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

by Rebecca Joyce

  He imagined the feel of her in his arms, the soft silkiness of her skin, the way she moved as he held her, and those delicious plump lips. Her laugh still rang clear in his head. The kindness that she showed him and the food that she cooked were unparalleled compared to anything he had ever seen, but it was the look in her eyes as he left that haunted him. Her beautiful blue eyes were swimming in pain, disappointment, and murder, and it was all because of him. The one thing he didn’t want to do, he had done.

  As Tuesday progressed, he was still unable to think of anything but her. He couldn’t concentrate. He was useless. For a while he paced back and forth across the field trying to figure out why this woman bothered him so much. Why her?

  Mark knew that there was something she was hiding. Every time he thought he came up with the right answer, his heart shot it down. He had never met anyone like her, but she was still a woman. He knew how to handle women.

  Hell! He had made it an art form.

  Smile and dazzle them. That was all it generally took.

  Not with her.

  It was like she saw right through him. After the first day, he knew he was not going to be able to pull the wool over her eyes. She was too smart for that. And why did her “observation” of him agitate the crap out of him? Of course she was right on all accounts, but he didn’t tell her that. It was almost as if he was wearing a sign on his chest saying, “Everything you need to know about me—read here!”

  Nothing made sense anymore. In just one week, she had turned his world upside down and inside out, and he had no clue how to fix it.

  Sitting on the sideline, he never looked up when Bridget walked over to him. She just quietly laid the book next to him and left. He was reading through his playbook when he saw her name. It took another fifteen minutes before he had the courage to even reach for it.

  Memoirs of a Rebel Angel, by Sarah R. Mitchell.

  There in his hands was her whole life, typed up into a nice, neat package of over seven hundred and thirty-six pages.

  “Armstrong. Get your ass out here! Time to earn that paycheck of yours,” the coach yelled. Mark placed the book on top of his binder, grabbed his helmet, and ran out onto the field.

  By Wednesday evening Mark had managed to finish her book, and when he was done, he sat in his hotel room and stared out the window. Bridget took it upon herself to dig up the rest of her story where the book left off. He had to give it to the woman, she was thorough.

  Her bio read like a true made-for-TV movie.This woman has had one bad thing happen to her after the other.Oh, she would always start something new, and really make a good go of it, but then, almost like clockwork, bam! Shit would hit the fan. If he didn’t know any better, he would actually swear that Sarah Renee Mitchell had the worst freaking luck on the planet.

  She didn’t leave anything out. He read the court documents of her childhood. How her mother, a drug addict, had abandoned her as a baby for five ounces of heroin, and then, after getting clean, proceeded to remove her from her grandparents at the age of two. Moving from town to town until the age of five, her mother met and married the man who became her “father.” This man wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, and after reading about how he failed several jobs, had three run-ins with the police, and spent a month in jail for beating the crap out of her mother, Mark read the news article of the fire that took the lives of Sarah’s parents.

  Mark couldn’t believe it, as he stared at a picture of a screaming girl being held by police. It tore his heart out that after everything that these two yahoos had put her through, she still loved them.

  He continued to read, and he found out that she fled child protective custody at sixteen and worked the streets panhandling for food. She was discovered by a man who, after making her famous, tried to rape her one night after she had told him he was fired. Mark could feel the tensions in his arm tighten as she described the whole scene, and after the first paragraph, he skipped to the next chapter.

  The courts later found out that her manager had embezzled millions from her, leaving her penniless. After that she soon found a job as a walk-on in a low budget movie. Soon, discovered by a huge movie director, she ended up making three movies, with the last one a huge blockbuster hit. Then like clockwork, she found herself in the hands of another shady character who harassed and beat her one night. Refusing all contact with the music and movie industry, she once again started over, moving to Washington. She did graduate from Washington State University with a degree in literature. She had to work two jobs to put herself through college. After graduation she found herself working for a small but reputable publishing company, when she wrote and published her book.

  Mark picked up the file that Bridget had assembled and started reading through it. Sarah met William Ross Webber, a carpenter, during a race in Boston. William Webber was a simple man, a hard worker, and a member of Seattle’s National Army Guard. As Mark continued to read, he found out that their love of nature knew no bounds. Sarah Mitchell was well traveled and accomplished, traveling the world for new and fun places to explore. She was indeed a very smart woman with a joyful heart. Donating her time and most of her income to worthwhile causes, she was a devoted member of her community and loved by almostall who knew her.

  Mark could feel himself begin to relax as he continued to read her dossier. A feeling of pride entered the mix as he read all of her accomplishments. Then, there on the last page said everything he needed to know.

  Sorrow cut through him like a knife.

  After working so hard to once again make a good life for herself, in a matter of months she lost everything. There in his hands was the death certificate of her fiancé, killed in action in some godforsaken place in Afghanistan. She had no one, where he had everyone. Then it hit him. He now knew what she meant that first day they met when she said, “Life is not about how much you can acquire or conquests. It’s about the simple things, like warm sunny days, stopping to admire the world around you. Be thankful for what you have, not what you covet, but most of all, the ability to persevere with what God puts in front of you.”

