It's In His Arms (A Red River Valley Novel Book 4) Page 8

  “What was he talking about?”

  She swallowed. “Well, um, he seems to think he could mentor the boys.”

  Mitchell’s jaw tensed, his shoulders almost curving around her protectively.

  “He’s trying to help, but I think he wants me and the kids to be a package deal.”

  Mitchell’s eyes dilated, and at that moment there was no doubt in Lorenda’s mind that he was lethal when facing an enemy during battle.

  “I’ve said no,” Lorenda rambled, because by the look on Mitchell’s face he might march back into the school and teach Bart a new meaning for the word mentoring. But Bart really was harmless, albeit a little pathetic.

  “If he’s bothering you, why are you setting up the music program here?” Mitchell rasped out.

  “He’s not bothering me. He’s just a little persistent. And nowhere else in town is available after school until next spring when the rec center is finished.”

  “Then wait until next spring to start the program,” Mitchell said.

  She shook her head. She’d considered that. Truth was, if she didn’t start the program now, she was afraid she’d never get around to it. She’d put this dream on the back burner for Cameron and the kids. It was now or never. Plus, she liked the idea of spending more time around the school because Trevor’s teacher had sent a note home about his behavior.

  “I think it would help Trevor if I’m here more. He’s a lot like you, Mitchell.” She chewed her lip. “The boys don’t have a father to keep them hemmed in. I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it more than you know, but it could also backfire if they start thinking of you as a father.”

  His heavy exhale cascaded over her cheeks and neck, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. “Sparky.” The affectionate way he said it made a balmy glow wash through her. “You’re an extraordinary woman. I don’t know why my brother lost sight of that.”

  An ache seeped into her chest and squeezed her heart.

  “The way you look out for Jaycee and Trevor is amazing. The same goes for the way you want to share your love of music like it’s a gift that should be given away without asking for payment in return.”

  Lorenda couldn’t have been more bowled over if she’d been a pin at the end of an alley.

  Her throat closed. “Oh” was all she could croak out.

  Mitchell saw in a matter of days what Cameron couldn’t see in all the years he and Lorenda had dated and been married. Maybe it was lack of maturity because they’d married so young, or maybe it was lack of time spent really getting to know each other as adults. Whatever the case, Cameron hadn’t completely ignored her talent, but he hadn’t totally appreciated it either.

  “Music is a gift that can’t be assigned a monetary value. It’s priceless.” She twirled her grandmother’s antique ruby ring around her finger, because she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring years ago. “It’s . . . I don’t know . . .” She twirled the ring again and looked at the blue sky. “It’s sort of like my duty to pass it on to others.”

  He gave her a smile so soft, so full of heart, that she felt it to her soul.

  “I can relate,” he said.

  She knew he could. Protecting others had been a gift that he’d seen as his duty since he was a kid.

  “I especially want to share it with kids because they can learn it so much quicker than adults. Like speaking another language.”

  That sweet smile faded a little. “I’m sorry my brother enlisted. I’m even sorrier that he wouldn’t come home for good when you had the boys.” Mitchell’s gaze raked over her face. “I tried to talk sense into him when you were pregnant with Trevor, but he wouldn’t listen. I should’ve tried harder.”

  A block of ice formed in her chest, and she pressed a hand to her heart. “You tried to stop Cameron from re-upping?” The same coldness around her heart threaded through her words, because Cameron had said the opposite.

  Her confusion must’ve shown on her face, because Mitchell reached up and gently smoothed a thumb across her forehead like he was trying to smooth out the worry lines.

  “What is it, Sparky?”

  “I begged Cameron to get out of the military when I found out I was pregnant again so soon after having Jaycee.” Her voice dropped to a vacant whisper. “He said you asked him to stay in. You needed him, and the Lawson twins always had each other’s backs.”

  Mitchell’s expression turned even more sorrowful, and he gave a small frown of disappointment.

