It's In His Arms (A Red River Valley Novel Book 4) Read online

  “There’s room for one more in the backseat of my car,” his dad threatened.

  “Sheriff.” Mrs. Brooks gave him a warning look and nodded toward the boys.

  That seemed to stop his father.

  “Sparky,” Mitchell whispered into her ear again, and she shivered against him. Which, surprisingly, caused him to fight off a shiver of his own. He pulled her closer. “Lorenda, sweetheart.” The familiarity of the term startled him. Not so much that he’d said it so easily, but because it seemed so perfect rolling off of his tongue.

  He swallowed. “Trevor and Jaycee are worried.”

  She stirred, her thick lashes fluttering up, then floating down again to brush the creamy skin under her eyes.

  “Mom,” Jaycee said. “Wake up, Mom. Malarkey wants to see you.” He shifted the dog so it could lick his mom’s cheek.

  She sputtered to life again, rubbing the dog slobber from her face. When her deep-blue eyes opened fully, she bolted upright and backed into Mitchell’s chest to avoid more puppy breath. And damn, she felt good molding into him.

  The paramedics pulled up at the edge of Brandenburg Park, and they hurried over. “Coming through.” Two of them pushed through the crowd.

  She turned to look at Mitchell as the paramedics went to work at her side. Instead of letting them take her blood pressure, she tugged her arm out of their grasp and pressed a soft palm to his cheek. Stared up at him like she was seeing a ghost.

  “Mitchell,” she whispered.

  He didn’t miss the almost undetectable tremor of relief in her voice, and the way she murmured his name had his pulsing humming. The thought mine raced through his stupid brain.

  Christ.

  “You okay?” He tried to keep his tone soothing but detached.

  “Mommy! Can we keep Malarkey?” Trevor said about a thousand decibels louder than a RPG.

  She pulled her palm away from Mitchell’s cheek, and he missed her warm touch. She rubbed her head like it hurt. “Yes, I’m oka—”

  Both boys cheered. “Thanks, Mom!” Jaycee squeezed the dog.

  “Wait.” Lorenda sat up like she was going to stand. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Lorenda.” One of the paramedics put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay still until we check you out. Your brother will kill us if we let anything happen to you.”

  Her eyes went round as the boys started chanting the puppy’s name. “Malarkey, Malarkey, Malarkeeeey!”

  “Malarkey. A synonym for dishonesty, baloney, poppycock,” spouted off a black phone lying on the ground next to her.

  Lorenda’s beautiful blue eyes slid shut in defeat.

  She let the paramedic wrap her slender arm with the blood-pressure cuff. “My brother is an overprotective bully.”

  Mitchell doubted that, but there was a lot of bullying going around. Mitchell glanced up at his scowling father. One hand was on his hip, the other rested on his holstered gun. His khaki uniform was starched to perfection, the crisp pleat down each leg as sharp and stiff as his glare.

  “Where is that no-account brother of yours?” It had been a long time since he and Langston had played high-school football and chased girls together.

  Lorenda’s gaze snapped to Mitchell’s.

  He gave her a reassuring smile, and what do you know? Her stare dropped to his mouth. And stayed there.

  “He’s . . . around . . .” Her gaze finally left Mitchell’s mouth and locked with his. His breath caught. He’d never had a thing for Lorenda all the years he’d known her. Sure, he’d thought she was pretty, but she was like a sister to him. Literally, since his brother had married her.

  Something about her was different now. Stronger yet vulnerable. Mature and . . . sensual.

  Christ.

  Should he make a mental list of all the reasons he couldn’t think of Lorenda as sensual, or just pay someone to kick his ass for being an idiot?

  The paramedic pressed a stethoscope to her chest and listened. Mitchell couldn’t help but stare at the gentle rise and fall of her chest above her sleeveless V-neck top before letting his stare wander back to hers.

  The puppy let out a yelp, and she tore her gaze from Mitchell’s. “Listen, boys, we need to talk about the dog.”

  “We named him Malarkey, Mom,” Jaycee said.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s not name him just yet.”

  Clydelle hobbled closer. “I have your suitcase, dear. Must be something important in here for that creep to steal it.”

