"I've stocked the shelves at the market once a week too. I don't mind stacking soup cans and produce, but Mr. Garrett is just being a mean prick. The women's aisle has been completely empty both times. No way are there enough females in Red River to use that many feminine products."

"No way." Langston's expression turned to fear.

In the middle of a sip, Mitchell pulled the mug away from his lips to nod and swallow. "I kid you not. After the first week, I got suspicious. So this week, I stopped in late the night before I was scheduled to work for him again. The aisle was full. Next morning when I arrived"-Mitchell sliced his hand through the air to make a point-"totally empty. Try having Ms. Francine ask you to go find lubricant in the back storeroom." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And what the hell is a douche bag? I thought that was teenager slang for asshole."

Talmadge and Langston laughed so hard Mitchell wanted to flip them the bird for real.

Mitchell cleared his throat. "Joe is on my Suck-Up List too." Mitchell had been avoiding him like a chickenshit teenager. "What can I do to break the ice with him?"

Talmadge shook his head. "Uncle Joe's a good guy. He'll come around eventually. Just stay out of trouble."

Trouble was Mitchell's middle name. Didn't matter if he was looking for it or not, because it always came looking for him. Which drew his attention to Lorenda again, who was laughing it up with her friends until she caught him staring at her. She blushed a deep pink and gave him a shy smile before looking away.

Double trouble.

"This asshole moved back for good." Langston hooked a thumb at Talmadge. "Don't see why you can't do the same, Mitch."

"Be careful what you ask for," Mitchell said. "If you think we were assholes gone, we're twice as bad in person."

Talmadge snorted and lifted his mug to toast Mitchell.

"What the hell." Langston lifted his mug too. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." They all clinked mugs and took a swallow.

"Maybe we could teach Lorenda how to shoot." If Mitchell could enlist Langston's help, Mitchell might be able to talk Lorenda into buying a weapon to defend herself, since his dad was running short on personnel.

Langston belly laughed. "No way is my sister letting a gun anywhere near her house or her kids." He sobered like he'd said too much. "She's kind of had enough gun-war-alpha crap-her words, not mine." Langston picked at a groove in the table. "Sorry."

And Mitchell knew Langston was talking about Cameron not coming home alive. What no one else in this town knew was that Cameron hadn't wanted to come home at all. And it appeared that Lorenda had done a good job of keeping it a secret.

"No, I'm sorry," said Mitchell. Much more sorry than Langston could possibly imagine, because Cameron's absence from Lorenda and the kids' lives was largely Mitchell's fault.

The boot-scootin' couples slowed with the music, and the dance floor cleared. Now that the bar was in full view again, Sandra Edwards, a girl with enough cleavage to make a man go blind, straddled a stool at the long bar and wiggled four fingers at Langston. She'd been around the block with Langston in high school. Several times. Had lapped the block so many times with different guys that she could've qualified for the Indy 500. Her red cowboy boots and denim miniskirt that stopped just shy of her kill zone told all three of them that she was ready to take Langston out for another spin.

"That, my friends, is my cue to leave." Talmadge pushed Langston out of the booth and stood. "I'm going to snag my sexy, pregnant wife and take her home. With all the hormones she's got going on, I'll either get lucky or get castrated. Not sure which, but wish me luck." He winked and walked over to Lorenda's table.

When Miranda slid out of the booth, Talmadge laid a kiss on her that had every woman in the room sighing. The other two ladies at Lorenda's table put a hand to their chests, then grabbed their purses and dashed for the door like maybe they were going to hunt their husbands down too.

Lorenda sat back down. Alone. Looking wistful and sad, and so damn gorgeous that Mitchell wanted to take her home and make her feel lucky tonight.

"You're both single, ya know."

Mitchell jumped at Langston's words.

Langston eyed him. "Just don't hurt her, or you'll wish you never left Afghanistan."

"I know what she's been through just as well as anybody." Mitchell knew far more about Lorenda's hardships and disappointments than anybody else.

Langston gave him a sad smile, because he'd been Cameron's friend in high school too, and they'd all grieved when Cam was KIA. "I know, buddy."

Langston didn't actually know the half of it. If Lorenda didn't see fit to tell him how badly Cameron had let her down, Mitchell wasn't going to either.

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt her." Mitchell wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to protect her and make her world right again. Which was why he couldn't get involved with Lorenda. "She's my friend. Has been since we were kids, just like you." Mitchell returned Langston's level stare.

Langston drained his mug and slammed it to the table. "Uh-huh. Well, I'm your friend, and if you looked at me the way you've been looking at her all night, I'd kick your ass." He slid out of the booth. "I think I can find better company tonight than the likes of you." He gave Mitchell a slap on the back and headed toward Sandra.

Mitchell twirled his beer around a few times and glanced at Lorenda again. She chewed her lip like she always did when she was nervous. What the hell? They were in a public place with lots of people around. Nothing could happen that they'd regret. At least nothing nearly as tempting as what had already happened this morning in his bathroom.

