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

  The sheriff’s face deepened to a frightening shade of purple and he rubbed his chest.

  “Larry.” Becky’s tone turned fearful. “Do you need your heart medication?”

  Mitchell was at his father’s side with near superpower agility, a hand on his dad’s arm to help him into a chair. “Dad, you need to sit down.”

  So that’s why Mitchell was home. Larry Lawson was a god in this town because he put 250 percent effort into his work. Kept crime low and tourism high, the lifeblood of Red River’s economy. It was also the reason Mitchell’s finger-slinging mother was ready to serve him divorce papers. But it wasn’t just about her being tired of coming second to his job. He wasn’t the healthy horse he’d always been. Except, by the look on the sheriff’s face, he wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture yet.

  “I don’t need your help.” Sheriff Lawson pushed Mitchell’s hand away. “Becky, my medication is no one’s business but mine.” He turned a heated glare on Lorenda and Mitchell. “And it doesn’t leave this room.”

  Becky’s fist went to her hip.

  Oh boy. At the exact same moment, Lorenda and Mitchell took a step back to avoid the blast of firepower that was sure to follow.

  “It darn sure is my business, Larry Lawson. So both of you shake on it and promise me you’ll try.”

  Sheriff Lawson snatched his hat off the table and crammed it on his head. “After all that he’s done, Becky, I’ll die and go to hell first.”

  Mitchell let out a hollow laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head, then headed to the door. “Have a nice trip.” Mitchell cracked the door. “I’ve been there. It was called Afghanistan.”

  “Mitchell Lee Lawson, you get back here this instant and give your mother a kiss.” His mom’s voice echoed through the crowded police station, and everyone went still.

  Mitchell stopped. Put both hands on his hips and dropped his head with a sigh. Some things never changed. She could stop an armored tank with that tone of hers. He turned and gave his mother a peck on the cheek and a hug. “It’s good to see you, Mom, but did you really think Dad would let bygones be bygones so easily?” Mitchell spoke so only she could hear. He’d warned her. The second she found out that he hadn’t re-upped she’d started in about him coming home.

  “Give it time, son. For me.” His mom’s salty tone turned to a plea.

  That plea was the only reason he hadn’t already taken the overseas job. A job with a paramilitary company that would reunite him with a lot of his military buddies—people who actually wanted him around and had his back. A job that would send him back to the war zone. Only he’d be making a lot more money for a lot less bullshit.

  Lorenda came out of the interrogation room, cheeks still flushed, steps still cautious. Body still freaking gorgeous. His father trailed behind and put a hand on her back like he was offering support. Amazing how the old man could be so nice to some people and such a jerk to his own flesh and blood.

  Bart shot out of a chair in the waiting room and came over. “Sheriff, I can give my statement now. I was closest to Lorenda when it happened. I helped her up after that jerk pushed her down.”

  “Thanks, Principal Wilkinson. Have a seat and we’ll get to each one of you as quick as we can,” the sheriff said.

  Bart looked disappointed, but he backed away.

  “Grandma!” Jaycee ran over with the puppy, and Trevor followed. “Look! We got a puppy.”

  The boys’ excitement seemed to spur the chatter back to life in the waiting room.

  “Oh.” Mitchell’s mom stared at the dog. The dog’s snout was flat and his head was too big for his body. His hair was medium brown and short with an occasional long, black wiry strand poking through the thick coat.

  “His name is Malarkey,” Trevor shouted. “Isn’t he cute?”

  Someone from the waiting room laughed.

  Cute wasn’t the word Mitchell would use. From the look on Lorenda’s face, cute wasn’t the word racing through her mind either. When Lorenda came to stand next to his mother, his father hung back a few steps with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

  “Well. Sure, boys.” His mom patted the dog’s oversized head. “Cute.”

  Clydelle and Francine waddled over, cane thumping and purse swinging.

  “We’re giving our statements next, Sheriff. We’re old and can’t wait around.” Francine peered over thick reading glasses. “I hit him with my purse.”

  “And I hit him with my cane,” Clydelle crooned. “Didn’t slow the little shit down one bit.”

  “Malarkey’s a shit!” Trevor hollered.