  He didn’t defend himself. Neither did he throw his brother under the bus. It’s how she knew Mitchell had been telling the truth. Cameron hadn’t stayed in the military for his brother. He’d stayed in for himself.

  The familiar chill of rejection, abandonment . . . loneliness skated over her.

  “All the more reason I’m sticking around until I’m sure you and the kids aren’t in danger,” Mitchell said. “I . . .”

  Lorenda stilled, waiting for him to finish, because for a moment she thought he might say, “I want to stay because of you and the kids. Not because of my brother.”

  And didn’t it just suck that she wanted him to say those things. That she was tired of being alone. That she yearned for someone to touch her and kiss her and just talk to her. It sucked that she couldn’t risk opening herself up to more rejection because Mitchell would make an inevitable exit from their lives. And it sucked that she certainly couldn’t risk exposing the boys to that kind of pain.

  It all sucked. Hard.

  What didn’t suck was the way Mitchell looked at her like he did want her. Like he did care about her. But she doubted he’d ever say it or act on it, because of whatever complicated bro code men lived by.

  Against every sound argument she’d just run through in her head, Lorenda reached up, intending to cup his cheek with the palm of her hand. She wanted the light stubble along his strong jaw to tickle her fingers, but she hesitated. Let her hand hover there so close that she could feel the heat of his skin.

  All the emotions that had been flickering through Mitchell’s eyes collided at once and ignited into desire. And that was her undoing. She placed a knee on the inside of his, so his legs framed hers, and she leaned in. Went up on the balls of her feet until their noses grazed and his hand found her waist to pull her closer. His expression told her he was hungry for her kiss and her touch. And anything else she was offering. But just before she touched her lips to his, a car pulled into the parking lot, and Malarkey let out a string of barks from the playground.

  She pulled away, and so did Mitchell, putting an arm’s length between them. Thank God, because kissing him would’ve been foolish, and what if the boys had seen them? The car pulled through the parking lot and disappeared behind the school.

  “My failed relationship with Cameron wasn’t your fault.” She picked at a cuticle. “You don’t owe me and the kids anything.” She rubbed her arms with both hands like she was trying to warm herself.

  It was seventy-five freaking degrees out and she had goose bumps.

  Her gaze darted away to the school building. A small crack in one of the blinds covering the windows snapped shut, and uneasiness slithered up her spine.

  “Look.” Mitchell drew in a deep breath, weighty with concern and determination, like he was trying to figure out how to solve world hunger, or how to cure the common cold, or why fruitcakes were so popular for the holidays when nooooobody liked them. He leaned his weight against the frame of the trunk. Bent a knee, which brushed against Lorenda’s again, and there went that ripple that rocked her world. “I understand your concerns about the boys. The last thing I want is for them to get hurt. But, Lorenda, I am their uncle. I can’t stay away from them forever.”

  She bit back the urge to say, “You’ve done a pretty good job of it since Cameron died.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling, Sparky. Sometimes safety trumps emotions.”

  She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look.

  He ran fingers through that thick mane,
and her mouth went dry.

  “If you and the boys are in some sort of danger, then there’s no way I’m leaving you alone. Your safety is too important, even if the boys are a little disappointed when I leave town.”

  A little disappointed? Disappointed didn’t begin to describe what they’d be if Mitchell lived with them much longer and then left. He’d been living over the garage for a few days, and the boys were already playing SEAL Team 5 in the yard. Their father had been assigned to SEAL Team 8. Mitchell had been a member of SEAL Team 5.

  He studied her. Seemed to read her mind.

  “If you kick me out of your garage apartment, I’ll just pitch a tent across the street and camp out.” He chuckled. “Trust me, it would be an improvement over some of the missions I’ve been on.”

  True. Not to mention Lorenda would be eaten up with guilt if she forced him out of a warm apartment that would otherwise sit vacant and he moved into a tent like a homeless person. And her boys would likely try to move into the tent with their uncle Mitch and think it was all fun and games.

