of two squad cars flying down the road. He noticed that they’d quickly turned into the ranch next to his. As he looked on, one squad car drove down the lane while the other parked at the entrance. Turning, he heard the slow crunching of gravel. His mind was quickly diverted seeing who came up the drive, stopping in front of the house.

“Hi, Dad,” Henry said, getting out of the truck.

“Henry.”

“What’s all the commotion?”

Michael was about to reply when a familiar sound diverted his attention back to the familiar revving engine. “Looks like we have lively neighbors,” he said, watching the scene unfold. Henry quickly walked up to the porch, standing next to his dad as the little black BMW was seen speeding like a bat out of hell heading straight for the sheriff.

“That’s a BMW Z4!”

“And it isn’t stopping,” Michael said, watching the BMW race down the drive. Then to both of their amazement, they watched the car come to a complete stop, mere inches from the sheriff.

“Holy shit, did you see that!”

“Watch your mouth, Henry,” his father said.

“But, Dad, that was freakin’ amazing!”

Michael turned, walking back to open the back of the U-Haul. “Looks like the show is over, son. Let’s get this thing unpacked.”

* * * *

The room was dark as the middle-aged man entered to find him sitting behind his solid wood desk. This was the first time he had ever been in this room, a room famous for making grown men cry. Nervous was not what he was feeling. He was downright terrified. Moving slowly, the room, lit by a single light, cast a multitude of eerie shadows, giving the impression of impending doom. He looked carefully, never moving his head, and viewed the massive amounts of photos hanging from every wall. Pictures of children from birth to adulthood. Some were smiling, but many were not.

He had heard stories about his boss from the moment he began working here, that he was not a man to show affection. A hard-ass, a tyrant, and a bastard, but looking upon his walls, he could see the man was proud, proud of his family, which didn’t make sense, why he was so dead set upon this course of action. He understood and agreed with his boss about the situation but to uproot one of them, just because, was something totally different.

Reaching the desk, he noticed the drapes were pulled tight and the hardwood floor glowed. The only noise in the room was the black leather chair that creaked as it turned. Slowly walking and taking a deep breath, he spoke, “Mr. Armstrong?”

“Yes?” the tyrant bellowed with disdain.

“You asked me to inform you if there were any new developments,” the middle-aged man spoke, cowering behind one of the chairs. Looking down as the black leather chair creaked once more, it was then he saw the cold, icy-blue eyes of a truly hateful man.

“Well!” he yelled, slamming his fist down on his desk.

“The farm next to Mrs. Mason’s has been sold.”

“To whom?”

“Michael, sir.”

“Really?” the evil bastard said, smiling and leaning closer to his desk.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well isn’t that an interesting new development.” The man grinned. “Is the boy with them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Michael is so predictable. Just dangle anything in front of him, and he bites every time. That’s his weakness. Always was. He never could man up, always needed to do the right thing.”

“What would you like me to do now, sir?”

“Nothing, let’s see how this plays out,” he said, leaning back into his chair. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his assistant. He watched the hired help quietly leave the room and shut the door behind him.

Mr. Armstrong stood and walked over to the fireplace that was burning slowly in the room. Leaning over the mantel looking at the seven framed pictures hanging above, Mr. Armstrong looked from left to right, stopping at the second frame. There before him was Michael, his second son, more like his mother than any of the rest.

Michael was the easygoing child. Not planned, but loved nonetheless, Michael tried many times in his young life to please his father, but what he didn’t realize was that his father loved him regardless. Still, so much of his mother was in him that Michael tended to be softhearted when his father tried unsuccessfully to mold him into a strong young man.

Mr. Armstrong would never tell his sons that he loved them. It was not how he did things, but he could tell himself that he was proud of who his sons had become. None of that mattered now, for they had taken something that did not belong to them, and he wanted it back.

“Soon, my boy, soon,” he whispered and walked back to his desk. “I will get back what is rightfully mine, and you will pay dearly. You will pay.”

Rachael woke with hands shaking her. Trying to focus, she opened her eyes and looked at Chris. “What do you want?” she moaned, rolling back over.

“Rachael, get up. You have court this morning,” Chris said, pulling back her covers, grabbing her arm, and yanking her out of bed. Falling to the floor, Rachael took a pillow with her. She grabbed it and quickly curled up into a ball, trying to ignore him.

“Rachael, I don’t have time for this shit. Get your ass up now!” he yelled.

“Fine!” she said, standing up. “Happy now! Now go away!” she screamed.

Chris took a deep breath and tried to relax himself. He knew if he pushed her, she would only fight him more. So trying to compose himself, he talked to her with a calm, soothing voice.