  Lorenda clamped a hand over his mouth, but then Jaycee spoke up. “No, he’s a bullshitz.” Jaycee seemed awfully proud of himself for correcting his little brother.

  Lorenda groaned.

  And Mitchell was surprised that his dad wasn’t clutching his chest. His dad didn’t do chaos on any level. At least not before Mitchell had joined the military at eighteen and left town.

  Correction. Not before he’d been forced into the military and shoved onto a bus by his hard-ass, unyielding father as an alternative to going to juvie for arson. And just like Mitchell had taken the blame for the fire, he’d also gotten the blame for his twin showing up at the recruit depot two days later.

  Life would’ve been so much easier if Cameron could’ve just sucked it up and told their old man the truth. If he had, his brother would still be alive.

  His gaze coasted over Lorenda’s beautiful face, her slender neck, finally anchoring to the creamy flesh where neck met shoulder. If Cam had manned up and told the truth, Mitchell wouldn’t be standing in his brother’s place right now, wanting to protect her. Wanting to kiss her.

  Wanting her, period.

  Which was a prick move by anyone’s definition.

  Francine adjusted the purse on her arm. “Lorenda, dear, a dog is the best security alarm money can buy.”

  “Oh my God!” Lorenda’s hand flew to her mouth. “We didn’t pay for him.”

  A woman in the waiting room stood up, wearing a Red River Animal Shelter shirt two sizes too small. “You can have him for free after what you went through today.” She nearly had to shout over the low roar in the waiting room. She seemed way too eager to give the ugly dog away. Maybe the woman should’ve paid Lorenda to take it.

  Lorenda’s hand went to her throat, and she stared down at the puppy.

  The dog wiggled, so Jaycee put him down and he loped into the waiting room. The boys followed.

  “The dog’s a good idea, Lorenda,” the sheriff said, his hand falling to his holstered gun again. “Keep your doors locked, and I’ll drive by your house every chance I get.”

  “Won’t help.” Mitchell had seen Cameron’s pictures of the whitewashed cottage in the woods that Lorenda had bought for them. His brother had hated it. Didn’t think he could go back to Red River and live in a perfect fairy-tale house after what he’d had to do as a sniper. Didn’t want to come back to his home, his wife, or his kids at all. “Her house is pretty secluded.”

  His dad sent a scowl Mitchell’s way, but instead of resenting it, a nugget of sadness expanded in his chest. Lines of bitterness and loss ran much deeper around his father’s eyes than Mitchell remembered. His hair was grayer. But most worrisome was the pale, unhealthy tint to his father’s skin, which was usually deep with color from his active lifestyle.

  “I can protect my daughter-in-law and grandkids,” his dad growled.

  Mitchell didn’t bother to respond because it would have likely caused his dad heart palpitations. “Do you own a gun, Lorenda?” Mitchell asked her.

  “Of course not.” She glanced over at the boys just as the dog barked. As if on cue, he squatted and peed on the floor. Lorenda sighed as the sheriff’s assistant hurried to a closet and pulled out a mop.

  Clydelle leaned on her cane. “Can’t see why Lorenda would need a gun when she’s got a trained security guard right here.”

  Everyone including M
itchell turned a quizzical stare on the old woman with silver-blue hair.

  She harrumphed as if annoyed by their thickheadedness and then waved her cane in his direction. “Mitchell can look after her.”

  Only if he was with her twenty-four seven. “I can’t—”

  “That’s a grand idea!” Francine clasped wrinkled hands, her purse swinging at her elbow.

  Hell no, it’s not.

  Trevor and Jaycee ran over, the dog loping behind. “Uncle Mitch can stay in our garage apartment!” Trevor said. “Can you teach us to shoot a gun? Like our dad? We want a BB gun, but Mom won’t let us get one.” He kicked the ground.

  When Mitchell looked at Lorenda, her full, pink lips parted, but no words came out.

  He smiled at the kids. “Guys, I don’t think—”

  “It’s a terrible idea.” His dad hitched up his pants.

  The temperature in Afghanistan must’ve dropped below freezing, because, for once, Mitchell and the old man agreed on something. He could not live with Lorenda. His mouth was already watering every time he looked at her. Moving in with her would be like falling on his own grenade.

