A Soldier's Promise [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Rebecca Joyce

  “The Tyrannosaurus Rex was one of the largest meat-eating dinosaurs. The T-Rex’s teeth were used to pierce and grip flesh, which it ripped away with its neck muscles. Its two-fingered forearms grabbed prey, but were too short to reach its mouth. Tyrannosaurus Rex lived in the late Cretaceous period. T-Rex became extinct sixty-five million years ago.”

  Mason sat stunned.

  If he did not know any better, the kid had memorized that. What could he say? The kid was obviously smart. He didn’t talk much unless asked a direct question, but other than that he seemed your normal typical little boy. Yet, Mason had the funny feeling something was off about him. Oh, he liked the kid. He liked him a lot. He just wished the kid would talk a little more.

  Mason didn’t ask any more questions. He just sat alongside Andrew and watched him fish in silence. Every once in a while he would notice the kid take another sip of the soda and resume casting out the line. It didn’t take long for Mason to notice how meticulously Andrew casted and reeled.

  Very particularly, Andrew started winding the reel. Mason counted the clicks, and then watched him cast. The same process over and over again. The same amount of clicks—fifty in all. Every time the reel was ready to cast, that’s when Andrew would take a sip, and even the soda can was set back in the exact same spot, in the exact same position.

  And people think I’m anal-retentive. This kid has me beat by a mile!

  “So, Andy, you don’t mind if I call you Andy, do ya?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You live around here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Does your mom or dad know where you’re at?”

  “No dad.”

  “Everyone has a dad.”

  “Dad didn’t want me, just mom.”

  Mason sighed when the young kid quietly laid down the fishing rod. The dejected look upon his face was more than Mason could bear. He knew that look. He had worn it frequently growing up. No kid should ever have to have that look.

  “Hey, buddy. It’s all right. I have a dad, and sometimes having no dad is better than one who ignores you or treats you wrong,” he offered as the young boy’s shoulders slumped.

  Standing, Andrew dusted off his jeans and fixed his shirt. He picked up the fishing rod and handed it back to Mason. “I have to go home,” he said clearly and turned to leave.

  “Hang on, I’ll walk with you. No sense in fishing if you ain’t got a buddy to fish with.”

  Mason took his time picking up his belongings. He didn’t know what to make of this kid. He was sweet and very quiet. Sad though, and that worried him. Deciding to meet his mother and see if there was anything he could do to help, he let Andrew lead the way.

  They didn’t talk one iota on the way back to Andrews’s house. As they neared the small two-bedroom home, Mason realized that the house the kid lived in belonged to the cantankerous Judge Clark. For the last five months, Mason had tried to get the old bastard to sell him the property adjoining his, but the ornery old cuss refused. Now, he knew why.

  A loud scream emanating from within the home had Mason dropping his gear. “Stay here, Andrew,” he ordered the kid as he ran toward the house, pulling out his gun that he kept hidden behind his back.

  Kicking in the back door, he was assaulted with the worst god-awful smell on the planet.

  “Damn!” He grimaced, covering his nose as he silently made his way into the house. Following the whimpers and cries of the woman in distress, he stopped dead in his tracks when he entered the living room.

  There, surrounded by empty boxes, she stood stock-still, silently crying, trying not to vomit as the creature before her held her captive.

  “Don’t move,” Mason whispered, bringing his gun up.

  “You can’t shoot it!” she shrieked, and at that very minute, the creature jumped, lifted its tail, and sprayed her at close blank range. The horrendous smell permeated the area.

  A thick, foul fog hung, coating everything within sight.

  Eyes watered and gag reflexes kicked in.

  “Kill it! Kill it!” she screamed, running from the room.

  Mason aimed and fired.

  * * * *

  I’m dying! she thought as she heaved into the porcelain God, and that’s exactly where her knight in shining armor found her. She wanted to die of mortification. How cruel was this? A man within her age range, handsome, and handy with a gun, and here she was, puking her guts into a toilet.

  Kill me now!

  Drenched in the skunk’s aftermath, she cried as embarrassment and disgust flooded her thoughts as she emptied the contents of her breakfast into the toilet.

  No matter what she did or thought, that god-awful smell permeated her senses, wreaking havoc on her body. She couldn’t stop vomiting even if she wanted to. The urge was too much. Tears began falling again as she continued her violent heaving even when her savior handed her a cold washcloth and held her hair for her.

  She didn’t know him, but thank God he had shown up. She was afraid Andrew would come home and see the creature and get sprayed, too.

  Annabelle felt awful. Her stomach and throat hurt, her nose burned, her eyes watered and itched, and she smelled! She couldn’t hold her tears back anymore. This was the last straw. Her life was now complete.

  Oh, please stop crying! Shit!

  There was nothing she could have done to warn him, because once she got started, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said, standing near the door.

  Okay, that stopped her.

  “Excuse me?” she said in shock before throwing up again.

  “You need to strip off those clothes. They are making it worse.” He grabbed another washcloth and handed it to her. Accepting the wet rag, she stood, covering her mouth and nose.