  She sighed. Heavily.

  Yep, she had the spine of a marshmallow.

  He smiled like he was close to victory. “Can I see your phone?”

  “Why?” She plucked it from her purse but held on to it.

  “Do you trust me, Sparky?”

  Yes. She did trust him. She just didn’t trust herself if she had to live with him much longer. She handed him the phone.

  After a few minutes and a lot of tapping on the screen, he handed it back to her. “I downloaded a safety app so we can track the kids at all times. We’ll all be in a family circle on the app. If any one of us has an emergency, we just hit the “Panic” button and every phone number in the circle will sound with an alarm. I’ll come over tonight and teach the boys how to use it on their phones.”

  She stared down at the phone. She should be grateful. Really, she should. He was trying to help. Trying to look out for her and the boys.

  Instead she was scared sierra-less. Because all it would take was a few more looks like he’d just given her, a few more touches of her hair, or a few more attempts to play knight-in-worn-denim-armor for her and the kids, and she’d be lost. Or at the very least, beating down the door between her bedroom and his apartment.

  She tried to focus on loading the rest of the equipment. She pointed to a case. “Hand me the sax.”

  “Did you mean sex?” Minx purred from her phone. “Because I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Mitchell’s brow rose.

  Lorenda’s racing heart nearly pounded through the walls of her chest. Teeth gritted, she said, “I’m just trying to finish loading my SUV.”

  “STDs can be prevented by abstinence or condoms,” Minx informed her.

  Throaty laughter rumbled from deep in Mitchell’s chest. When he showed no sign of stopping, she crossed both arms over her midsection and waited for him to finish.

  Finally, he wiped under both eyes. “As I recall, you’re all set in the condom department, Sparky.”

  Lorenda sure as heck was, thanks to her BFFs. She still owed all three of them a throttling for the embarrassment their little gag gift had caused.

  Unfortunately, if Mitchell touched her hair or stared at her mouth again, she just might put those gag gifts to good use. And because it had been so long, if Lorenda ever did open that door, the handful of condoms in her purse wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  Chapter Eight

  “Go wash up for dinner,” Lorenda hollered to the boys, who were playing with Malarkey in the den. She pulled a pan of lasagna from the oven and replaced it with a baking sheet of buttered garlic bread.

  She wanted to celebrate the launch of her dream. Today had marked the end of the first week of school and her music student’s first week of rehearsals. They were already making progress, and it never ceased to amaze her how fast kids learned.

  With tongs, she tossed the salad in a large wooden bowl and set it on the table along with the lasagna.

  A spark of anticipation coursed through her because, about this time every evening, Mitchell came over for dinner. Of course he had to be included in the celebration. He was family. He lived over her garage.

  He had also been the first person to zing through her mind when she’d left rehearsals and decided to prepare a special meal tonight.

  Just two days ago, Mitchell had vowed to be her protector. Promised to stay in Red River, not only to try to repair his relationship with his father but to guard over her and the boys. In just the week since he’d moved in, they’d started to function like a family. She’d actually hurried home after music rehearsal to make dinner, setting the table with nice linen placemats, fine china, stemware, and candles.

  Things she never got the chance to use—why would she with just her, Jaycee, and Trevor in the house?

  While the garlic toast was browning, she lit the candles, then hustled into the den and flicked the remote until the entertainment system landed on a nice jazz station. Her dream date would involve dressing up in a pretty dress, strappy heels, and going to a jazz bar in the city where she could cuddle with her date in a corner booth, drink a glass of wine, and listen to music.

  She looked down at her flirty crepe skirt—beige with a soft plum floral print—paired with a beige gypsy top and a brass chain-linked belt that hung low on her hips. Strappy heels. Upswept hair.

  And suddenly she felt very, very silly. Oh, dear Lord, she’d subconsciously dressed up like she and Mitchell were going on a date. Like a real couple. She needed to change clothes! Put on sweats, and maybe even socks with a pair of flip-flops, because she looked ridiculous dressed up for a quiet family dinner with two little boys.