  “It’s just old clothes for the rummage sale.” Lorenda’s voice shook with . . . panic?

  Francine shuffled up next to Clydelle and bent to grab the zipper. “Let’s see what kind of clothes so we can deliver them to the right booth for you.”

  Lorenda shouted, “No!”

  The paramedic flinched and jerked the stethoscope from his ears. He rammed a finger into one ear and wiggled it, like he was trying to shake out the pain of her scream.

  Francine kept unzipping.

  The crowd gasped.

  A guinea pig lay lifeless and contorted in the middle of a heap of clothes. The boys let out a wail.

  Lorenda fell back against Mitchell’s knee like she was surrendering to an enemy. “All right, boys. Malarkey is yours.” She rubbed her forehead like a headache was coming on. And muttered something that sounded like . . . bravo sierra? “I’m sorry about Checkers. We’ll bury him when we get home.”

  Trevor sniffed but turned his attention to the puppy, which seemed to already fill the void of losing Checkers.

  “You seem fine, Lorenda, but I have to ask if you want to go to the hospital,” said the paramedic, still jiggling a finger in one ear.

  She shook her head. “No. Just help me up.”

  The paramedic reached for her, but Mitchell instinctively encircled her with his arms. “Put your arm around my shoulder.” She obeyed, and as he eased her to her feet, she wasn’t just his sister-in-law anymore. She was lush and warm against him, and that warmth had his pulse kicking up dust.

  “Okay, folks,” Sheriff Lawson boomed, and took a step forward. “Show’s over. Anyone who saw what happened needs to come by my office today. Lorenda, you’ll need to come to the station and make a statement now.” He puffed his chest out and inflated his large, tall frame when he turned to Mitchell. A trick his father had perfected to scare people into bending to his will. “She’s coming with me.”

  Mitchell had perfected the same alpha move himself during the years he’d served in the military. How’d the old man think Mitchell had made it through SEAL training and survived so many dangerous missions? He beefed up his stance and stared his father down. “Lorenda, can I drive you and the boys to the station? I doubt you want to get in the same car as the jerk who just attacked you.”

  His father’s face turned red as a beet. “He’s handcuffed, and there’s a glass barrier between the seats.”

  “Well, I—” She tried to let go of Mitchell but lost her footing again. He braced her against his side. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m still a little dizzy.”

  “Not a problem.” Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms. She squeaked and clamped her arms around his neck. “Where’s your car?”

  She pointed to the street that ran along the west side of Brandenburg Park. “It’s the dark-green SUV.”

  “Boys, grab your mom’s things, and let’s take her to the police station.”

  Jaycee, Trevor, and the dog fell in behind him as he turned and strolled toward her vehicle, leaving two old women smiling, a crowd of townies gaping, and one old man fuming.

  Chapter Three

  Try as she might, it was kinda hard for Lorenda not to focus on Mitchell’s hard chest as he carried her through the crowded waiting area, following his father to an interrogation room. Impossible not to focus on his muscled arms since he’d plucked her from the SUV like she was as light as one of the kids.

  The sheriff’s office in Red River didn’t get a lot of traffic, seeing as ho
w the worst crimes were rarely more than someone’s dog treeing a tourist. Which was why the waiting room of the police station was standing room only at the moment.

  Her father-in-law’s assistant, Maureen, called to Jaycee and Trevor. “Y’all play with the puppy out here.” She winked at Lorenda, her false eyelashes almost as stiff as her back-combed hair. But she was a kind woman who looked out for the sheriff. Lorenda waved the okay over Mitchell’s shoulder.

  “Um, thank you,” Lorenda said to Mitchell when he deposited her into a black vinyl chair. “I really could’ve walked.” Or maybe just leaned on him a little. She rubbed her aching head.

  “No worries.” Mitchell didn’t show any sign of leaving. He stood next to her. Arms crossed, stance wide, body hot.

  That hot bod was a problem. The last thing Lorenda needed was to find Mitchell Lawson attractive. He was her brother-in-law. Her pal. And worst of all, he was a man the boys were already looking at with godlike admiration. And didn’t she already know how much it hurt to get foxtroted over by an alpha war junkie who couldn’t get rid of the itch for danger and adventure?

