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

by Rebecca Joyce

  Now as his brother stood before him, he was broken, and only he could fix himself.

  * * * *

  Sarah sat at the end of the dock and watched the sunset over the gulf. Watching the magnificent colors illuminate the sky as it gave way to the end of another day, she thought of Mark.

  Wishing he could be here to witness this wonderful sight with her tugged at her soul. She knew he would think she was absolutely nuts, and probably climb back into bed. He was more comfortable within his own little world he had created for himself to even bother with sunrises or sunsets. Still, she couldn’t help herself as she thought about him sitting next to her, holding her hand as they watched the sun set over this magical place.

  She knew she had already forgiven him, and she wished him well in all of his endeavors. She knew that he would be happy. He didn’t have to play anymore games now. He could go on with his career and get on with his life, and so would she.

  She would remember him the way he was when they were together, without all the arguing and fighting. He was kind and gentle, a man of honor and pride. That was what she was going to remember. The way he held her in his arms, and the soft kisses he gave her. She was going to remember the tenderness of him, the unselfish way he cared for her that first night, the laughter that they shared, and that last beautiful night of lovemaking where she showed him her soul.

  Remembering the love she shared with him, she wished that Mark would soon find that special someone who made him want to be a better man. She knew eventually he would, and when he did, she would wish him all the happiness in the world. Moving on with her life was the right decision.

  She knew she had to try just one more time. She would give it everything she had, and let the chips fall where they may. Mark was right. She had run most of her life, but this time, she was running toward it. If he could do it, so could she.

  Closing her eyes, she let the evening air warm her.

  There, she saw him standing proudly in her meadow. Mark looked at her. He called her name, and she ran into his open arms. Holding her tightly, he whispered, “I love you.”

  Her eyes flew open quickly. Her heart raced frantically in her chest.

  Oh God!

  “Miz Mitchell?” a young boy interrupted. “You okay?” he asked. Turning quickly, she smiled. “Yes, I’m okay. Are they ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, Miz.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said as she stood, forgetting those three simple words that had just sent her heart racing. She knew it wasn’t true, and she refused to allow herself to think otherwise.

  * * * *

  The weekend passed without any drama. Even with the arrival of his parents, nothing seemed to get his mind back on track.

  With the whole family gathered for Abby’s birthday, Mark sullenly walked around the ranch in a fog, avoiding everything and everyone. Though he avoided them, his family never said a word. If anything, he was grateful for the quiet time. With a house full of Armstrongs, finding a moment’s peace was slim to none.

  Walking into the kitchen, he found Abigail quietly sitting at the table, coloring.

  She looked up and smiled, handing him a crayon.

  “Not today, darlin’,” he replied, walking to the fridge.

  “Please,” she begged.

  Mark grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the table next to her. “Just one page, okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled.

  * * * *

  Rachael walked into the barn to discuss the brewing problem with the guys. Since getting back from England, she noticed that the rest of the Armstrong brothers, and MH included, seemed to vacate to the house and take shelter in the back of the barn to avoid Mark, leaving him to the women of the family. She knew that men had a hard time expressing emotions and feelings, but damn it, she needed help!

  She was concerned, along with their mother, and something had to be done. It wasn’t healthy, and Mark was getting worse.

  “How is he?” Michael asked as he turned the television down.

  “He’s coloring with Abby right now. We have to talk.”

  “What about?” Michael questioned.

  “You know damn well what!” Rachael shouted and then took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Look, maybe you should take him camping or something. He’s getting worse. He hasn’t eaten anything since Sunday evening. All he does is drink. Has he even bothered calling her yet?” she asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Mason responded, removing his hat and scratching his head.

  “Maybe one of you guys should call her. She knows you a little,” Sarah Armstrong suggested.

  “She doesn’t have a phone, Mom. How can we call her? Besides, Mitch told us she left England right after we did,” Mattie informed her.

  “There’s gotta be some way we can get a hold of her?” Rachael questioned.

  “What about that guy, Steven?” Marcus asked, looking at his brothers.

  “I thought she cut off all ties to him?” Michael responded.

  “I agree with the ladies. I know my son, and if he is anything like me, he won’t say or do a damn thing unless he is forced to. We have to find a way to either make him do something or take the option out of his hands,” MH offered stoically as he just looked at the house through the barn doors. MH knew he wasn’t liked, hell, he didn’t like himself, but Mark was his son, and he offered his advice, wanted or not.

  The silence was deafening. All eyes turned to stare at the one man who really had no say whatsoever and gaped openmouthed.

  “Fucking great!” Marcus cursed. “And just how in the hell do you suppose we do that, Dad?” he asked his father.

  “Listen up. Let me be very clear here. I don’t care what you guys have to do, who you have to bribe, or whose soul you trade. I want that woman found tonight. Just find her!”

  Rachael shouted as she stormed out of the barn with their mother in tow. “I don’t care if you have to hog tie her to the damn plane. Get her ass here!”

  “Well, that went well,” Matthew said, getting to his feet.

  “Anybody have any ideas on how to find a woman who doesn’t want to be found?” Mason questioned.