  “Lorenda, you and the boys can stay with me and Becky for a while.”

  “I’m not moving out of my house.” Lorenda’s annoyed tone quieted everyone. “That house is . . .” She hesitated, and uncertainty flashed in her eyes. “That house is my sanctuary. It’s where I belong.”

  “Actually, Trevor’s idea is perfect,” his mom said. “If Mitchell stays in Lorenda’s garage apartment, that solves every problem.”

  The boys cheered and ran through the sheriff’s office, coaxing Malarkey to chase them.

  Becky flashed a warning look at Mitchell. She put a fist on her hip. And when the fist went to the hip, Mitchell and Cameron had known Badass Becky meant business. If both fists landed on her hips, it was time to duck and run for cover.

  “Lorenda and the boys will be safe, and you’ll have a place to stay as long as you’re in town, Mitchell.”

  Mitchell scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Sure, he could look out for Lorenda and the kids for a few weeks. But he had a high-paying job waiting for him, and it was one of the few jobs Mitchell was trained to do. His ex-commander had recruited most of Mitchell’s old team into the private security company . . . at least the SEALs who were still living . . . but the job wouldn’t wait for him forever. A job like that didn’t lend itself to family life. Cameron was proof of that, and Mitchell wouldn’t do that to a woman or kids. So after Mitchell left . . . he glanced at his father’s deepening scowl . . . which might be sooner than later at the rate things were going, who would look after Lorenda then?

  Becky’s other hand went to her hip, and she lifted a penciled brow.

  Hell. He wanted to yell “Incoming!” because she obviously had them all zeroed.

  “It’s either that or I will move in with Lorenda until we get to the bottom of this, and Mitchell can stay with his dad.” She graced them all with a sweet smile. “A little father-son time would do you two some good.”

  Badass Becky had damn good aim.

  Lorenda’s expression ran the gamut from how do I politely backpedal out of this mess to what just happened? She swallowed and turned glazed eyes on him. “I guess you’re moving in with me.”

  And from somewhere inside of Lorenda’s purse, an almost sensual voice said, “Here is a list of moving companies in your area.”

  Chapter Four

  Lorenda held her old trumpet and a cross the boys had made with two sticks as Mitchell heaved out the last shovelful of dirt. He stood back. Rubbing a forearm across his brow, he swiped away the dampness that glistened under the sinking sun.

  “Go ahead, guys,” Mitchell said.

  Trevor and Jaycee placed Checkers’s small coffin into the tiny grave and started packing dirt over it. Malarkey sat on his haunches in between the boys and watched. The smattering of cottonwoods to the right of the front yard made a perfect burial site. A swing that hung from a tree in the center of the grove swayed gently with the afternoon breeze. They’d decided on one of the larger trees at the edge where the property opened up into a picturesque meadow on the side of the cottage.

  Lorenda had left home earlier that afternoon to unload some old clothes and a dead guinea pig. How she’d ended up bringing home a new dog and a new man to live with her still had her head spinning. She wasn’t sure which was worse—the dog or the man. Both were likely to disrupt the orderly life she’d carefully woven together.

  A bottle of strong disinfectant and a lot of candles could solve the puppy problem. Probably wouldn’t take care of the man problem, though.

  Mitchell turned a bottle of water upside down and chugged it. The thick, ropey muscles in his neck flexed and released as each swallow slid down his throat. When the bottle was empty he crushed it in one hand, and the plastic popped and crackled. He lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and wiped his dewy face.

  And sweet baby Jesus, those lean abs made her thirsty too. Was there such a thing as a twelve-pack? Because way more than a perfectly toned six-pack tensed and rolled as he toweled the beads from his face and neck. A feathery line of black hair started below his belly button and disappeared under the button of his jeans. A droplet of sweat trickled right down the center, and holy charlie, tango, and foxtrot. She’d like to get down on her knees and lick the moist glow right off with her tongue, and then—

  “Sparky.” Mitchell’s voice was a hushed whisper, but she jumped like a fire alarm had gone off next to her ear.

  He rubbed the hem of his T-shirt across his neck one more time, a small, knowing smile settling onto his lips. Something both sweet and dangerous ignited in his eyes, melting away the ice chips that had been there at the sheriff’s office.

