His father's brow wrinkled. "Not much. Seems like an okay guy. His mother's a real piece of work, though, and he's never been able to cut the apron strings. Why?"

Mitchell rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't quite put my finger on it. He's definitely interested in Lorenda and doesn't like it now that I'm in the picture. Something's off about him." Mitchell explained about the scouts showing up at Middle Fork Lake when they were supposed to be camping several miles away. "Maybe the troopers should ask Bart why the location was changed and why the entire troop disappeared just a few hours after setting up camp." He pulled the charred dog tags from his pocket and held them up. "These were left behind in the Wilderness Scouts' camp last night. They disappeared from my tent yesterday."

Instead of taking them in hand, the sheriff picked up a pencil and scooped them up. He punched the intercom button on his phone. "Can you bring me an evidence bag, Maureen?"

"Sure thing, Sheriff."

Well, hell. Mitchell hadn't thought of the dog tags as evidence. He probably shouldn't have touched them.

Maureen popped in, opened the bag, and the sheriff dropped them in.

"Anything else?" Maureen asked.

The sheriff shook his head, staring at the bag of evidence.

When Maureen was gone, his dad asked, "Isn't Lorenda holding music rehearsals at the school?"

"Yep. She was planning to move it to the rec center until it caught fire. Who knows when it will be ready now? In the meantime she's stuck at the school."

"Another convenient coincidence." His dad leaned back in his chair.

Mitchell's thought exactly.

"Maybe she should shut the program down until this blows over," his dad said.

Mitchell shook his head. "Don't go there with her. Trust me." For being such a pushover, she could be hardheaded when she wanted to be.

"I'm hearing rumors that you're reaching out to folks to make up for some of the things you did when you were young," his dad said.

Mitchell bounced one leg. "I figured it couldn't hurt. Mom wanted me to make amends. I'm calling it my Suck-Up List."

His dad frowned. "I see you're still a smart-ass."

Mitchell couldn't deny it. "Any way you can help me repair things with Joe? He'll be the hardest." Besides you. Mitchell stilled his bouncing leg. He and the old man had been in the same room for more than five minutes and hadn't threatened each other yet. Had to be a record. So if Mitchell could start making inroads with his dad, surely he could find a way to reach out to Joe.

His dad leaned back in his chair. "I'll see what I can do, but you keep a low profile for a while. Stay away from town. I don't need more trouble right now."

Obviously the Kumbaya moment was over. "I'm not trying to cause trouble." Mitchell's voice was a little louder than it should've been. "I'm trying to protect my family."

"It doesn't matter." The sheriff's voice raised a few notches too. "Trouble happens wherever you go."

True. But his dad saying so still pissed Mitchell off after the almost-warm-and-fuzzy moment they'd just had. He pulled himself up to his full six feet three just to make a point. His posture inflated with a rush of defensive adrenaline as if he were about to engage the enemy. A move he'd learned from his dad.

Slowly, his dad stood too. Struck the same pose, as if they were mirror images of each other. And that pissed Mitchell off even more because he was not like his hard-ass dad.

Mitchell wanted to yell. Get up and storm out. Slam the door and pull out of the parking lot with the wheels squealing. Same way he'd always handled confrontation with his father. But for the first time, Mitchell realized how adolescent that behavior had been. How it had only made the problem worse.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I'll try, but I can't guarantee I'll stay away from everyone. Red River isn't big enough to hide forever."

His father studied Mitchell. Not scrutinizing. Not looking for fault. But more like he was seeing Mitchell for the first time as a man, not the hell-raising kid he'd been. A few silent beats went by.

"Fair enough," his dad said. "Whoever did this put my grandkids in danger, and I won't rest until they're behind bars." His dad's jaw hardened. "Any lunatic who will go to those lengths won't stop until he gets what he wants. I want to catch the son of a bitch before anyone gets hurt. I'll pay Principal Wilkinson a surprise visit. See if I can scare him and get him to slip up. I hope to God you're wrong because he's got full access to Jaycee, Trevor, and every kid enrolled at the elementary school. Arson is a lot more serious than most of the crimes I deal with in Red River. Usually I can straighten people out with just a subtle warning and a hard look, but this is different."