  “Yep, and I know just the sneaky bastard to call.” Michael smiled and reached for his phone.

  * * * *

  Mark was still sitting at the table when Rachael returned to the house. She walked over to Abigail and kissed her head. “That’s very good, honey. Are you behaving yourself?” she asked her daughter.

  “Yes, Momma,” she said with a giggle. Abigail then handed her another white sheet of paper and said, “Look, Momma. Uncle Mark colored, too.” Rachael took the paper from her daughter. Smiling at the drawing, her heart broke.

  Mark had drawn the woman of his heart.

  She was stunning.

  With a charcoal pencil, Mark drew every detail, from the small lines that gave way to a wonderful smile to the twinkle in her vibrant eyes. The profile picture of the woman he loved was a testament to his love, for within her hands, Rachael held Mark’s heart and soul.

  Rachael felt like crying. Never had she seen such a prolific display of love than now. He had taken his anguish, and with each scratch of the pencil, he drew her from his heart.

  Rachael felt honored.

  She handed Mark back the drawing, but he refused to take it.

  “I drew it for Abby,” he whispered and quietly left the kitchen. Rachael turned to do the dishes that were piling up when she heard Henry.

  “Hey, Rach, you might want to come out here!” “What now?” she muttered as she walked out onto the front porch and stopped in her tracks. “What the hell is that!” she asked, surprised.

  “Um, I think Mitchell’s gift has arrived,” Michael replied, backing away, knowing what was about to happen.

  “You have got to be kidding me. I am going to kill him!” she said furiously. Just then Abigail walked out and squealed in delight. She ran as fast as her little legs could and hugged her gi
ft.

  There parked in her front yard was a custom four-wheel drive all-terrain vehicle, painted Barbie pink with large, bright flowers that adorned the fenders. A bright, crisp Barbie Flag flew proudly from the pole attached to the back. Sitting on the custom seat with the Barbie-girl logo etched into the leather, was an actual hot-pink helmet with “Abby’s Ride” painted on it.

  “Abigail Mason Armstrong! Just what exactly did you ask your uncle for this time!” her mother scolded as she watched her daughter laugh gleefully as she grabbed the helmet and placed it on her head. “Look, Daddy. See, I said Uncle Mitch would get me one!”

  “Michael!” Rachael shouted, raising her voice several octaves as he started backing away with his hands up.

  “What? I didn’t really think he would do it. Abby saw one a couple of months ago at the feed store. I told her no, but you know these boys.” He smiled and laughed. The brothers were laughing hard as they watched Rachael curse her husband and every Armstrong that walked the earth.

  Mark watched the whole thing from his bedroom window, and when he had had enough, he turned away. Later that day everyone was gathered in the living room watching Abby open all of her presents. Mark smiled when she jumped for joy, eyeing her new pink saddle with the British flag on the seat. He was happy that she was enjoying herself. He only wished he could be more like her.

  His niece was a carefree child, always happy and giggling. She didn’t have a care in the world. She took to this life with a freedom that amazed him. She was a smart child with a good head on her. She never let anything get in her way, and was the first to notice when something was wrong. For such a small child she was very insightful.

  It amazed him that it took all of two seconds for her to understand why he was so glum, and she had no problem acknowledging it.

  As the family watched her continue to open her gifts, Mark got up, needing some fresh air. He heard the vibrating phone on the counter and grabbed it. Noticing several missed texts from Bridget, he sat down, going through them one at a time.

  Mark, call me. —Bridget

  Where are you? Call me. —Bridget

  Look, I know you are with Miss Abigail, but you have to call me. I can’t stop him. Mitchell has gone overboard this time. —Bridget

  Mark! If you don’t call me today, I quit! —Bridget

  Mark, Bridget, quit! I will overnight the playbook so you can be prepared. First team practice is this Friday. Don’t be late, and bring your A game! —Coach Salts

  “Damn it,” Mark whispered in annoyance. Walking over to the phone, he dialed Bridget’s office number looking for answers.

  No answer.

  Trying Mitchell’s number, he grabbed his cell and dialed Bridget.

  “Just where in the hell have you been!” she shouted at him. “I know they have phones in Texas and e-mail. You know that phone of yours does it all!”

  “Hey! Stop yelling at me. What is this about Mitchell? What has he done this time?” Mark shouted, trying to get her attention.

  “That asshole. I am going to kill him. I told him it was his stupidest idea yet, but he won’t listen to reason.”

  “Bridget, what are you going on about?”

  “Sarah, you idiot. She’s in Louisiana. She has been since Sunday. I called Mitch and told him, but you know the moron he has a plan!” she rambled on and on. “You know, I swear that man has some of the most hairbrained schemes I have ever seen. If you two didn’t share the same face, I swear I would never believe you two were related.”

  “Bridget, shut up!” he shouted into the phone.

  “Why are you yelling at me?”

  “I am trying to get you to stop prattling on. What about Sarah?” he asked as his family walked into the kitchen.

  “If you would listen, your idiot brother is going to try and talk some sense into her, but I don’t think kidnapping her is going to make her happy.”

