The Texas Rebel [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Rebecca Joyce

  “What are you reading, Mark?” she said as she poured her coffee.

  “Rebelsomething.”

  Everything in her stilled. Sarah stopped what she was doing and quickly turned around. Before she knew what she was doing, she was in his lap trying to get that book away from him. “Mark, give me that book!” she shouted.

  * * * *

  Mark didn’t know what had come over her. She was so quiet, so self-contained, and in one instant she became a wild tigress ready to snatch his hand off. He had to admit, the playfulness suited her quiet well, and the energy was quite sexually appealing. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, holding her down to him as he read the next passage, carefully keeping the book from her reach.

  “She couldn’t control herself,” he began with a soft, sexy growl emanating from his voice, thinking she wanted some more fun.

  “I swear, if you don’t give me that book, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” he goaded her, knowing damn well that she couldn’t do anything to get that book away from him. “She had behaved so—” he continued again. “Hey!” he shouted as her hand had grabbed a very important part of his body.

  “Now that I have your attention.” She smiled. “I suggest you give me back that book, or the only balls you’ll ever play with again will be wrapped in leather.”

  “Now, honey, why would you go and threaten me with something like that,” he said, handing her back the book. “I just wanted to read a book,” he replied with a devilish grin on his face.

  “I have many others. Read one of those,” she said, letting him go and standing up.

  “Why can’t I read that one?”

  Sarah took the book and walked back into the kitchen. “Because I said so.”

  Mark smelled a rat. He knew something was up.

  Jumping to his feet, he followed her and wrapped his arms around her. Nestling his lips near her ear, he whispered, “Come on, darlin,’ tell me. Why not that book?”

  “Are you hungry? I can make lunch,” she offered, trying to change the subject. Mark wasn’t buying any of it. He loved a good mystery, and this one had him drooling. “Maybe I’ll just—” he began, and he grabbed the book out of her hand and ran out the front door, with her fast right behind him.

  “Damn it, Mark. You give me back that book!” she yelled as she ran after him. He was just too damn fast for her. She should have figured that out. Only someone who actually ran everyday could beat her.

  She stopped and waited.

  Mark was about a good fifty feet from her when he turned to see that she had stopped chasing him. Looking at her, he lifted the book once again, and then that was when he saw it. His mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe it. Oh God, this was too good to be true! He couldn’t have made this up even if he tried.

  She was the author!

  Sauntering slowly back toward her, he began to whistle “Dixie,” handed her back the book, and walked right back into the house.

  Sarah was mortified.

  Never in her whole life had someone so rudely invaded her privacy. The quiet life that she preferred was now an open book for all to read. Why she had even written that damn book was beyond her. She knew why, because when the publisher found out about her, she begged her for almost a year to write her life story? When she finally caved and did write it, she didn’t expect it to become a best seller, let alone to stay at the top of New York’s Best Seller list for five months.

  Then the whirlwind started again, the interviews, the television shows, even the book tours. Her private life was out in the open for all to see. She couldn’t take it anymore, and after seven months, she ducked out of the public eye and promised herself that in time, everything would pass and soon she would be forgotten about. Eventually she was, but now, she felt like Mark had opened that door once again, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before everyone else knew where she was.

  She wanted to run.

  She found him sitting on the couch with the biggest grin upon his face. She said nothing as she shut the door and walked into the kitchen to get lunch started. The silence was deafening. She could feel his eyes all over her as she moved throughout the kitchen. Still, he hadn’t said anything. She couldn’t take it any longer. She turned around to find him sprawled across the couch, looking directly at her. “Go ahead. Get it off your chest. I know you’re just dying to say something.”

  “I wasn’t going say a single word, my little scrumptious rebel!” He grinned.

  He had to give her this, she had good aim when she threw the wooden spoon at his head, and she even managed to come close when the coffee mug flew right at him, but he figured she would hit her mark with that cast iron skillet in her hand. “Okay, darlin’. You can put that skillet down. No need for one of us to get hurt.”

  “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” she said, walking toward him. Mark hoped she was just playing, but still the same, he wasn’t going to take any chances in case she meant to do him real harm.

  He slowly backed away with his hands up, trying to sidestep around her advances. God, she was beautiful when she was mad. She lunged for him, and he jumped to the side and grabbed her around the waist. He quickly reached for the skillet and took it from her.

  “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “Just as soon as you calm down. I really don’t see what the problem is. It’s just a book. No big deal. So you wrote a book. You should be proud of it.”

  “It’s not just a book. It’s my book!” she yelled. A shiver ran down Mark’s back as the comprehension took hold.

  “What do you meanmy book?”

  “You shouldn’t have read it. Instead you got too damn nosey.”