  If she hurried, she could pull it off before Mitchell arrived and she died from embarrassment. She tore off one of her heels and limp-ran to the dinette table to blow out the candles while trying to take off the other heel in the process. She was puckering to blow out one of the flames when Mitchell tapped on the glass of the back door.

  Oh sierra. Bent over the candles, one shoe off, and cheeks puffed out, she froze. All except her eyes, which moved to the back door to find Mitchell looking through the glass pane right at her. He lifted a brow.

  She straightened, let out a deep breath, left the candles burning, and put on a smile to wave him in.

  “Smells good.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His gaze slid over her.

  She smoothed her skirt. Hid the high-heeled sandal dangling from one hand behind her back as if he wouldn’t notice her wearing only one shoe. “Thanks.” Her voice had gone all croaky.

  Good God.

  “You clean up nice, Sparky. What’s the occasion?” Was his voice huskier than it had been a second ago?

  She chewed her lip until she realized she’d probably end up with pink lip gloss all over her teeth. Her eyes slid shut, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her front teeth.

  “I just, um, wanted to celebrate the music program getting off to a great start, and, well, I sometimes do this for me and the boys because”—she waved a hand down her outfit, then across the table, which was perfectly set with the best of everything she owned—“you know, it’s good for them to learn formal manners, and it’s a good example to dress up once in a while.” Liar, liar. She brushed a hand across her bottom to make sure it hadn’t caught on fire. Good thing she wasn’t wearing pants. “And, um, yeah.” She fell silent.

  “I see.” A wrinkle appeared across his forehead. He sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

  Delta. She limp-ran into the kitchen and threw open the oven door. Smoke billowed out. She grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and pulled out the baking sheet filled with bread. Only it didn’t look like bread anymore. More like lumps of coal.

  She waved the oven mitt around in the air trying to swish the smoke away. She coughed. Who messed up garlic toast? So much for the tasty and tempting scent of roasted garlic and Italian food.

  Mitchell turned
and put his hand on the doorknob. “We better let some of the smoke out before it sets off the—”

  The smoke detector screeched to life, filling the entire house with a defending alarm.

  Malarkey howled from the den.

  Jaycee and Trevor came running.

  With all the waving and sputtering, a chunk of Lorenda’s hair came loose from its up-do and fell across her face.

  Mitchell’s expression filled with laughter. He opened the back door and flipped on the ceiling fan. “Let’s clear out some of the smoke before the fire department shows up.”

  She tossed the bread into the sink, pulled off the other shoe, and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge. “I need a drink.”

  Mitchell came over and took the bottle from her. “I’ll do the honors.” He went right to the drawer where she kept the wine opener, because that’s how comfortable he’d become in her house. Knew right where everything was.

  “Boys, go let Malarkey out,” she said.

  They went into the den but came clambering back to the kitchen with rounded eyes.

  What now?

  She didn’t ask. Just walked to the den and dropped her head back in defeat.

  One of her throw pillows wasn’t exactly a pillow anymore. It was in shreds, the stuffing scattered from one end of the den to the other. Not to mention the round yellow spot on the carpet.

  “I’m guessing that’s not lemonade?” Mitchell came up behind her, and his presence both soothed and unnerved her. He placed a hand on both of her arms and gave her a reassuring squeeze. An electric tingle shimmied through her. “The alarm must’ve scared him. The wine is on the table. Go sit down. The boys and I will take care of this,” he said.

  She tossed her shoes onto the stairs as she passed, took a seat at the table, and knocked back the entire glass of wine. Then poured another one.

  By the time Mitchell and the kids were done and washed up again, the wine had settled her nerves, warmed her insides, and made her disastrous attempt of a celebration-turned-subconscious-fantasy-date seem a little less pathetic.

  She dished up the lasagna and salad while they sat down. “Thanks for cleaning up.”