"It worked for me." Mitchell blew out a gust of laughter.

"No, son, it didn't." His father's voice held a tone of regret.

Mitchell shoved his hands in his pockets. "It did more than you know. I was just too much of a rebellious punk to let it show." Mitchell smiled at his dad. His father didn't smile back. Hadn't since Mitchell was a boy. And he had to admit, he hadn't really given the old man much reason to. But a hint of peace glinted in his dad's eyes, and that was enough for the moment.

Chapter Twenty.

Monday afternoon Lorenda was in the gymnasium, waiting for the last bell of the day to ring. Chairs lined up, music stands filled with sheet music for "Greensleeves." And Mitchell-all six feet three of hard muscled man-was sitting on the bleachers reading a motorcycle magazine.

Like she needed a babysitter. Which was getting on her nerves, because she'd been on her own a long time before he'd come back to town. And she'd be alone again if he got restless and left.

Unless he meant what he said about them being real. Of course, he'd been talking about sex, and she knew all too well that it took much more than sex to make a marriage real.

The bell rang, and a blur of backpacks, Vans sneakers, and chatter shuffled past the open doors that connected the gym to the school building as the kids poured out of the classrooms.

And there she was, standing in front of her stand. Staring out at empty chairs.

Dylan blew through the side door, his boyish grin in place. "Sorry if I'm late. I had an influx of customers at the end of my shift and no one to cover for me." He and Mitchell gave each other the silent dude nod, and Dylan came over to stand by her. He looked at the music.

"No worries." She put on a brave face and smiled, but worries were exactly the thing winding around her gut to settle in her stomach. The hallway chatter ebbed with the receding tide of students, and not one of the empty chairs filled.

She glanced at the clock hanging over the door.

The ticking of the second hand seemed to echo through the gym, even though it wasn't audible. It was the ticktock of failure that filled the silence. The click-clack of defeat pounding against her hopes. The rap, tap, tapping of disappointment weakening her confidence and belief in the people of Red River who had been her network of support since she was born.

"You okay?"

She jumped at Dylan's voice.

His expression filled with sympathy like he understood the emotions that scratched at her heart.

Mitchell gave her a worried look over the top of his magazine, but he didn't say a word. Didn't come over. She couldn't blame him after the way she'd bitten his head off when he'd suggested shutting down the program. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. "Sure. I'm fine."

"Gossip can suck." Dylan gave her a friendly nudge with his elbow.

"People don't have to believe it."

"But they usually do." He took the beginner's music book and thumbed through the pages. "I'm in your and Mitchell's corner, and so are your close friends."

"I don't know why I've stayed in this little town." She glanced at the clock one more time, and with a weighty breath, started to break down the music stands.

Dylan started stacking chairs. "Because it's your home, just like it's mine. People gossip everywhere, Lorenda, no matter the population. It doesn't hurt any less when it's happening in a big city."

She stuffed music into her satchel. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"Music is never a waste of my time," Dylan said.

Mitchell stepped off the metal bleachers and gathered up an armful of music stands. "Help me carry these to my truck?" he asked Dylan.

"Sure, man." Dylan gathered up an armful too.

When the gym door slammed behind them, the silence became almost deafening. Which made no sense because Jaycee and Trevor should've been there already. They knew to come straight to the gym after school.

She bent over the bottom step of the bleachers to dig through her satchel. She pulled out the contact list for every kid in the program. She'd call each one of the parents, visit them in person, maybe offer a kidney if she had to.

Footfalls sounded behind her. Good. Jaycee and Trevor were there and they could go home. She turned to greet her boys and came face-to-face with Bart.

She took a step back, but the bleachers stopped her and she almost tumbled backward.

He grabbed her arms to catch her. "Whoa. You okay?" He helped her find her footing.

"Thanks. You startled me." She smoothed her hair.

"I came to check on you. I've been worried. Must've been traumatic to have your boys in harm's way. I'm just glad you got out safely." He sounded genuinely concerned, and she relaxed.