  Her lungs seized. Good Lord, she’d just been fantasizing over Mitchell’s abs. His divine, dreamy, drool-worthy abs.

  Oh God. Breathe, dammit, breathe. What was the code for dammit, again? She couldn’t think with him here, and it was just day one!

  Mitchell let his T-shirt drop back into place, and he nodded at the boys.

  Her gaze flew to them, and her eyes slid shut at the way they stared up at her. They had obviously been watching her ogle their uncle Mitch.

  “Um, here.” She shoved the cross at Trevor, who placed it on the smooth mound. He sniffled and put his hand over his heart as they laid Checkers to rest under the old tree while the evening sky turned heavenly colors of purple and pink. Lorenda draped an arm around Trevor’s shoulder and squeezed.

  Jaycee took the trumpet from her. He puckered his lips, drew in a breath, and tried to play “Taps” the way she’d taught him. And she used the term play loosely.

  She looked up to find Mitchell watching her with the gleam of friendly amusement that she remembered from their youth. He placed his hand over his heart too. It was meant as a gesture to pay homage to Checkers for the boys’ sakes, but the crown of thorns tattoo visible just below his sleeve rippled as his bicep flexed. The same tattoo Cameron had apparently gotten after his last leave. The one Lorenda never knew about until the owner of the funeral home mentioned it. She’d insisted on seeing it in person before they’d dressed Cameron in his Navy crackerjacks.

  She tried to clear the ache from her throat. She concentrated on the shoebox-sized grave and rubbed Trevor’s shoulder affectionately.

  Jaycee cracked an earsplitting note that had Malarkey skittering to find a hiding place with his tail between his legs. The deafening crescendo set the dog to howling as the sad song came to a close, and Lorenda clamped one hand on Trevor and the other to her side so she wouldn’t give in to the temptation to cover her ears. God as her witness, leaves fell from the trees, and the moss-green shutters on her pretty little cottage shook because of the obnoxious noise. Some of the white paint may have even peeled off the new siding. She pretended to cough behind her hand to hide a laugh.

  So did Mitchell. “Must be”—cough, cough—“something in the air.” He beat his ch
est with a fist.

  “Must be.” Lorenda tapped her chest with an open palm. “Maybe I have something in the medicine cabinet for it.” Like earplugs.

  Try as he might, Jaycee hadn’t inherited her natural ear for music. The poor kid could carry a tune about as well as her car horn.

  He wiped his eyes and lowered the trumpet.

  “Hey, guys, why don’t you take Malarkey for a walk while I get Uncle Mitch settled in? Just be back before dark.” Spending some time with the new puppy might cheer them up. Plus, it would keep the puppy out of the house for as long as possible.

  “Maybe they shouldn’t stray too far from the house.” Mitchell did a slow three-sixty to survey the property. Tension flowed into his shoulders.

  Lorenda took the trumpet from Jaycee. “How about you stay in the meadow?” She pointed to the clearing beyond the cottonwoods where bright wildflowers were scattered across the field. “Do you really think there is something to worry about?” she asked Mitchell as soon as the boys were out of earshot.

  He rubbed his jaw and stared at the boys as they ran, Malarkey loping after them. “You know of anyone who might have an ax to grind with you?”

  She couldn’t imagine who would be that angry with her. “No.”

  “I think we should be careful just in case.”

  An uncomfortable beat went by at the way he said we. Like they were a family unit. Wii was a game system. Wee! was what a child screamed from a merry-go-round. We referred to her and the two boys. They would never be a foursome, so Lorenda had to shoot a warning over the bow, draw a distinct line, and defend her borders.

  “So,” Lorenda said. When Mitchell looked at her, she couldn’t return his stare. The piercing brown eyes, the strong jaw, the freaking hardness of his entire body . . . well, it unsettled her. Made her body hum and shimmy in places it shouldn’t. He was her buddy!

  But he didn’t look at her like a buddy anymore. Nor did he look at her like a sister-in-law. Hadn’t since he’d turned around in the park and locked onto her with those mesmerizing eyes. From that moment on he’d been looking at her like a woman. Looking at her in a way that made her feel like a desirable woman.