Joyce, Rebecca - The Cattle Drive [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  “Well, what the fuck do you want me to do? How was I supposed to know the prices were gonna drop? I didn’t know!” she shouted, her temper finally having had enough as she went to take Megan from him. “You need to drive the trailer back. I can’t drive it in this weather,” she told him.

  “You should have known. It’s your job to know. You’re on that fucking computer enough!” he said spitefully, walking around her. “I’m taking the car. You can drive the damn truck. You need to learn, anyway, since we probably won’t be able to afford that computer you seem to love so much.” With that, she watched as Robert placed Megan in the back of the Mustang, checking again to make sure the twins, Jackson and Steven, were secured. Hopping in the front seat, he started the engine and peeled out.

  “Damn it!” Rachael said, kicking the tire of the truck. Grabbing the keys out of her jacket, she walked around and made sure the trailer was secured correctly, and then, jumping in the truck, she quickly started it and headed out. It was going to be a long, quiet trip home, and she prayed that her husband would be calm before they hit the Texas state line. Not wanting to bet money on that one, she started thinking of her defense, which kinda rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn’t like she had the inside track into the federal agriculture department and knew when they were going to do shit. Hell, she was just a simple cattleman’s wife and a mother of three. She woke every morning before them, rising with the moon still out, just to make sure there was a hot breakfast on the table, clothes were washed, and the house was tended to. She did her job without complaint or regret with happiness in her heart.

  Who the hell does he think he is? Complain about me doing my job! Huh! Oh, buddy, I can fix that easily. I’ve got it easy…let’s just see how you handle things when I stop doing your laundry, cooking your meals, taking care of your kids, paying your bills, making sure your farm equipment gets serviced, oh…and let’s not forget all the cleaning, scheduling, doctor’s visits, vet visits, and your late-night beer runs I do for you, asshole!

  It didn’t take long to catch up with the Mustang as she followed, headed on that long stretch back to Cedar Creek. The snow was coming down in a constant sheet of white, blanketing the scene before her. With visibility almost nil, Rachael slowed to allow a safe driving distance between vehicles.

  The snow always made her feel amazed. Growing up in Cedar Creek, Rachael didn’t have many opportunities to see snow, but on a few occasions, her parents would take her to her grandmother’s in Colorado. It was then that Rachael got to experience the white, fluffy snow. She loved how it would cover the whole area, wiping away all imperfections, making the scene before her fresh and new. She could only imagine what this place would look like tomorrow, and for some guilty pleasure, she wished she could stay and see it.

  Traffic was moving cautiously, everyone slowing down to almost a crawl. Rachael flipped the windshield wipers on high, just to see the blinking hazard lights in front of her, when she gasped.

  As if in slow motion, the snow parted, and her view became crystal clear, and it was not a beautiful scene but a nightmare.

  Four vehicles ahead of her, she watched as a little Honda Civic lost its traction and began to fishtail, spiraling out of control. In that second, a semi carrying a barrel tank of gasoline slammed on its brakes, trying hard to avoid hitting the little car, and it finally came to a stop in the middle of the interstate. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw next. It was that little red Mustang, with that beautiful little girl, her blonde pigtails swaying as she bobbed her head, smiling, that transfixed her. She watched as in one horrific second, that little girl who was full of life and had yet to live, evaporated in a large explosion, destroying everything she’d ever held dear.

  The Mustang had collided with the gas tank of the semitruck, exploding on impact. Nobody heard her screams, for she wasn’t even sure she was screaming out loud, but her mind was shattered with them.

  Her whole life and future had just evaporated in mere seconds. They were gone, nothing to save. The ball of fire blackened the white snow, sending pools of black smoke toward the heavens. Within the next instant, the tanker exploded, rocking the truck. Snapping her out of the horror, she quickly turned the wheel of the truck, hard, trying to avoid crashing into the ball of fire. When her back tires lost traction and began to skid, she turned hard in the opposite direction, causing her truck to flip several times, sending her flying. She had just been ejected from her vehicle.

  Rachael was airborne. Her lifeless body was hurled into the night, coming to a hard sliding stop on the side on the embankment. The snow, once again white, was falling softly on her face as she tried to open her eyes. A gentle, caring voice talked to her. She felt his warm hand engulf hers, telling her not to move. But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t her husband she saw, just the most mesmerizing pair of ice-blue eyes she had ever seen. “Robert?”

  “No, sweetheart, don’t move. Help is coming,” he said gently.

  Those eyes held her to this earth. “Was it all a dream?” she whispered.

  “No, baby. It was not a dream. You were in an accident,” he told her truthfully. The moment those words left his mouth, Rachael knew they were all dead. They were not coming back, and she wanted to die, too. Closing her eyes, she let the world around her disappear as she welcomed death.

  “Stay with me, sweetheart! You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be all right,” he shouted.

  * * * *

  Falling to her knees, gasping for breath, she could not stop the flood of emotions that overwhelmed her. Her breathing increased, and the pain in her heart intensified, causing such a pain that no human being should ever feel. Her heart was breaking, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  She survived, and they didn’t.

  She knew that, and she accepted that, but damn it, she did have to agree with it? According to her, she should have also died that day. She wanted to, but she didn’t. Whether it was the stranger, the paramedics, or her strong will, she didn’t know. She lived.

  Her life had been destroyed two years ago, but she still wore the scars of that day, managing to get better physically, but mentally, she was dead on the inside. After spending two months in the hospital, her parents brought her back to Cedar Creek, where she was told the real healing would begin, like she gave a shit about healing. Remembering those first few days when she walked around in a fog. She heard people talk, but didn’t understand them. She refused all forms of touch, and after a week of people coming in and out of her house, she locked all the doors, ripped the phone out of the wall, and spent the next month in bed, figuring the faster her body gave out the better, because there was nothing on this planet that held her to it.

  That month spent in isolation she barely recalled. She knew she slept, but what she ate she couldn’t remember. Still today, she had no clue what got her out of that room, but since then she had one mission…to never again fail the ranch. It was Robert’s dream, and that was what motivated her. Everything else didn’t matter, but the ranch did.

  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.”

  Chapter 2

  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 loo
ked 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!”