  “Let’s get you outside where the stench isn’t so bad,” he ordered, guiding her toward the front door. Once outside, he went around to the side of the house and returned with the garden hose and her son.

  “Andrew, go sit over by that truck. Don’t get too close to your mom. If the smell is too bad, climb on in and sit,” he told her son, and she watched as he did exactly what he was told. Walking back toward her, he grimaced. “You need to get them clothes off.”

  She stared at him for what felt like an eternity and finally did what she was told. He took out his cell phone, and she watched as he made a call. He was talking too quietly for her to hear. When he turned to find her standing in the middle of her front yard in nothing but her white bra and panties, she wanted to run away and hide. His face looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here and she couldn’t blame him.

  Annabelle knew she wasn’t anything special to look at, but damn, did he have to stare as if she was something atrocious? Sighing, she just looked away, and prayed the ground would swallow her up.

  * * * *

  Mason froze where he stood. There before him she stood, looking like an angel. She was a tiny, petite thing, probably no more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, and her shoulder-length curly blonde hair bounced as she moved around. Her soft, creamy skin was warm and milky. Full rosy lips and a tiny pert nose, set off the prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen, dreamy bedroom eyes, which bored into his soul.

  The curvaceous flow of her slender hips to her long, graceful legs had Mason thinking of other things than the fact that she really did stink at the moment, but it was her breasts that made his mouth water. Perky and plump, she was bigger than he normally liked. Her nipples were hard like diamonds, right before his eyes. He always went by the motto that more than a mouthful was wasteful, but right now he was ready to reconsider his original thought.

  Trying everything he could to get his head refocused, he quickly started thinking of past missions, and the time he and several of his team members were caught and got to spend a glorious four days behind enemy lines, fighting their way out.

  “What now?” she softly asked, grabbing his attention. Barely a whisper, her voi
ce sounded like church bells after Sunday meeting. It was music to his ears.

  “Throw them over there. I’m gonna have to burn them,” he ordered, reaching again for his phone. It took less than a second for the call to connect, and when it did, he began spouting orders. Seeing she was doing as told, Mason chuckled as he said goodbye and closed his cell phone, ending the call.

  “This is not funny. I stink!” she said, getting angry.

  Mason knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. The whole thing was amusing, and just seeing her standing in her front yard, practically naked, wreaking something fierce, he was doing everything he could to hold the laughter at bay.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you, ma’am, just the situation. Now come over here so I can hose you down.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said, staring at him.

  Mason grinned and gave her a wide berth as he reached for the water hose. Turning on the water, he started spraying her down.

  “It’s cold!” she screamed and jumped out of the way.

  Mason just lost it. He laughed so hard his sides started to hurt. It has been years since he laughed really laughed. Oh, he chuckled and smiled when he was supposed to, but to just let go and enjoy the amusement before him, had been years. In control of everything, he felt showing emotion was a weakness, a deterrent that did nothing but hinder the mission. He had learned to keep his emotions hidden from everyone and everything, however, this little woman before him, had blasted through his wall with her innocence and vulnerability, and now he was unsure he wanted to build it back up.

  “Stop laughing!” she yelled.

  “Sorry,” he managed between laughs. “Come on, this will help till my brother gets here with the tomatoes.”

  “What tomatoes?”

  “The tomatoes you are going to take a bath in. They alleviate the smell. Well, not all of it. The rest will just have to wear off.”

  “Oh, this is just great.”

  He had to admit to himself that she did take it like a trooper. After the first initial shock of the cold water, she managed to stand still while he sprayed her down. She didn’t utter a single word, not once, but he couldn’t help but notice the dejected look upon her face. She looked helpless, lost, vulnerable, and absolutely adorable.

  * * * *

  The moment Michael Armstrong started down the drive, a smile crept onto his face. He could not believe what his brother was doing to this unsuspecting woman. However, the closer he got, he soon realized that Mason was actually enjoying himself. The look upon his face was absolute amusement, something he had not seen in a very long time.

  There standing in the front yard, looking like a drenched cat, was a woman who was about to kill someone, and the way she was looking at Mason, he was her intended target. Michael slowed to a stop and got out.

  “Having fun, Mason?” he shouted.

  “Oh yeah!” Mason replied sarcastically.

  “Well, come and get your tomatoes. I brought the can, too, figured it would be better to do it outside,” Michael shouted again, refusing to go any further. The smell was horrible even from where he parked.

  “Here,” Mason said, handing her the hose. “Keep the water on you while I go get the stuff.” He turned his back on her, walking toward the truck.

  Annabelle had never felt so humiliated before in her entire life. Her anger quickly took over, and without even thinking, she turned the hose on him. As the cold water pelted his back, he stopped right where he stood.

  Liberation!

  Her day had gone from bad to total crap with that horrendous spray. Now she was humiliated and angry that strangers were seeing her in her undergarments, hosing her down like a child. This was all too much.

  Mason looked up to find his brother laughing so hard his face was turning red.

  Oh, this is just fucking great!

  Turning, he yelled, “What the hell are you doing!”

  “I’m not the only one who stinks!” She laughed as she still aimed the hose at him.

