The Cattle Drive [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek] (Siren Publishing Classic) (31 page)

Henry just smiled and hugged his grandmother.

“Well, now that that is settled. I want my ranch back!” Rachael yelled at the man bleeding on the ground.

“I didn’t take your damn ranch, woman. I got a phone call from some judge in Cedar Creek telling me that someone bought the note and immediately put it on the market. There was no way I was going to allow my family to become homeless, so I bought it,” M.H. explained then turned to Matthew. “I’m bleeding. Get your ass over here,” he shouted, demanding his son take care of his leg.

“It’s just a flesh wound. You’ll live,” Matthew replied.

“Flesh wound! I have a damn hole in my leg.”

“Then stick your finger in the hole!”

“What do you mean? You didn’t call in the note on Rachael’s ranch?” Sarah questioned her husband. “I saw the information on your desk. I heard you talking to the bank about her ranch,” she questioned.

“Damn it woman! You need to hone your detective skills. If you would have stayed around long enough and listened to the whole conversation, you would have realized that I was just checking on my son. I wanted to make sure he was being taken care of properly. That’s all. I told you boys to let me see him! What the hell do I want with her ranch?” he shouted at his wife.

“Wait a minute. You had nothing to do with Rachael’s ranch?” Michael said, walking up to his father,

“That’s what I have been saying. Are you deaf, son? I just wanted Henry!” his father yelled. Michael turned to look at Rachael, and threw his hands up in the air, confused.

“Then who took my ranch? Who burned down my barn and killed my cows?” Rachael asked.

“I want to know who put that damn rattlesnake in the tent. That thing could have killed you,” Michael stated.

“How the hell do I know?” M.H. replied. They all turned to watch three sheriff cars come to a stop. “Who is Rachael Mason?” the tall, lanky sheriff bellowed, getting out of his squad car.

“That would be me,” she said, walking over to the man.

“I am to inform you that your shooting license has been revoked, by order of the judge in Cedar Creek, Texas. He also told me to tell you that the next time you use county property without his personal written permission, he is going to throw your butt in jail for thirty days.”

“Figures,” she said, throwing her arms up in the air, walking over to the front porch, and sitting down.

“So does someone want to tell me what the blue blazes is going on in my county?” the man yelled. As Michael and his brothers talked with the sheriff, Rachael just sat there stewing. Henry walked over to Rachael and sat down next to her. He took her hand and placed it in his. Rachael smiled and leaned next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Henry looked over to find M.H sitting on the porch nursing his wounded leg. “Does it hurt?” he asked the man.

“Not too bad. Stings like the dickens, though. Damn girl got a good aim!” he said, smiling at the boy. Henry extended his hand and said, “I’m Henry William Armstrong. I believe you are my biological father.” The man looked at the boy and smiled, taking his hand and shaking it. “Finally nice to meet you, son.”

Everyone was talking as Rachael and Henry sat on the porch with Mr. Armstrong. Rachael opened her eyes right before the shot was fired. The sound coming from far off in the distance rippled through the air. She looked to find Michael slowly falling to the ground. She screamed and raced to him.

“Michael! You stay awake, you hear me. You stay awake!’ Rachael screamed as she held her hand on the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Michael slowly raised his hand and touched her face. “Everything is going to be okay, honey,” he said, and then he closed his eyes and everything went black.

The second shot vibrated through the air. As it entered, she felt the air leave her lungs, and she flew backward, landing on her back.

“Spread out! Get that son of a bitch!” M.H. shouted to everyone as he raced into the house with his wife right behind him. He quickly grabbed his gun, and as he walked outside, he threw one to Henry.

“Henry, you stay behind me! Matthew, get them in the house and call for an ambulance! Let’s go, boys! Nobody comes to my property and shoots at my family,” he shouted, giving the orders.

The sheriff’s men had their guns drawn as M.H. walked right down the middle of his road toward the shot. With his sons beside him and the ranch hands spreading out, he was not going to let that bastard leave his property.

* * * *

He saw the men coming, and he quickly picked up the two spent shells and put them in his pocket. He moved stealthily through the brush, making his way back to his vehicle. As he threw his rifle in the backseat, he turned to find the judge standing in front of him with a double-barrel shotgun pointed at his gut.

“She had a feeling it was you. I didn’t want to believe her,” the judge said.

“You should have listened to her, judge. She always was too smart for her own good,” he replied.

“You tried to kill my daughter. Why?”

“She belongs to me. Not him. Everything was going just fine, till that asshole showed up. He just walked right in and took everything over and she let him. She relied on me for everything, but the moment she saw him, she didn’t need me anymore. I didn’t bust my ass for nothing. That bitch owes me. I wanted what was rightfully mine,” he seethed.

“She belongs to no one,” the judge quietly said. The man slowly started to reach behind his back. “Don’t do it, son. I don’t want to have to shoot you,” the judge ordered. But as he went for the gun, the judge fired. He stood there and watched him fall backward to the ground.

It didn’t take long for the men to coming running. They arrived to see Judge Clark empty out his shotgun.

“Who in the hell is that!” M. H. Armstrong shouted at the body on the ground.

“That’s Chris Mason. He shot Michael and Rachael!” Henry said, stunned.

“Rachael was shot?” The judge turned and grabbed Henry by the collar. M.H. grabbed the judge. “I would remove those hands from my son,” he ordered.

“Where’s my daughter!” the judge shouted.

“Follow me, Judge. I will take you to her,” Henry offered with the judge right on his heels.

“Someone get this piece of shit off of my property!” M.H. ordered and headed back toward the house with his sons in tow.