He snatched his beer and walked to her table. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, already blushing. As though she knew her skin was turning colors it shouldn't, she ran a hand over her cheek, down her slender neck, and rested it on the bare V of skin that showed above the buttons of her silk shirt.

Mitchell couldn't tear his eyes from the quick, steady rise and fall of her breasts. They'd been so tasty and tempting when he'd had them in his mouth. "Mind if I join you?"

Before she could give him an answer, the band's lead singer started talking into the microphone. "I've got a brother in the Army, so the next song is to honor our veterans." He plucked out a few slow cords. "So come on, folks. If you're with a vet, drag them out on the floor and tell them how much you appreciate their service. I want every vet dancing." The rest of the band joined in, and their soothing ballad caused the dance floor to fill again. "Especially tell them how glad you are that they made it home."

Lorenda squared her shoulders like she'd made a decision. Like she was being brave. Her lip pulled between her teeth told Mitchell that she was still nervous. She stood and hooked her arm in his. "Looks like I'm your dance partner for this one." She led him onto the floor and stepped into his arms.

"Sure you want to do this, Sparky? I'm not exactly Red River's favorite person." He pressed a palm into the small of her back, and heat skated up his arm. "A lot of these folks dislike me. A lot. It might rub off on you."

"Then we can be equally disliked, because you heard the man. Every vet has to dance."

It had been a long time, but he fell into a smooth two-step. Her subtle perfume relaxed him, and he pulled her closer. She molded into him, so soft and sweet. Heat seared through his clothes everywhere she touched.

"I appreciate your service," she whispered against his ear, and a spark of desire thrummed through him. His eyes slid shut for a beat, because even though she believed she was a widow because of him, she was still being kind. Too kind for her own good.

That was so her.

Her hand resting on his arm slid up his bicep and over his shoulder.

"You're welcome, Sparky." He concentrated on the steps instead of the warmth that radiated off of her and charged the air around them.

"I'm especially glad you're home safe." This time she turned her lips into his ear so that her warm breath fanned the spark of desire to a full-blown flame.

He had no idea how much alcohol she'd had, but obviously she was past her limit. Because she released his hand and circled it around his neck. Melted into him like they were lovers. Or like she wanted them to be lovers.

His hands tightened against her waist. He would not thread his arms all the way around her like he wanted to. It would be foolish and unfair to both of them.

She tilted her head back and stared up into his eyes. The slight hint of alcohol scented her breath. "It doesn't surprise me that you didn't ask Cameron to join up with you, or that you didn't ask him to stay in either. That's not who you are."

His throat closed.

She saw him. The real him. Not the hell-raising rebel that everyone thought he was. For the first time since he was a kid, he admitted to himself how much he really did want people to acknowledge the good in him. Pride rocketed through him. Circled his heart and closed around it until it shook loose the emotions he'd locked away for so long.

It was all Mitchell could do not to kiss her right there in front of the entire town. So instead he did exactly what he'd promised himself he wouldn't do. He let his arms slip around her waist, and he held her tight. She drew in a sharp breath when their hips connected, because his reaction to her was impossible to hide.

He dipped his head so that their noses almost touched. She swallowed, her green eyes glassy with just a tad too much beer and a truckload too much lust. "Thank you, Sparky."

Her eyes misted over. "I suspect you didn't start the fire at Joe's either."

A tank might as well have fallen on Mitchell's chest, because her words knocked the wind right out of him. Mitchell shook off a stab of pain in his heart, because even though Cameron had faults like everyone else on the planet, he was Mitchell's brother. His twin brother with a bond that went beyond human and stretched into the supernatural. And just like Mitchell took the blame for the fire, he would've taken that bullet for Cameron if he could've.

"It's time you stop covering for Cameron so you can salvage a relationship with your father." Lorenda's eyes dropped to his mouth, then traveled up again. "If you don't tell your parents the truth, then I will."

Had to be the alcohol talking. "It would hurt a lot of people, Sparky. Especially Trevor and Jaycee."

"They wouldn't have to know. No one has to if you want, except your mom and dad."

It was too late. Too much time had gone by, and there was enough water under that bridge to form an ocean. He wouldn't destroy his mother all over again with the truth or put more strain on his father's weakening heart. But another truth that had been pounding at Mitchell's heart was that Cameron had willingly let Mitchell take the blame. Something Mitchell could've never done if the tables had been turned.

The music slowed to a stop.

"Don't you dare, Sparky." His tone was low and hard as steel. "Or I'll put Red River in my rearview mirror and no one in this town will ever see me again." He set her away from him and played the only trump card he had in his deck. "Including my mother."

Without so much as a goodbye-because his jaw was locked down too tight-he walked out on the best woman he'd ever met. Just like his brother had.

Chapter Twelve.

Still trying to process Mitchell's rebuke, Lorenda punched her pillow and turned onto her side. The soft glow of a half-moon streamed through the cracked blinds to cast a silvery hue over her lavender velvet comforter.