  Sheriff Lawson walked in and closed the door, shutting out the chatter of the busy waiting room. “Ready to give your statement, Lorenda?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, and the room swam. To make it stop, she clutched the spit-shined black-and-chrome table with both hands. Delta. The aftermath of fainting was as bad as a hangover. Only without the fun that usually caused it.

  Note to self: remember to breathe the next time you come face-to-face with a ghost.

  Mitchell put a hand on the back of her chair. “Sure you can do this now? I could bring you back later.”

  Her gaze locked on to the concern in his eyes, then smoothed over the light stubble that covered his squared jaw. So much like Cameron yet totally different. Different in ways that she couldn’t quite put a name to. More honest? More mature? More sexy?

  Breathe, breathe, breathe!

  Mitchell’s strong hand closed around her shoulder, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

  A flush surged through her. She hadn’t had this much attention from a good-looking man, well, ever. She liked it way more than she should, if she had to be honest with herself. His strength had settled around her in the park and made her feel warm and wanted, which was totally ridiculous, because she and Mitchell had always been pals.

  “No.” She made sure not to shake her head. “I’d like to find out why someone mugged me.” In Red River. Over a dead guinea pig and some old clothes. Why hadn’t the mugger grabbed her purse? Made no sense.

  Neither did Mitchell coming back to town after so many years. No one except his mother had heard from him since he’d stormed out of Cameron’s funeral. The sheriff’s iceberg treatment could’ve sunk the Titanic that day. His harsh words had been out of line, like Mitchell wasn’t suffering over Cameron’s death too. But why come back now?

  The sheriff retrieved a bottle of cold water from the mini fridge in the corner, cracked the top, and handed it to Lorenda.

  Didn’t offer his son a thing.

  She gulped down a third of the bottle.

  “You can wait outside.” Lorenda jumped at the sheriff’s harsh tone when he spoke to Mitchell.

  “Not unless Lorenda wants me to,” Mitchell said.

  “Mitchell needs to be here. He’s the one that stopped the mugger.” Lorenda laced her fingers. “So both of you sit down.” She hoped her voice didn’t shake the way her insides quaked. She bit her lip to keep from adding, “Please.”

  She returned their surprised looks with a pleasant but firm smile. Worked like a charm, because the Lawson pissing match seemed to dial down, and they both took a seat at the table.

  Mitchell tugged his chair closer to hers. The rubber feet scooted over the modern ceramic tile, and a dull scrape echoed through the room. The sound raked against her nerves, because his alpha-male scent was making her pulse rev.

  She gulped down more of the water.

  The sheriff grabbed a legal pad and pen and took off his felt cowboy hat. He ran a palm over his graying buzz cut. “Start from the beginning, hon.” His voice had lost its hard edge.

  She drew in a hefty breath. “It happened so fast.” One thumb rubbed the other as she verbally walked through the incident. When she was done, she said, “He could’ve grabbed my purse, or grabbed the suitcase and run off.” She hugged herself and ran open palms over her arms. Probably nerves and not her woman’s intuition, but she couldn’t shake the strange gnawing in the pit of her stomach. “It might sound silly, but he pushed me down like he wanted to hurt me. Like that was his goal and not stealing the suitcase.”

  Mitchell’s posture tensed, waves of testosterone pouring off of him. It wrapped around her like a protective shield.

  “Do you know him?” the sheriff asked. “Maybe a tourist that’s come through town? Or someone you’ve shown vacation properties to in the past?” The sheriff’s pen scratched against the pad.

  She gave her head a light shake, small enough not to set off another tidal wave inside her brain. “I’m certain he wasn’t a client.”

  “He was targeting her.” Mitchell rested a hand on the back of her chair.

  “You know this how?” The sheriff’s icy tone was back. His scowl deepened the lines of age around his face.

  She turned to Mitchell and waited for an answer. She’d like to know too, because it gave her the creeps.