  “Sarah,” he whispered, hoping his calm voice would relax her. It took another couple of minutes before the tension in her shoulders eased. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. Mark noticed a difference in her eyes. Gone was the playfulness and kindness. What stood before him was blind fury. Anger emanated from her. “That book was private. I didn’t want you to read it. You had no right to read it,” she vehemently spoke.

  “Then you shouldn’t have written it!”

  “That’s not what I meant. God, why couldn’t you just mind your own damn business. You have ruined everything!” she shouted.

  Mark stepped back and gave her a wide berth. That unwanted funny feeling was back again, and this time the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  Warning. Danger imminent.

  He knew something was not right here, and whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it. She had clammed up tighter than a tortoiseshell on a busy highway. He didn’t know what to do.

  * * * *

  Sarah stood before him ready to rip his heart out for invading her privacy. It wasn’t that he had snooped around, it was the fact that he thought he had done nothing wrong. She had spent her whole life valuing what privacy she had. She never showed anyone her true self, not even William. She worked hard at her anonymity, and here standing before her was a man who thought living in the public life was something to be happy about. She couldn’t allow this little charade to go on any further. She wanted quiet, not flashbulbs and questions. She knew if he stayed, he would ask the same damn questions everyone else wanted the answers to. She just couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” she quietly said.

  “You don’t mean that?”

  “Good-bye, Mark,” she said, walking into her bedroom.

  He quickly followed. “Sarah, come on. Why are you acting like this?”

  Like clockwork, he started asking the questions. “What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing,” she responded.

  “Bullshit! You have listened to me talk about everything, but the moment I ask you something about you, you freeze up. Hell! I got more of a reaction out of you with that damn book than the whole time we have spent together.”

  She looked up at him so fast he thought her he
ad was going to pop off, but it was the pain in her eyes that made him realize that he had officially put his foot in it this time.

  Shit! I wish I would learn to think before I speak. “Sarah, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said, walking out her French doors into the cool sun, where she was soon surrounded by hundreds of flashing bulbs and people shouting, “Ms. Mitchell,” “Sarah, over here,” and “How long have you been seeing Armstrong?” The questions went on and on.

  Sarah couldn’t move. She stood petrified.

  She never felt him wrap his arms around her and rescue her from the horde of reporters outside her private home. She only knew that she was being held by two strong arms in the privacy of her living room as she cried.

  “It’s all right, honey. Shush, try and calm down,” he cooed.

  Everything was all over with. Her sweet solitude was gone. She had been once again thrown into a fight with Goliath, but this time her “David” had rescued her.

  Why did she do it? Why did she lower her defenses and put herself out there once again? There was no going back this time, and she knew it. They would never leave her alone. No matter where she went, they would follow. She felt trapped like a caged animal in a circus, too afraid to do anything, too ashamed to care.

  Mark walked her over to the couch and covered her with a blanket. She watched him walk over to the windows and close all the curtains. He went through the cottage, locking all the doors and shouting at the intruders to go away. He returned to her and pulled out his cell, quickly dialing a number.

  “Let me have the phone, Mark,” she asked with her hand out for it.

  “Why? I’m calling the police. Maybe they can get rid of these reporters. I am so sorry they are here. This is my entire fault. I should have warned you.”

  “They’re not here because of you,” she quietly said and watched Mark’s expression change from sorrow to confusion. “Please, can I borrow your phone?”

  “What do you mean they’re not here because of me?” he said, handing her the phone. He sat quietly by as she dialed a number she knew by heart.

  Thinking of everything that had occurred over the last week, he still could not think of any hints she may have dropped to help him figure out what her big mystery was. She never even hinted at anything. What he did remember made him feel calm and content. A surge of appreciation flooded him as he thought of how wonderful she was. She had taken him in. She was warm and loving. Mark knew he hadn’t felt that loved and wanted in a very, very long time.

  Sarah was a kindhearted woman with a gentle touch, soft-spoken and smart! Dear God, did that woman have a head on her. She had an insight about him that even scared the crap out of him. It was like she knew more about him that he did. She was soft and warm. But she had a past. Though she didn’t talk about it much, he knew there was something more to her. What was she hiding?

  “Gerald, it’s Sarah. I know, they are already here. Where are you? Okay, I’ll be ready. Thanks, Gerald,” she said and hung up the phone. He watched her walk into her room, and in less than five minutes she emerged with a backpack and her passport in her hand.

  “Sarah, where are you going?” Mark asked, getting to his feet. “You can’t go out there. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, Mark. I can’t put you through this. It’s my entire fault. You did nothing wrong,” she said, and moments later there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it, and in walked a short, stout man with two very big bodyguards.

  “You ready, honey. I have the car out front,” he said, grabbing her bag.

  “Yes. Let’s go.” And just like that, Mark watched the short man usher her out of her cottage into the swarm of reporters all eager to get a comment from her. He watched as she got into a long, black stretch limo and drove away with reporters following. They all left, every single one of them.