After she'd made her brother be the designated driver and bring her home a few hours ago, Mitchell's vehicles were in the drive and his lights were still on. She'd been tempted to pound on his door. She didn't because he'd been right to warn her not to spill details to his parents.

As wrong as it was for him to take the blame for so many things that had been Cameron's doing, it still wasn't her story to tell. Hell, she was still covering for Cameron so her boys wouldn't be disappointed by the truth. She didn't have much room to tell Mitchell not to do the same.

But darned if she still didn't want to knock on the door-panties and spaghetti-strap tank top and all-and talk sense into him so that he really could mend relationships in Red River. So that maybe he would stay.

If she had to be honest with herself, she wanted Mitchell to stay and see if they had a future together. All of the arguments she'd made to the mommy mafia about why she shouldn't get involved with Mitchell were more to convince herself.

Hadn't worked. And that scared the hell out of her. She'd spent too many years fixing problems caused by one Lawson man who wouldn't let her inside his heart or his head to help him and wouldn't even try to help himself. She did not want to go down that long, lonely road with another Lawson.

Never mind how hard it would be to explain that family tree to people.

But the current that stirred the air around them was getting stronger every day. Harder to resist. It wasn't just her either. It was in his stare, his body language. It was in his arms, spiraling around her and encircling her when they'd danced.

The outside door to Mitchell's apartment opened and slammed shut again with such force that the windows rattled. Lorenda couldn't help but wonder if Mitchell was as frustrated as her, or just pissed off. The stairs leading down to the drive creaked under his quick descending footsteps, and within a few seconds, his motorcycle roared to life and sped away.

Lorenda stared at the ceiling, and a light scratch sounded at the door.

She ignored it.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. A little louder this time.

Still ignoring it. She threw an arm over her eyes.

A few minutes of blissful silence passed, and she snuggled deeper into her pillow.

Scratch, scratch, followed by a whine that tugged on her heartstrings.

With a hefty exhale, she threw back the covers and went to the door. Malarkey bounded in and sat in front of her. Stared up at her with giant, pathetic eyes, waiting for her command.

His dander was almost as unpleasant as his looks. She went to the bathroom and knelt to search through the cabinet for some baby powder to mask the smell. Malarkey followed her and sat watching her obediently. Under the sink she found a can of disinfectant spray and snatched it up. Looked at the dog. Back at the can, then at the dog again.

Maybe he would live.

"Oh for God's sake." She was outnumbered by all the testosterone in her house. She tossed the can back into the cabinet and went back to bed.

She patted the mattress. "Okay. You can get in bed with me just this once."

"Sorry, but I don't do one-night stands," Minx purred from the phone on Lorenda's night stand.

She rolled her eyes and patted the space next to her again. Malarkey rocketed onto the bed like he was scared she might rescind the invitation. Once he curled into a tight ball and snuggled against her, not a muscle so much as twitched.

Lorenda couldn't believe she was sleeping with a dog. It wasn't exactly the kind of companionship she'd hoped for at this stage of her life. Then again, she hadn't exactly hoped for any companionship until Mitchell had shown up and she'd fallen right into his arms.

She stroked Malarkey's wiry coat and resumed her staring match with the ceiling. For a long, long time, until she fell into that awkward state somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

Her Mozart's Magic Flute ringtone pierced through her dream. Mitchell's wet body, glistening dog tags, and draping towel evaporated into mist, and she grabbed for the nightstand, patting around for her cell.

"Hello?" Her voice was muffled with sleep.

"Lorenda, I'm sorry to wake you." Badass Becky's voice streamed through the phone, filled with panic.

Lorenda bolted upright.

"What's wrong, Becky?" Fear splintered in her chest, because it must be bad for her mother-in-law to call in the middle of the night. "Are the boys okay?" Wait. The kids were staying the night at Lorenda's parents', not the Lawson's.

"I'm sure your boys are fine, hon." Becky's voice shook. "My boy isn't."

Oh God. Had there been an accident? Just the way Mitchell slammed the door when he left earlier had sounded angry. And he'd been on his motorcycle instead of in the truck.

Every muscle in her body tensed with fear. She swallowed, reliving an even deeper gut-churning terror than she'd experienced six years ago when the call about Cameron had upended her life.

"What's wrong, Becky?"

"It's Mitchell." The shake in Becky's voice turned to a full-blown cry. "He's being questioned. Can you come to the station?"

Lorenda clamped her eyes shut. Thank you, God. He's alive.

Lorenda threw off the covers, which sent Malarkey skittering off the bed, and grabbed the first thing she could find out of her dresser-leggings and a pullover compression shirt. "On my way." She hopped on one foot trying to pull on the leggings, the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder. "Why is he being questioned?"

Becky sniffled and then let loose another sob.

Lorenda stilled, one leg in the pants and one out. "It'll be okay, Becky. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."