  “I’d pulled up to the curb on my motorcycle.” He leaned closer to Lorenda, a hand still on the back of her chair, the other arm resting on the table. “I was checking out the park. Assessing an area before I walk into it is a habit.” He shrugged. “An occupational hazard, I guess.”

  Lorenda’s heart thudded for all Mitchell must’ve been through.

  She placed a hand over his, and his gaze snapped to hers. He blinked all emotion away. At that moment, his resemblance to his brother disturbed her on the deepest level because she’d seen the same cold, empty look in Cameron’s eyes during his leaves from the military.

  She yanked her hand away.

  Mitchell cleared his throat. “I saw Lorenda but then noticed the guy walking toward her. He was nervous, twitchy. He moved like someone who was up to no good. Spotting unnatural movements and body language is part of my training, and this guy might as well have been wearing an orange prison uniform.”

  The sheriff sized both of them up, then turned to Lorenda. “Anything else you want to add, hon?”

  “Nothing I can think of, but if I remember anything, I’ll call you.” She shifted to the edge of her seat.

  He turned to Mitchell. “You’ll need to be on your way out of town by nightfall.”

  Mitchell’s grip tightened around the back of her chair, and his forearm flexed against her back. “You don’t get to make that decision this time.” His voice went as hard as his father’s.

  “Interesting that trouble started the minute you rolled into town.” The sheriff stood. “So I’ll take you to your motorcycle and escort you to the city limits.”

  Mitchell stood, drawing himself up with so much brawn he seemed a foot taller. “Interesting that it’s a free country.” He gave his dad a cocky stare. “So I’ll be staying until I’m good and ready to leave on my own.” He folded both arms over his broad chest, his biceps rippling as much as the muscle in his jaw. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

  The sheriff’s brow wrinkled. “For what?”

  “For it being a free country and all.” Mitchell kept his composure cool and calm, but that muscle still ticked in his jaw. “I just spent the last fourteen years of my life defending your freedom. I didn’t mind at all.”

  “Get out,” her father-in-law said. “Or I’ll throw you out.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” Mitchell’s voice had gone low and dangerous.

  Lorenda eased out of her chair. “Gentlemen, come on.” They ignored her. Or maybe they couldn’t hear her over the roar of testosterone. “Sheriff, your gra
ndsons are right outside. Do you really want them to see this go down?”

  The sheriff didn’t move, but a muscle in his jaw flexed and released. Like stubborn-ass father like stubborn-ass son.

  She latched onto Mitchell’s arm to tug him away before the situation got worse, but the door swung open and in waltzed Mitchell’s mom, Becky Lawson. Affectionately dubbed Badass Becky by Mitchell and Cameron’s circle of high school friends. And although those friends were now grown adults, not one of them had mustered the courage to fill her in on their little moniker. Lorenda couldn’t blame them. All five foot zero of sassy attitude blazed in, sporting a newly coiffed beehive hairdo, starched Wrangler jeans, a rodeo belt buckle the size of Arizona from her barrel racing days, red roper boots, and a purse shaped like a riding saddle that everyone knew had a hidden compartment for a concealed weapon.

  Her mother-in-law only wanted people to think she was packing, but Lorenda knew Becky didn’t actually carry a weapon. Didn’t need to. Her index finger, which she drew and turned on the sheriff, was loaded and ready to blast anything in its path.

  Becky Lawson was Lorenda’s hero.

  “You”—Becky pointed to her husband—“are not going to bully our son out of town again.”

  The sheriff sputtered.

  Her badass tone turned on a dime when she glanced at Lorenda. “I’m glad you’re okay, dear. I’m so sorry about what happened in the park. It must’ve been frightening.”

  Just like that, Becky’s sass was back. “And you”—her smoking finger swung to Mitchell, ready to keep firing; Lorenda choked back a laugh when the Special Forces war hero turned chalky white with fear—“are going to do exactly what I told you to do when I asked you to come home.”

  “Becky!” the sheriff roared. “You asked him to come here?”

  “Darn right.” Her finger swung away, putting her husband in the crosshairs again. “He’s out of the military and here to make peace with you before it’s too late.”

  Out of the military? Lorenda had assumed Mitchell was on leave.