Before Lorenda could respond to her meddling, matchmaking mother, Langston reappeared and drew her into another hug. He pressed the ruby ring into her palm so their parents wouldn't notice and whispered in her ear. "Mitchell said he's got it covered."

Her pulsed spiked. He'd gotten her a wedding ring?

"Got to go find a seat," Langston said.

She slid the ruby onto her finger. The right hand this time.

The piano struck its first cords and the rest happened in a blur, like Lorenda was floating through a dream that was happening to someone else. Her parents walked her down the aisle with her friends, the faithful few who were still speaking to her, looking on. With teary eyes and a croaky voice, her dad gave her away again, this time to Mitchell. The reverend spoke. A lot. But the words seemed to run together, because a current of anticipation pulsed through the air around Lorenda and Mitchell until her insides were as hot as a humming teakettle and her ears buzzed.

Mitchell looked down where her hand rested on his forearm. For a few perfect moments, the reverend, the soft music, and the audience melted away and it was just her and Mitchell. She followed his stare and found that her fingertips were gently stroking the white twill fabric of his dress shirt. His gaze drifted to hers and flooded with something so sweet, so sexy, that it almost made Lorenda believe the whole pretense was real.

A few songs played during the short, informal ceremony, she repeated the vows when the reverend cued her, and before she knew it, she was placing the steel-gray ring on Mitchell's finger. Just like him, it was made of strong, hard stuff and looked super badass.

When it was Mitchell's turn, he pulled an elegant wedding band from the breast pocket of his shirt. The diamonds, set into brushed platinum, glittered under the dim, nuanced lighting. Lorenda's gaze shot to his, and the corner of his mouth curved as he slid the ring onto her finger.

It was exquisite. He'd gone to a lot of trouble for a wedding ring that represented a farce.

He repeated after the reverend, and his deep, throaty voice rumbled through her and settled in the most delicious spot. The fire in his eyes as he spoke those vows sent the same fiery heat ricocheting through her chest and her mind and her girl parts. Then it penetrated her heart and she knew she was lost, because she wanted to believe his words more than she'd ever wanted to believe anything.

The ring in place, he caressed her finger with his thumb. Gently brushed back and forth with feathery strokes.

Lorenda's throat closed, because Mitchell didn't seem the least bit scared or uncertain. He seemed . . . choked up.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The reverend grinned. "You may kiss your bride."

His words startled her, and her lips parted as Mitchell took her in his arms and laid the softest, most sensual kiss on her. Nothing else had ever compared. At that moment, standing at the altar in his arms, she couldn't remember why marrying him couldn't be real, when nothing had felt more so.

"Kiss the bride!" Langston yelled as soon as Mitchell and Lorenda sliced into the wedding cake in the dining room of the Bea in the Bonnet Inn.

Oh yeah, Mitchell definitely wanted to kiss the bride. All over. Because that kiss on the altar had unlocked something deep inside him that he'd thought was long gone. Emotions were a tricky thing, and his had been bubbling to the surface lately. Mitchell wasn't sure how to deal with that. Wasn't sure he wanted to deal with it, especially since those emotions threatened to erupt once he'd seen her walking down the aisle to him in that fucking dress that he wanted to peel off one stitch at a time.

The fact that she'd looked at him like she really wanted to see him naked too didn't hurt either.

A few camera flashes went off from the small group that gathered around the table, and he slid an arm around Lorenda's slender waist to pose for the camera phones pointing at them. Her hand lay on top of his, keeping the knife firmly in the cake. He supposed she'd done this before and knew the ropes, so he followed her lead. When she snuggled into his side, he wanted to moan. Her silky hair was up in one of those elegant knots at the nape of her neck. Loose curls framed her face and brushed her bare shoulders right where Mitchell wanted to put his lips. And his tongue. Definitely the tongue.

His new mother-in-law stood with an arm around both Trevor and Jaycee. She tried to mask her disapproval with a smile, which only made her face look more pinched. Charlotte Brooks had been good to Cam, but Mitchell couldn't blame a mom for looking out for her only daughter. Lorenda could do better than marrying a suspect in an arson investigation.

