Page 10 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
Jaxon gave a firm nod, his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. And I think it’s a great idea. This town’s always been about community, and what you’re doing? That’s the heart of it right there.” He hesitated for a moment, considering, then added, “Listen, if you need any help with the show, I’d be happy to pitch in. Maybe donate some guitars or other instruments if the kids need ’em.”
Gunner felt a rush of gratitude wash over him. “That’s generous of you. I’m sure the kids would appreciate it.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Jaxon replied with an easy smile. “These kids need someone like you to look up to, someone who’s been through the fire and come out stronger on the other side.”
As Gunner stood there, surrounded by the familiar scents of hay and leather, he felt a sense of purpose settling over him. It wasn’t the roar of a stadium crowd or the thrill of a hit song, but somehow, it felt even more meaningful. This was his chance to make a real difference, one kid at a time.
And that felt better than drowning in his own damn misery.
Leading his horse down the aisle, Gunner approached Jaxon and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks again.”
Jaxon just smiled and went back into the mare’s stall.
With all that settled, Gunner returned his focus to his horse and brought him back out to pasture, stepping into the late morning sun. Once he’d closed the gate and watched the colt gallop toward the other horses at the hay bale, he turned toward his truck. He squinted, adjusting to the brightness of the snow.
As he approached his truck, he caught sight of Eli leading a chestnut mare in the nearby paddock. Eli had been a professional bull rider until he’d lost his sister and moved back home, but now he coached young bull riders, also training a horse or two for Jaxon when time allowed.
“Heading out?” Eli called.
Gunner raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Yeah, going into town for a bit.”
“Bring me back a coffee?”
“Will do.” Gunner climbed into his truck, the familiar creak of the door a comfort to his ears.
As he pulled away from the ranch, snow kicking up behind his wheels, his mind wandered. The drive into town was as familiar as an old song, every bend in the road etched into his memory. But as he entered the rustic town square of Timber Falls, his heart rate picked up.
The Naked Moose came into view, its sleek black modern windows a silent reminder that it was still hours from opening. Gunner’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as memories flooded his senses.Aubrey.That week in Atlanta. Every touch, every whisper, every breathless moment came rushing back.
“Damn,” he muttered, pulling to a stop at the red light directly in front of the bar. His eyes traced the outline of the old stone building, imagining Aubrey inside, her blond waves catching the light as she moved with purpose behind the bar.
“It was her,” he whispered to himself, the confession hanging in the air of his truck cab. Occasionally, he questioned whether the fog from his pill addiction might have caused him to mistake her identity… He shook his head and said to himself, “I’d know those blue eyes and smile anywhere.”
The light turned green, but Gunner hesitated, his foot hovering over the gas pedal. Part of him wanted to wait, to march into that bar the moment it opened and confront Aubrey...again. But he knew better. This wasn’t a country song where grand gestures always paid off. This was real life, and Aubrey was as complex and guarded as they came.
With a sigh, he pressed the gas, leaving The Naked Moose behind. But as he drove on, the memory of Aubrey lingered, as intoxicating as the pills he’d sworn off. His mind raced as he navigated the familiar streets of his hometown. The upcoming wedding of Jaxon and Charly loomed in his thoughts—a perfect opportunity disguised as a celebration. Aubrey couldn’t avoid him then.
On the edge of town, he pulled into the community center parking lot and cut the engine with a decisive twist. The faded brick building stood before him, a far cry from the glittering stages he’d once commanded.
He climbed out of his truck and strode through the double doors, the scent of lemon cleaner and musty books hitting him like a wave. A whirlwind of activity greeted him, centered around a petite woman with wild, graying curls.
“Mr. Woods!” she exclaimed, rushing over with outstretched hands. “I’m Margaret, the coordinator. We’re absolutely thrilled to have you on board!”
Gunner clasped her hand. “Ma’am, the pleasure’s all mine. These kids deserve a chance to shine.”
Margaret beamed, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Oh, they’ll be over the moon! A real country star, right here in our little town. Now, about instruments…”
“Actually,” Gunner interjected smoothly, “Jaxon Reed from Timber Falls Ranch offered to donate some instruments. Figured it might help.”
Margaret’s eyes widened, her already frenetic energy kicking into overdrive. “Donated instruments? Oh, that’s marvelous.” She waved him to follow her toward a cluttered bulletin board, gesturing at a wrinkled sheet of paper pinned haphazardly among flyers and schedules. “This is our practice schedule. Take a look.”
Gunner ambled over, his eyes scanning the list of names. Some familiar, some not. His gaze caught on “Emily Winters, age 8, working on singing ‘Jolene’,” and he felt a smile tug at his lips at her great song choice.
“Five times a week, huh?” he mused, running a calloused finger down the timetable. “That’s a commitment.”
“Is it too much?” Margaret’s brow furrowed. “We can always adjust—”
“No, ma’am,” Gunner interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s perfect. These kids deserve our best.”