  Closing the folder, he sat back in his chair and didn’t even bother pouring the scotch in his glass. He drank it right from the decanter. He realized that this was not going to be some simple fix. If he wanted her back, he was going to have to give her some space. The thought of not running to her now was taking all of his energy. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for hurting her, but how could he even begin to apologize to a woman who had lost and endured so much in her life, so much heartache, and still managed to build herself a life with no regrets?Damn, this woman should be a saint!

  Trying to turn his attention back to the matter at hand, he grew even more uncertain. How was he was going to get through the big game tomorrow night without allowing her to interfere with his thoughts?

  The problem was, he couldn’t think of a way.

  He did know one thing. If he went through with this game without her forgiveness, two things would happen. One, he could just let her go, but that was not an option he was ready to admit. Second, his career would be destroyed if he didn’t play to the fullest of his abilities. That even bothered him, but not as much as he thought it would. Why? he wondered.

  No matter how he looked at it, he just could not find a simple solution around this whole ordeal.

  Either way, he was screwed!

  * * * *

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon the next day when the whole Armstrong clan walked into the hotel lobby.

  “There’s my girl!” Mitchell shouted as he grabbed Bridget into a bear hug.

  “Mitchell, put me down,” Bridget proclaimed firmly.

  “Aw come on, Bridge, say it, just this once will ya. Say you missed me!” he pleaded.

  Bridget smiled and then quickly regained her composure. “Mitchell, I am warning you. If you do not behave, so help me, I will let the dogs have you.”

  “Fine, have it your way, gorgeous, but one of these d
ays, I swear, you will say it! So, where is the son of a bitch?” Mitchell asked, looking around for his brother.

  “Mark is at the stadium. Practice is running late.”

  “Bridge, Bridge.” The little girl tugged on her skirt.

  Bridget smiled and bent down to pick her up. “Hey, Miss Abigail. Did you like that big plane?”

  “No. My ear hurt.”

  “She’s fine, just ignore her,” Matthew said, rolling his eyes. “Come here, you brat. Leave Bridget alone,” he said, grabbing for the toddler.

  “Damn that was a long flight. I hope they have indoor plumbing over here?” Marcus complained as he rubbed his backside.

  “Would you shut that big mouth of yours? England ain’t no hillbilly backwater town,” Mason drawled out loudly.

  “That’s it. Ya’ll have driven me plumb crazy. If none of you can behave, you can all go to your rooms,” Rachael shouted loudly, attracting everyone’s attention.

  “There ya go, piss off a pregnant woman,” Michael said, rubbing his hand through his hair.

  “Well, it’s always a pleasure when the whole Armstrong family gets together. I have your rooms all ready. I managed to get the whole floor, so here are your keys, and may I suggest you all get some sleep before you come back down,” Bridget advised cautiously.

  “I wanna go play,” Abigail squealed in Matthew’s arms.

  “Not right now, Trouble. Later, okay. When Uncle Mark gets back, maybe he can take you to run around that big stadium,” Matthew offered.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Matthew. Mark isn’t—I mean, he has been—he’s just busy. He’s not quite himself. Maybe some other time,” she said rather quickly.

  It didn’t take but two seconds for the whole family to catch on to the cryptic advisement.

  “What do you mean by, ‘not quite himself’?” Mitchell asked skeptically.

  “Yeah, what’s butthead got to worry about?” Mason replied.

  “It’s just another damn game. What has his panties in a bunch?” Matthew spoke next.

  Bridget was getting bombarded with questions she didn’t want to answer. First off, it wasn’t her place, and second, this family was relentless. She knew they wouldn’t let up until they got to the bottom of it. She looked from face to face, and they all held the same expression…pure curiosity!

  “Hey, sorry I’m late. That damn cab driver refused my money,” Henry said, walking up to the family. He looked around and noticed that they were all staring at Bridget, and he just sighed. “Crap, what’d I miss?”

  * * * *

  Mark left the stadium to find his brothers all waiting for him near a parked Hummer. He stopped and shook his head. He knew she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Bridget, I swear, you’re fired for real this time,” he spoke as he walked over to his brothers.

  “Hey, when did you guys get in?” he asked, hoping to avoid the obvious reason they were all there.

  “What’s this I hear about you not playing up to your potential? You know you better get your head in the game, or you’re gonna lose that damn ring you want so bad,” Mason began.

  “Seriously, Mark, don’t let it bother you so much. It’s just another game,” Matthew offered.

  “It was a freak accident that happened years ago. It won’t happen to you if you’re prepared. Think past it, man,” Michael insisted.

  “Wait a minute. That’s why you guys are here, to give me a pep talk?” Mark said, stepping back a couple of steps.

  “Why else would we be here? Bridget told us you were worried about what happened to Jones and that it was messing with your head,” Henry advised him.

  Mark sighed a big relief and went along with the conversation. Never in his whole life had he been thankful for that simple white lie that Bridget had told. He was going to give that woman a raise, just as soon as he won the damn game.

  His brother’s all patted him on the back, that was, except for Mitchell, who stood by the Hummer looking at his twin and knowing exactly what was bothering him. Soon they were all off to a local pub for a little rest and relaxation. They were joined by some of his teammates, and soon they had the pub full of players and patrons all having a good time.