“Come on, Rachael. Please don’t do this, not today. You need your damn license back! It’s been two years. It’s time. Go and put something pretty on, and I will take you to lunch afterward.”

Rachael looked at him and smiled.

“That’s better, honey. Now go get yourself ready. I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he said.

Finally alone, she walked into her bathroom, turning on the shower. Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled off her Chicago Bears jersey and looked at her body. Her long chestnut hair fell to her waist in a cascade of curls, and her bright emerald eyes, which at one time shimmered with life, now were dull and lifeless. Her high cheekbones to her full lips were colorless, almost making her look gaunt. Her face once showed a beautiful woman in her late twenties. Now, all she saw was an old woman who held tight to the pain of her past.

Her scars were still alive as they weaved a patchwork pattern from midchest, down and around her left breast, to her abdomen with its seven-inch scar starting from her pelvic area toward her right hip. Her physical reminders of that day still ached as if they had just happened.

She stood there as the steam from the shower made her scars vanish in the mirror. With her scars no longer visible, she turned and walked into the scalding hot shower, hoping this time she might feel the heat from the hot water.

* * * *

Chris sat in the kitchen waiting for Rachael to emerge. Talk about the story of his life. All his life he seemed to be waiting on someone. He was used to it, at least he thought so, but waiting on Rachael was no hardship for him. He didn’t mind one bit. Actually, he kinda looked forward to being with her.

With everything she had been through in the last couple of years, it never bothered him to come running when she was in need. Hell, he figured it was just par for the course. After all, it was his brother and family, too. So what was a couple of hours out of the day to make sure she was all right and to make sure she did what needed to be done?

After the accident, he was there for her, helping out wherever he could. When she needed help, he was there. He was there to help her when she was released from the hospital and when she couldn’t even get out of bed. He took care of the cattle, the ranch, and the bills. He held her when she cried, and he was her rock when she needed someone to shout at, to hit, and to scream at. Not once did he say no. Whatever she needed, he made damn sure she got. So sitting here, once again waiting on her, helping her gain some semblance of normalcy, was nothing new for him. He just went with the flow.

After twenty minutes, he knew she wasn’t going to be down anytime soon, so he got up and started a fresh pot of coffee. He went through her refrigerator, cleaning it out of all the rotten food he took out her trash, and he even got her mail. He placed it on her kitchen counter, noticing letter from his mother. Quickly opening it, he read the contents of the small note.

Dear Rachael,

After several attempts to contact you, you

have left me no choice. I have contacted your father,

and he will take care of this matter from now on.

Please understand, darling. I am only doing this

to help you. Forgive me. I know this is what

Robert would have wanted me to do.

Christy Mason

Chris tore up the letter and threw it in the trash, muttering to himself, “Shit!”

Leave it to his mother to take matters into her own hands and not consult him.
It was just like her…nosy bitch
.

Sitting at the table drinking his second cup of coffee, he looked up to see her standing before him. Still the most beautiful woman in Cedar Creek, Rachael was a vision, all five feet six inches of her, wearing low-cut jeans and a soft powder-blue V-neck angora sweater that hugged her curves, accentuating her tiny waist. With her hair flowing around her, he noticed that she even put on a little makeup. She stood before him. The smile that she only ever wore was a fake one, never quite reaching her eyes, but he was thankful anyway. “Hey, beautiful.” He watched her walk over to the cupboard, grabbing a coffee cup.

“Hey yourself. Did you save me any?”

“A fresh pot just for you.”

“Thanks, Chris.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, looking into his cup. He watched as Rachael poured herself a cup and sat next to him. Sitting there quietly drinking their coffee, neither of them said a thing.

“Rachael,” Chris said after ten minutes.

“Hmm.”

“We have to get going, honey. You ready?”

She just stared off into nothing, drinking her coffee and taking her time.

Rachael started thinking. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? That was all she wanted. She hated being the lonely widow that everyone pitied.
“Look, there she is, the poor darling. She needs to start living again. She needs a man. She is wilting away.”
Rachael had heard it all and many more. It was one thing to live in a town where everyone knew you and your business, but it was another to live in a town where they all talked as if you didn’t exist. All she ever asked for was to be left alone, such a simple request…a request that was never honored.

Today was going to be another one of those horrible days for her, and she knew it. She was going into town.

Once the last drop went smoothly down her throat, she got up, walked over to the back door, and put on her boots. “Let’s go.”

* * * *

The Cedar Creek courthouse was packed. Nearly the whole town showed up, just to see if Judge Clark would give Rachael Mason her license back. It had become something of a new tradition here in Cedar Creek, watching the farce that was about to happen. Many of the townsfolk disagreed with the way the judge was handling the whole situation, but that was something they all kept to themselves. Judge Clark wasn’t a man that any of them wanted on their bad side.