Mrs. Brooks led Jaycee and Trevor over to flank them for a family picture. Lorenda stepped in when they pushed each other for the spot closest to Mitchell.

And that nearly ripped Mitchell's heart in half. If the look on Lorenda's face was any indication, he'd guess her guilt was tearing into her heart too because her expression said, what have we done? Her soft body stiffened like a plank of wood at his side.

He caressed her hip, his fingertips sliding over the smooth, delicate fabric like it was glass. Her tense gaze found his, and he wanted to kiss the worry away.

He wasn't exactly sure why he'd agreed to the whole thing, except now that he had, he wanted to take things further with Lorenda. If he had to be honest with himself, he wanted to stick around and see if the bond they'd developed would lead to something more. Like maybe a future with him a part of this family for real and not just an occasional stop-in to take the boys fishing or a weekly Skype conversation from a war-torn country.

Not to mention that he wanted to explore the attraction that zinged between him and Lorenda every time they were in the same room together. At the moment, the lust swirling around them was so thick he could probably cut it with the fancy cake knife someone had slapped into his hand.

Mrs. Brooks called the boys away after everyone seemed to be satisfied with their photos.

"Step up and take your medicine," Talmadge said. "I want to see wedding cake on your face." The rest of the men laughed.

Lorenda seemed to know the drill. She took the knife and cut off a small slice of cake. She handed it to him, and her lush lips parted, pink lipstick shimmering under the antique chandelier.

A thrilling rush of heat scored his insides.

"Mitchell," she whispered, and the rush of heat went straight to his groin as her lips moved. "Put it in my mouth."

Holy shit. Mitchell nearly lost it right then and there.

She took his hand and guided the cake to her mouth. Took a bite, and then licked her pouty pink lips.

She cut another slice and held it up for him to taste. He took in the whole piece of sugary heaven and swallowed. Before she could pull her hand away, he grabbed her wrist just like she'd done and guided her fingers to his lips. He had no idea what possessed him, except maybe pure, unchecked lust, but the moment was so perfect, so potent, that he couldn't let it just end.

Slowly, he wrapped his lips around one of her long, slender fingers and suckled the icing off. Those perfect lips parted again, and she drew in a sharp breath that communicated her surprise. Her eyes, on the other hand, clearly showed her excitement.

So he moved on to the next frosting-covered fingertip and did the same.

As his tongue smoothed over her finger, the tip of her tongue slipped out to trace the seam of her lips like it was a reflex she wasn't aware of. The muscles under the creamy skin of her neck worked as she swallowed, and her eyes dilated.

One of their guests let out a low whistle that said they were putting on a show.

Were they ever. In more ways than one.

His buddies cheered him on, and some of the women awwed. Lorenda blinked several times, fast and sharp like she was blinking away a mesmerizing fantasy.

Mitchell wondered if it was the same fantasy he was having.

And didn't that just make him a contender for the Asshole of the Year Award? He glanced around the small circle of friends that he and Lorenda had left. He'd stayed in Red River to protect Lorenda. Instead, he'd just made her situation worse. Her marriage to him had caused her to lose support from most of Red River, along with its sheriff-the one person who really could help her.

His father's absence and the very small crowd in attendance were proof that she was guilty by association. And no matter how much misplaced blame Mitchell had willingly shouldered in the past, he really was to blame for the tough spot Lorenda and the kids were in.

He had a chest full of medals that meant nothing to him. But somehow being the front-runner for the Asshole of the Year Award meant everything, especially if his help ended up hurting her in the long run.

Lorenda stepped out of the honeymoon suite bathroom to spend her first night as a newly married woman wearing one of her more conservative gowns-a silk floral number with spaghetti straps and a matching robe that tied at the waist. She'd considered wearing sweats since she'd be sleeping with a man who couldn't enjoy her taste in lingerie. But old sweats weren't exactly how she wanted to spend her wedding night, faux marriage or not.