  “He is going to do what!” he screamed into the phone.

  “What’s going on, son?” MH asked.

  “That son of a bitch is going to kidnap Sarah!” he shouted at everyone as Bridget talked into the phone. “Mark, hey listen. I have to try and go stop this idiot before he gets his ass arrested. I’ll think of something. Call you later.” And the phone went dead.

  Mark couldn’t believe his ears. He stood there in shock.

  It took all of one second for him to drop his phone and grab a set of keys. “Rachael, I’m taking your car. Happy birthday, squirt. Bye!” he shouted as he ran out the door.

  Everyone ran out into the yard to find Mark getting into Rachael’s Porsche Cayman and speeding out of the driveway.

  “You wreck that car, Mark, and your ass is grass!” Rachael shouted after him.

  “See, like I said before. That boy just needed a little push,” MH said smugly.

  “Not helping, Pop.” Henry laughed.

  “How’s he gonna stop Mitch?” Michael asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Marcus replied.

  “Well, I know one thing. Mitch better pray to God that Bridget has talked some sense into him before Mark gets his hands on him,” Rachael said, walking toward the house, furious, holding Abigail’s hand.

  “Mother of God!” Marcus whispered and turned to his brothers and just said one word. “England.”

  “Oh shit!” Matthew uttered.

  “Henry, stay with the women,” Michael yelled as the rest of them ran for the truck and sped away.

  “Why do they leave me out of everything?” Henry said, walking up the porch steps to stand next to Rachael.

  “Because, my darling Henry, when those idiots get together, not even your brains could stop the train wreck that they will cause. Just count your lucky stars you have more sense than them. Come on. Let’s go call the bank and make sure I have enough bail money.”

  Chapter 14

  New Orleans, Monday, February 22nd, 7:15p.m.

  Sarah stood shaking with nerves. Trying everything she could to muster the courage, she once again closed her eyes and tried to tune out all the noises that surrounded her. She still couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Her plans of easing back into the business flew by the wayside the moment she stepped into Bucky’s office. It took little to no coaxing, and soon she was getting buffed, waxed, and shopping for something sultry.

  She should have known the moment Bucky saw her that he was going to talk her into doing something crazy. He always did.

  It had been so long since she had done this, and frankly, she wasn’t all that positive that she was going to be able to go through with it. She tried to tell him earlier in the day, but he wasn’t hearing any of it. “Sarah, honey, please, for me? I’m in a bind. It’s just a short set. You can do it. I know you can. Please, for me?” he begged.

  Everything in her body screamed “no,” but Bucky wouldn’t hear reason. So, she hung her head and agreed. Why? She still didn’t know. It was too late to back out now, and she knew it. Now she stood offstage, waiting.

  Her palms were sweating, and her nerves were about to crawl out of her skin. It had been a little over five years since she did anything like this. She just wasn’t as sure of herself as everyone else was. Making matters worse, Bucky had informed her that a New Orleans radio station had gotten wind of her impromptu performance and was here for a live recording.

  Ha! Got wind my ass.

  She knew Bucky had tipped them off. He was so over the moon when she said yes that he went right to his phone and started making calls. Now, she was just waiting for this train wreck to crash. It always did. She didn’t know how long it was going to last, but thinking about Mark, she figured if he could do it, so could she.

  All I have to do is block everyone out, get my ass on stage, and sing too easy, right?

  Wrong!

  Looking out into the audience, she cringed when she saw it was a packed house tonight. Her legs started to give, and her breathing increased.

  I can’t do this.

  Sarah turned t
o find Bucky walking up to her, and he smiled. “Okay, sugar. Take a deep breath,” he tried to sooth her, but it wasn’t going to work. She was ready to cut and run.

  “Okay, everyone. We have a real treat for you this evening. Back for the first time in five years, please give a true New Orleans welcome to our own local native, Ms. Sarah Mitchell!” the club owner shouted as the crowd of over two hundred began to scream and shout.

  Too late now!

  Sarah opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked out onto the stage.

  * * * *

  7:28 p.m. Louisiana, that same night

  Mitchell was driving erratically through the streets of Baton Rouge looking for the correct address, but he couldn’t find it. The streets were crowded with people partying and having a good time, and the noise was horrendous.

  “I wish they would get the hell out of the road.”

  “Stop bitching, Mitchell. It’s Mardi Gras season,” Bridget said, obviously annoyed with the man sitting next to her. “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this. You realize how stupid this is?”

  “It’s not stupid. It’s pure genius.” He smiled.

  “You know something, you’re living proof that a man can live without a brain!”

  Ignoring her jibe, Mitchell said, “Hey, let’s stop over there at that club and see where this place is at. I think I took a wrong turn a couple of blocks back.”

  It took more than five minutes to find a place to park. After hitting the alarm, they walked back to the club and entered to find the place hopping.

  As soft jazz music bounced off the walls like the vibrations off a loud amplifier, people danced, laughed, and partied, having one hell of a good time. “This way!” Mitchell shouted as he tried to make his way through the crowd.