"I'm glad the scouts got out too. Mitchell went back to help, but you were already gone."

Bart's eyes dilated, and a chill slithered up Lorenda's spine. Oh for God's sake. This was Bart! She was not going to buy into Mitchell's overprotective alpha-macho crap.

Something was niggling at the back of her mind, though. Had been since she'd lifted the binoculars and found Bart staring back at her from across the lake. "I'm curious . . . um, Bart." She smiled. "Why was the campout location changed?"

He slid both hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Loggers were clearing a parcel of land close to our original location. I had to make a command decision, and I felt it would be safer to move the campout."

Makes sense. Her mind stopped niggling. Niggling was silly. Bart was harmless.

He glanced around the empty gym. "No one showed up today?"

She shook her head, fighting off tears.

"I'm sorry, Lorenda. I managed to get the school board to let the program stay here for now, but it doesn't look like there's a program left." He took a step closer. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"Well." She chewed her lip. If she accepted Bart's help, it would likely upset Mitchell.

"Anything at all, just name it," Bart said.

What could it hurt to let Bart help if it meant the kids being able to learn music?

"Some of the kids were showing real promise. Maybe if you called their parents, they'd let their kids continue in the program." She waved a hand across the bleachers. "The parents are welcome to sit and watch if it would make them feel better."

Did Mitchell really need to know that she was taking help from Bart? Shame coiled in her chest, because she'd resented Cameron for skirting the truth. Now she was doing the same thing.

"Consider it done, and I'll even give them my assurance that I'll be at every rehearsal with you. That should regain their confidence."

Oh dear. Mitchell would be at every rehearsal too, she could almost guarantee it.

Bart placed a hand on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know things are hard right now. If there's anything at all you need, just let me know. We'll work this music problem out together, okay?"

The front doors of the gym slammed open. Lorenda jumped as high as she had when the mommy mafia had caught her eating a gooey cinnamon roll from the Ostergaard's Bakery after she'd agreed to go on a postpartum diet with them.

She'd paid her dues after two pregnancies with no husband around for support. Dieting was for suckers.

The scrambling of small feet that she was sure belonged to her kids made her turn toward the door to greet the boys. But it wasn't just Jaycee and Trevor. Mitchell stood in the doorway too. Stance wide. Fists clenched. Stare lethal.

Bart's hand fell away.

Jaycee and Trevor snatched a basketball from a bin and started tossing it toward the hoop.

"I've got paperwork to do," Bart said. "I'll be sure to make those calls."

"Thank you, Bart," she said, but he was already taking long strides toward the hallway.

"Come on, boys." Lorenda slung her purse over one shoulder and picked up her satchel. "Put the balls away and let's go."

Mitchell's cast-iron stare didn't waver as she walked toward him.

"Was he here to rub it in that no one showed up today?" Mitchell asked when she got close enough.

"No. On the contrary." She chewed her lip.

The boys barreled out of the gym toward the car. She was right behind them.

"He had his hand on your arm, real friendly like, and it's not the first time I've seen him do that to you. I would've had a little talk with him about personal space if he hadn't scurried out of here so fast."

"I don't think he was scurrying. He had work to do."

When they got to the SUV, Mitchell opened her door so she could climb in. He loomed in the open door, hovering over her. "Cockroaches scurry less."

She snorted. He didn't.

"Can you blame him, Mitchell? He's not a big guy. But you"-she waved a hand down the length of Mitchell's ripped body, all the billowing testosterone distracting her for a second-"you're spectacularly intimidating."

One side of his mouth turned up.

An object flew from one side of the backseat to the other, and an argument broke out between Jaycee and Trevor. Lorenda didn't care at the moment because of the spark that had just flared to life in Mitchell's eyes. She knew that spark. Had experienced all that came with it several times over the last few days.

"Let's go home. I'll make dinner." She glanced to the backseat where Jaycee and Trevor were still arguing. "Since they aren't behaving so well, they can go to bed early."

Mitchell's smile went full-on, and he shut the door to walk around to the driver's side.