Only a French boudoir lamp lit the cozy room from a bedside table, casting a rich glow across the quilt-covered four-poster bed, the vintage wood floor, and the lovely man who relaxed on the antique fainting couch. Eyes closed, hands laced behind his head, and legs crossed at the ankles, Mitchell still wore black dress pants that molded to solid, muscled thighs. His shoes were kicked off, and his shirt was untucked and unbuttoned halfway down his incredible mouthwatering chest, which rose and fell in steady, even breaths.

She crept across to the bed, trying not to wake him, but a board creaked under her foot, and he stirred.

"Toss me a blanket, Sparky." He nodded to the quilt that was folded at the end of the bed. "I'll sleep here."

She ran her fingers over the soft, worn quilt made into a double wedding ring pattern from lavender, moss-green, and pale-yellow fabric. "Mitchell, you can't possibly get comfortable on that thing. You're too tall for it."

"I've slept in far worse conditions. I'll be fine." His stare grazed down her entire length, and her nipples gave a sharp salute.

She sighed. Always the stand-up guy. He obviously couldn't help himself. "Your feet already hang off the end, and you're not even lying down." She walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled back the fluffy covers. "You're not on a mission. Plus, I'll feel guilty if you're uncomfortable all night. It's a big bed; you can have that side. I'll stay way over here." She patted her side of the overstuffed mattress.

With a deep, ragged exhale, Mitchell got up and worked the rest of the buttons until his shirt fell open and the light glinted off his dog tags. His rock-hard abs were drool-worthy, and her gaze followed the thin line of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants.

"Is my fly unzipped?"

Her stare snapped to his. Laughter, and maybe a little pride, glittered in his eyes.

"Um, no." Unfortunately. But the view was just fine as it was. Heat climbed up her neck and settled in the tips of her ears. She whirled around and discarded her robe, then slid between the sheets.

Mitchell shrugged out of his shirt while Lorenda stared at the ceiling and tried not to look. Until the sound of his fly unzipping for real made it impossible not to look.

And oh. My. Lord. The man was freaking gorgeous. Every inch of him. Of course she already knew that, but getting a bird's-eye view of all that skin and rippling hotness was like sitting on the front row of a Chippendales show . . . not that she'd ever been to a Chippendales show. But good God, this had to be better, because when his pants slid to the floor, revealing very nice, very formfitting boxer briefs, Lorenda was tempted to stuff a twenty in the elastic waistband. Or tug them off with her teeth.

Asking him to sleep in the same bed without climbing all over him may have been an overcommitment.

When he reached under the fringed lampshade to switch off the light, his crown-of-thorns tattoo flexed and flowed with the movement.

The light went out and Mitchell climbed into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. They both lay in the darkness with only the gleam of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains.

Mitchell threaded his hands behind his head again, but he wasn't asleep. Or even relaxed anymore. Tension flowed off of him as much as it did her.

Finally, he said, "Why didn't you ever go back to school to finish your teaching degree?"

Mmmmkay. That one took her by surprise. "I had my hands full raising two boys alone. I figured I would when the time was right." She shrugged and snuggled deeper into the plush pillow-top mattress. "The time was never right, I guess."

"It's not too late. You could still go back to college. You were half done with your degree when you quit, right?"

True. But it was a dream she'd had to let go, and now it seemed like it would be too hard to make it work.

"Real estate pays well. I've never had to worry too much about making ends meet for me and the boys." It wasn't her dream job, but she had never been in a position to be choosy.

"You're so gifted, Sparky." He rolled onto his side. "Seems a waste of God-given talent."

"That's why the music program is so important to me. I don't want it to become another unrealized goal like my college education. If I don't start it now, I may never get around to it. Or worse, if I have to shut down the program before I can really get it off the ground, then I'll never get it started again."

Except for the pounding of her heart, his easy breaths were the only sound for a few moments.

"I'm sorry our friendship is making it harder for you."