  He was about to close the door when he saw her standing there. She approached cautiously, and as she entered the cottage he closed the door.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what just happened.”

  “I will explain on the way. Get your stuff. I’ll meet you outside.” she ordered.

  Chapter 9

  Bridget was waiting for him as he walked into the hotel lobby Monday evening. He had had another horrible practice, and the reporters were getting on his last nerve. Generally after a day or so of hounding, they gave it a rest, waiting until he fucked up again, but this time was different.

  They were out for blood.

  The media frenzy was on a roll today. Since Sarah Mitchell had once again “disappeared,” they had turned their attentions to Mark. They waited for him out at the stadium, followed him in town, and now were camped out at the hotel. He had watched as the mob had come alive when he walked in, and boy, did they not miss a beat.

  “Mr. Armstrong? Mr. Armstrong, how long you been seeing Ms. Mitchell?”

  “Have you been in contact with her?”

  “Is she going to be attending the big game?”

  “How did you two meet?”

  The questions went on and on.

  Mark did his best trying to ignore them, pushing his way through the crowd, but he was stopped cold by one man from a dirty rag magazine. “So, Bad Boy, is she just another one of your ‘lucky’ charms?” he insinuated.

  He knew she heard the question. Everyone heard it, but she started running too late.

  Mark had his hands around the man’s neck and up against the wall before anyone could blink. The flashbulbs were going crazy. “You stay the fuck away from her, or I will break every bone in your fuckin’ body,” Mark said, growling low in his chest.

  “Whoa there, cowboy, come on,” Bridget said, trying to remove him from a situation that just went from really bad to way worse. Mark released his hold, and Bridget dragged him away from the crowd, shouting, “no comment” over and over.

  “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing out there? If you keep acting like that, I will never get you the money you’re asking for, and don’t forget the commissioner is looking for anything to suspend you,” she snapped at him.

  Mark said nothing as he walked right past her and sat at the bar. He put his coat on the stool next to him. He asked the bartender for a two-finger scotch and drank it in one gulp.

  * * * *

  Bridget looked at him. Every alarm in her body was going off.

  This wasn’t just some fling. This was something big. Whatever he felt or didn’t feel, she figured it was best to just get it out and in the open. She had worked for him for a long time now, and not once had she ever seen him so miserable, so sullen. He actually looked as if he was in pure agony. She sat down next to him and ordered herself a white wine spritzer and waited. She watched as the bartender refilled his glass, and she watched as he swallowed it in one gulp. She couldn’t take it any longer. “Spill it.”

  “Bridge, sometimes you can be a real pushy bitch.”

  “That’s what you pay me for. So come, out with it.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We spent the whole week together.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you honestly didn’t know who she was?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what she did to me. She damned me to hell and kicked me out of her house. That was till all those leeches showed up.”

  “Whatcha do?”

  “Apparently I invaded her privacy.”

  “Oh.”

  “I found this book, so I started to read it. Well how in the hell was I supposed to know it was her life story? I only made it to the third page of chapter one, cause you know I have a hard time reading and all. Well, she found out what I was reading and she came after me with a skillet.”

  “You’re kidding!” Bridget said, trying to stifle a laugh.

  “Nope, even I ca
n’t make this shit up. She got all defensive and told me I had no right to go through her things. The next thing I know, she is kicking me out of her house,” he said, motioning to the bartender for another refill.

  “Well, what are you going to do? You really don’t need this right now. You have a big game next Saturday, and if you can’t let this go, it’s going mess with your head.”

  “I know,” he said, taking a drink.

  Bridget watched as he turned to her. The look on his face said it all. She knew what was coming next, so she braced herself for the question, “Bridge, what is she hiding? How is it that you know everything about her and I know nothing? If she is so famous, why isn’t her face on every billboard and magazine in the world? I just don’t get it.”

  “I understand why she is the way she is, but you, on the other hand, might have a harder time understanding.” she began. “Mark, you have always enjoyed the publicity that your life gives you. You revel in the limelight. You’re happiest when your face is plastered everywhere. You like it when people stop you for your autograph, but Sarah on the other hand, is a different story.

  “It’s weird, but now that I think of it, you two actually do have a lot in common. You both had horrible childhoods and abusive parents, you both made your own way in this world, but that’s where the similarities end. Look, I will get you her book. You will understand better if you read it for yourself,” she offered.

  “I just want to know how to make this better, Bridget. I don’t want to read her life story.”

  “I will get you her book. Then you’ll understand,” she said, getting up from the stool. “I am going to bed. The coach wanted me to tell you that you better bring your A-game tomorrow or he’s starting the back up.”

  “Great, let the rookie play. That will win us the game,” he muttered.

  * * * *

  Mark had made it to his room late that night and hadn’t slept a wink since. He had just sat up in his bed, drinking heavily, and started thinking of her.