  By the time he made it back to his room it was close to ten o’clock, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sleep. He was lost in thought and didn’t even hear his brother walk into his room.

  * * * *

  Mitchell found Mark leaning against the wall near the window staring into space.

  “Hey, brother,” Mitch whispered.

  Nothing, Mark didn’t even flinch. He just stood there looking out into nothing.

  “Mark, you okay?” he asked.

  Silence.

  Treading softly as he approached him, the closer he got, he had the unnerving feeling of loss and sorrow plaguing him.

  Since birth, Mitchell never was able to get a handle on this so-called connection he shared with Mark. It was downright freaky sometimes. They could be miles away, and he would know if Mark was hurt, upset, or sometimes even sad.

  Growing up with the inside track into your brother’s thoughts and feelings was hard enough, but then tack on the fact that he shared the same face, well, it was too much. So when Mitchell was old enough, he took off for far-off exotic places and ended up in California. Not as interesting as he hoped, but far enough away that he could no longer feel what his twin was feeling.

  Now he just had to adjust and deal with the close proximity for a short while, and then he could bolt back to sunny California.

  Shaking off the barrage of emotions, he moved closer and placed his hand on his twin’s shoulder.

  Mark turned to look at his brother, and Mitchell literally stepped back a couple of steps. He was not prepared for what he saw in his brother’s eyes.

  Sheer agony.

  * * * *

  Mark knew with Mitchell in such close proximity, he really didn’t have to say a word. They had always been close and able to almost read each perfectly. Many times their mother had complained that the two of them nearly shared the same brain. Speaking in unison for most of their lives drove everyone who knew them nuts. But today, for the first time ever, Mark had the distinct feeling of abandonment. The feeling floored him.

  “Hey, you’re not alone. I’m here. I have always been here,” Mitchell replied lovingly. In all of his thirty-one years, Mitchell had never seen his brother this distraught. He didn’t know what to make of it. Frankly, it was starting to scare the shit out of him. “Okay, talk. What has you down in the dumps?”

  Mark looked at his brother. “You already know.”

  “Yeah, I do. So what are you gonna do about it?” Mitchell said quietly.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Has she surfaced yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you?” Mark replied stoically, walking over to his bed and sitting down.

  “I guess not.”

  “Why are you here, Mitch?”

  “Well I thought I was here for some moral support, but now I don’t know if you’re even worth the effort.”

  “Not tonight, Mitchell. I don’t want to fight,” he replied too calmly.

  Mitchell knew right then and there, whatever was bugging his brother, it wasn’t good. It wasn’t like his twin to refuse a fight. Hell, they fought about everything, from cars to girls, but refusing to fight and just plain giving up! This wasbig,and Mitchell knew it.

  “Fine, you just sit there and mope. But understand this, Mark. I am here for one reason and one reason only. I am here to see you win tomorrow. Now either you can sit there and do nothing while that other team beats the living crap out of you, or you can get over whatever is eating at you and fight back,” Mitchell said, walking toward the door. He waited for a response and got nothing but silence. He left his brother standing there like a blind deaf-mute.

  As he walked down the hall, Mitchell grabbed his cell phone. He hit s
peed dial number three and hit send. It only took a moment for him to answer the phone.

  “Hey, trouble, what’s up?” Matthew greeted him.

  “Oh my God, it has finally happened. Mark has found someone that he cares for more than himself. You have got to see him. He looks pitiful. Trust me, nobody is going to want to miss this,” Mitchell said zealously.

  “It’s not her, is it?”

  “Oh yeah, call the rest of them and pass along to good news. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on. The poor boy looks like he’s about to snap.”

  “Well, you better find out where she’s at. We can’t have her messing up his game tomorrow.”

  “Already on it. I’m walking toward little Miss Delectable’s room right now,” Mitchell responded.

  “Don’t aggravate her too much, okay. I will round up the rest of the herd, and we will try and keep Casanova from doing anything utterly stupid, okay?”

  “Whatever. I plan on having a front-row-center seat for the show of a lifetime, and that includes him winning the championships!” Mitchell laughed.

  “Don’t interfere, Mitch. If he’s as bad off as you say, he’s liable to kill anyone who goes near her. You saw what he did when those reporters attacked her,” his brother warned.

  “I promise to behave myself, but if he starts anything, all bets are off. He needs a little gumption right now. Maybe that will put the life back in him,” Mitchell said before he hung up the phone and knocked on Little Miss Scrumptious’s door.

  Chapter 10

  The sun had finally managed to show its face by Friday morning. After three days of hiding out in France, she had returned to her home in England. Dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater, she grabbed her ball cap and sunglasses and headed into Ipswich.

  It was turning out to be a beautiful day. She needed the warmth of the sun after spending too long of a time inside thinking of him. She admitted to herself that there was more than an instant attraction to him. She could not deny that. She also knew that this man liked his life in front of the cameras. She would bet that he never had to compromise anything, ever! Everything he wanted just fell into his lap. He was selfish and inconsiderate, probably never thinking of others, just himself. Humph!