  This is what I get for being a good neighbor, he thought as he continued walking toward his brother. Michael was laughing so hard, but Mason ignored him and grabbed the can and the tomatoes and walked away. He knew he was never going to live this one down.

  Taking long strides, he reached her in just a few steps. She still had the water pointed toward him when he grabbed the hose out of her hands and threw it in the metal tub.

  “Get in,” he ordered harshly. It was in that instant that Mason saw fire flicker within the depths of those bedroom eyes, and he wondered if just maybe he had pushed this woman too far. Her posture straightened, her head came up, and she firmly looked him straight in the eyes, right before she shouted, “No!”

  He had to give her props. She had spunk. Generally when he shouted orders, everyone around him jumped. Not her. She just stood there, hands on her little curvy hips, soaking wet, looking sexy as hell, defying him. It took a lot to get him angry, but her obstinate refusal was grating his nerves in the worst way. The only thing complicating matters was his cock hardening and straining painfully against his wet jeans.

  “Look, buttercup, either you get in that damn can or I am going to put your ass in there myself!” he shouted back.

  “My name is Annabelle, not buttercup!” she said, standing her ground.

  “I will call you whatever I damn well like, buttercup. Get your ass in the can.”

  Mason growled and ran his hand through his thick black hair. God, if there was ever a woman on earth that was put here to aggravate the living shit out of me, she has to be it!

  With his stern military voice, he ordered loudly, pointing to the tub, “Get in the fucking can, Annabelle!”

  Annabelle froze. She had never heard anyone yell at her like that before in her life. Not even her mother raised her voice to her. Stepping back and looking into his deep blue eyes, for a brief moment, she could have sworn he was about to kill her. Not willing to test that theory, she quietly did as she was ordered and got into the tub.

  She sat there in the cold water, not saying a word as he poured can after can of tomatoes over her head and into the water. Every time she thought he was finally done, his brother brought another bushel of tomatoes. It was bad enough for him to see her like this, but to also have his brother here—she thought she was going to die.

  It took over seven bushels of tomatoes and three crates of canned tomatoes to fill the tub, and when they were done, she was ordered to stay.

  She silently cried.

  “How long are you going to keep her in there?” she heard his brother ask, getting into his truck.

  “Till I can’t smell the stench anymore.” Mason fumed.

  “Come on, Mase. She was just playing around. You have to admit, it was funny.”

  “Tell Rachael I said thanks, but I’m not going to make it to dinner tonight,” he responded, and she watched as he walked past her into her house.

  He soon had Andrew helping him remove items from the house. Together they worked side by side, not talking, just working diligently on whatever they were doing.

  Annabelle sat in the tub until the sun began to set. Every time she would try to get out, he would yell from somewhere inside the house, “Sit back down.” And to make matters worse, he eventually sent out her own son to babysit her, making sure she stayed put.

  She wanted out.

  She hated being out in the open, sitting in a tub full of tomatoes for all to see, not that she had neighbors. The little house was out in the middle of nowhere, but the thought of some stranger driving up was too much to bear.

  Moreover, just what in the hell was he doing in there? The moment he walked back into the house, the noise level rose. She listened to loud bangs, grunts, and what sounded like lumber being ripped apart. After a while she just figured he had begun to wash and clean, but the sounds never let up.

  Just what kind of man was he? He only yelled and ordered her around. He expected her to do what she was told, and
instead of talking to her, he yelled, but then he did have a beautiful smile that relaxed his hard face.

  Sitting there, she thought about her situation. Her whole life, she had done what others had told her—first her mother, then her ex-husband. She did exactly what was expected of her. She didn’t cause trouble, because trouble never had a problem finding her. She was a walking, talking error of caution. Safety cones should be erected around her. If it could happen, it generally happened to her. She wondered how she had managed to live this long.

  Stepping out of the tub, she had enough of her pity party. She wanted in her house.

  She found him in the kitchen finishing up the last wall when she walked in.

  Shock and disbelief flooded her system. It was destroyed, ruined. It was all gone. She couldn’t handle this and it was at that moment, she just gave up.

  The plops of tomato chunks falling onto the floor alerted him to her presence. When he turned to look at her, he froze, and actually stepped back, in fear.

  Words could not articulate what she saw, but the anger within her had boiled over and she was ready to blow.

  He had gutted her house!

  Its drywall removed, her almost-finished house was bare, stripped down to the studs.

  She was speechless.

  “It had to be done.” He spoke softly.

  That was all.

  No reason, no explanation, just that it had to be done. She couldn’t take it any longer. She turned and walked to her bedroom and slammed the door.

  * * * *

  Mason finished removing the last pieces of drywall and threw them out into the backyard. He returned and began sweeping up when he heard her sobs. “Fuck!” he whispered, throwing the broom to the floor, making his way to her room.

  The one thing Mason Harold Armstrong couldn’t stand was to hear a woman cry.

  After watching his mother cry over whatever his father did at any moment, Mason had promised himself that he would never be the cause of any female crying. That’s probably why he had never married and had few women in his life—too many complications.