She let her head roll to the side so she could look at his shadowed face.

Friendship. Is that what it was? Because she hadn't made a habit of exchanging rings or wedding vows with any of her other friends, and she sure didn't fantasize about them, dream about them, or share a bed with them.

"Mom said some of the parents pulled their kids."

Thank you, Becky. Lorenda hadn't planned to mention that some parents had lost confidence in her because of her decision to marry Mitchell. As important as the music program was to her, she hadn't lost confidence in him.

She angled onto her side to face him. "The parents will come around." She hoped. "Enough about me. Tell me something about you I don't already know."

He chuckled. "What do you want to know, Sparky? I'm not that interesting."

Like hell. That was like saying he wasn't absurdly good-looking.

She rose onto an elbow and rested her temple against an open palm. "You're more interesting than you think, especially to someone like me who hasn't traveled much. You've seen places most people only dream of."

His laugh rang hollow. "I've seen places no one should have to see."

She couldn't help but reach out and touch his bicep, tracing the thorny pattern with the tip of one finger. The air around them grew thick and sultry.

"What does the tattoo mean?"

His breaths quickened. "What makes you think it has a meaning?"

"Because Cameron had one too. Just like yours. I didn't know about it until . . . well, after."

Just when Lorenda had given up hope that he would answer, he said, "When we were kids, we'd play-fight with swords. We tied towels around our necks for capes and wove branches into crowns. We were kings defending our kingdoms." He blew out a gusty sigh, and Lorenda knew he was smiling at the memory. Could hear the warmth of fond memories in his tone. "One time we got into Mom's prize-winning rose garden and cut off some of the longer branches."

"Oh my." Becky protected her roses like a momma grizzly protected her cubs.

"You got that right." Mitchell laughed. "After she finished doling out enough hard labor as punishment to make the Gulag look like a nursery school, she told us we should be ashamed." His voice grew wistful. "Cameron was ashamed for disappointing her."

"And you?" Lorenda's finger trekked in the opposite direction and followed another bramble.

"Not in the least. I figured they'd grow back, so I brushed it off and found some new trouble to get into."

This time she chuckled.

"Cameron and I met up for a weekend during his last tour. We tied one on and ended up at a tattoo parlor with an artist smoking opium from a hookah and a trained monkey who spit peanuts out of its butt."

She pushed Mitchell's arm playfully. "It so did not."

He grabbed her hand. "I swear it really did." Laughter threaded through his words, and he drew her hand to his lips and kissed it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A shiver ricocheted through her.

His kiss must've been a knee-jerk reaction because, just as fast, he tried to push her hand away. She wouldn't let him.

He fell silent for a beat.

"When Cameron saw this design he wanted it. He brought up that incident when we were kids and said the crown of thorns was symbolic for outcasts like us who give up so much to save others and suffer rejection and shame for it. It's the reason we have a hard time coming home to normal life again."

And Lorenda knew they weren't just talking about normal life anymore. Cameron had been talking about life with her and the kids. A life he couldn't comprehend anymore.

For the first time, she realized Cameron might not have been rejecting her and the kids. Maybe he felt like the one being rejected because Lorenda couldn't relate to what he'd been through.

"I was too young to understand that war changes a person. I expected him to slide right back into his old role." She could see it now that she had more experience in life. "How should I have helped him?"

Mitchell exhaled again. "I don't know, Sparky. We all handle it differently. Cam was a people pleaser. He cared a lot about what people thought of him. I don't think he expected to feel like a monster for doing a job that earned him medals."

Cameron had been the golden child, set high on a pedestal by his parents, Lorenda, and most of Red River. Lorenda couldn't imagine how Cam had felt, coming home where everyone might see that he'd fallen off that pedestal and had hit the ground hard.

"And you?" Her fingertips brushed over the tattoo again. "Does rejection and what people think of you really bother you so little? Especially when their low opinions are based on incorrect information." Lorenda doubted he brushed it off as easily as he pretended.