* * * *

A lot happened over the next months, but the main thing was that life went back to normal. After the shooting at Crossfire Ranch that wounded Michael and Rachael, M.H. Armstrong stepped up to the plate and did what he did best. He took charge of the sale of Rachael’s cattle, paid off her note, and saw to it that she even had enough left over to invest in a bigger herd.

Though most of the family believed he did it to better his own cattle, the new joint operation with Crossfire Ranch was looking to be a lucrative one, with a high payout come herding season.

As for the boys, well, they waited until Michael and Rachael were released from the hospital and were back on the R & R Ranch before going their separate ways, but returned once again to Texas when they all got the call.

They all waited.

Everyone had made it in time.

The room was stark white, and the chairs were uncomfortable. They could hear the pages over the loudspeaker. They all watched nurses go about their business, doctors coming in and out of rooms, and still they waited.

“What the hell is taking so long?” Mark asked.

“Oh, shut up and sit down,” Mitchell replied.

“Seriously, we have been here for over five hours. How long does it take?” Marcus questioned.

“As long as it takes.” Sarah smiled.

“Well, she better hurry up. The game starts soon. I have fifty bucks on the Broncos,” Mason complained.

“How do you think Mikie is holding up?” Marcus laughed.

“He’s an Armstrong. How the hell do you think he’s doing?” M.H. bellowed.

“Oh great, he’s passed out and bleeding.” Matthew laughed. Everyone started laughing as they released some of the tension in the room. The door flew open and they all stood, but it was only Henry. They all started to complain. Henry walked in looking like he was about to pass out. “Did I miss it?”

“No. We are still waiting,” Sarah answered, giving the boy a hug.

“Where the hell have you been?” M.H. asked, annoyed that his youngest son was late.

“None of your business,” Henry replied, walking over to sit next to Marcus. The brothers all just laughed. “Guess he told you, old man.” Mitchell laughed.

“Got caught at the airport. Flight was delayed,” Henry explained to his brothers.

“Well if you had gone to college here in Texas like I told you to, you wouldn’t be late,” M.H. muttered under his breath.

“If you don’t sit there and be quiet, I swear I will disappear for the next eighteen years, old man. So chill out and shut up. I am here now,” Henry said sternly. M.H. just huffed and sat back in his chair, not saying another word.

“I’ll be damned, he’s speechless.” Mitchell laughed. “Quick, someone get the camera. I want to take a picture of this moment.”

Soon everyone was laughing, that was, all except for M.H. Armstrong. As they all relished the moment, they didn’t hear the door open.

“Glad to see you are all getting along,” Michael said with a huge smile on his face.

Everyone stood and said, “Well?”

“It’s a girl!”

All his brothers replied, “A girl! What the hell do we do with a girl?”

The sun was shining brightly on that warm fall day in Cedar Creek. The blue skies were clear without a cloud in the sky. A warm breeze blew through the fields, and Rachael sat near Fullers Bend, on a quilt her mother had made. Enjoying the warm sun, she watched her daughter play with a frog who just happened to hop over near them.

The little girl with long black hair giggled, and she pretended to hop along with the frog. Her little bare feet stomped when the frog would jump away from her. Rachael smiled at the sight.

“Come, Momma. Help,” the little girl said, turning toward her mother. Rachael looked at the little cherub face, so soft and pale. Her deep-blue eyes stood out against her dark-black hair, and when she smiled, her little, plump, rosy lips lit up her face.

“Okay, okay. But don’t get upset if we can’t catch him,” she said, standing up.

The little girl started running after her new little friend, so desperately trying to catch it. Rachael walked along pretending to be helping, but she enjoyed watching her play. The little girl stood up and giggled. She started running toward the house, and when Rachael realized she had taken off, she started after her.

“Come, Momma. Catch me.” The little girl giggled.

“Honey, wait for Momma,” Rachael yelled after the little girl. The little girl wouldn’t listen. She was so much like her mother. So headstrong, so independent. The little girl kept running. Soon Rachael couldn’t see the little girl anywhere, and Rachael started running, trying to find her daughter.

As Rachael turned around, looking at the open fields, she couldn’t find her.

“Abby! This isn’t funny anymore. You get your little butt over here, right now. You hear me, young lady,” Rachael shouted as loud as she could.

“Oh there ya go, Abby. Go and get Momma mad. You know she takes it out on me. Go tell her you’re sorry,” Michael said, putting the little girl down and giving her a little swat on the butt.

“Sorry, Momma,” the little girl quietly said, looking at the ground. Rachael bent down and hugged the little girl, taking her up into her arms. As he walked over to them, he put his arm around Rachael and said, “What am I going to do? I now have two girls who drive me absolutely crazy.”

“I think you will be just fine, Michael. Just fine.” She smiled.

THE END

Rebecca Joyce is your typical housewife and mother. The daughter of a retired military service member, Rebecca tries to incorporate the sights, smells, and adventures of her travels, but mainly she writes of the buff, gorgeous men she drooled after in her teen years!
There is just somethin’ about a man in uniform…WOW!

Growing up in the military, Rebecca Joyce, along with her family, moved from state to state, enjoying the never-ending game of “Where are we moving to next?” which happened every two to three years! After high school, Rebecca met and married her own military service member and now devotes her time to her husband and children.

Her ‘spawns’ as she lovingly calls them demand and expect a lot of her attention. When she is not catering to the whims of her family, Rebecca spends her quiet time reading or writing.

As an avid reader from an early age, Rebecca decided to try her hand at writing while her husband was away on a deployment to pass the time. Since then, she finds time in her hectic day to scribble her hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Though her
real
life sometimes interferes with her
imaginative
life, Rebecca tries to balance each with wit, sarcasm, and humor. “Screwing up takes practice…I think I’m well rehearsed!”