Lorenda stared straight ahead as he got behind the wheel.

With any luck, Mitchell wouldn't get arrested for assaulting the school principal. Because if he did, it would be her fault.

Mitchell had made it through the most grueling military training on the planet. He'd faced brutal enemies on foreign soil. He'd been on missions where the chances of his entire SEAL team making it back in body bags had been better than good.

Damned if mowing the lawn for two little old ladies who carried a loaded cane and a high-powered purse didn't scare the shit out of him.

Mitchell parked in front of the old powder-blue Victorian house late Friday morning so he could mark another person off his Suck-Up List. Francine and Clydelle were waiting for him on the wraparound porch, both sitting in the swing with a glass of lemonade.

He'd gotten restless staying around Lorenda's house. His dad had asked him to keep a low profile, but Mitchell wasn't exactly a low profile kind of guy. So while Lorenda was putting in some hours at her real-estate office, he got out his list and started making calls.

Following through on his promise to make up for his hell-raising days might win back some confidence from the townsfolk and squelch gossip. Problem was, the first two people he called hung up on him.

When he got to Ms. Francine, she'd said she was happy to have him come over and mow the lawn, since it was a warm day.

No idea what that meant, because the outside temperature was nice now that the seasons were starting to change.

"Morning, ladies." He strolled up the concrete walk and pushed his aviators farther up onto his nose. "I promised to make up for ruining your mailbox." Sixteen years ago.

Ms. Clydelle pointed her cane at him. "Took you long enough, young man. We've been waiting since that day in the park."

"Uh, well, I've had a lot going on since I got back into town."

Ms. Francine studied him over thick glasses perched on the end of her nose. "I'd say."

He tossed a look over one shoulder at the overgrown lawn. "Looks like your grass needs to be cut. I could start there." He gave the graying sky a once-over. "Good day to mow since it looks like rain is coming."

"Mower's out back along with the gas can," said Ms. Francine. "And if you get hot and sweaty, feel free to take off your shirt."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, ladies."

"Oh, you already are, hon. That's why we want you to take off your shirt." Ms. Clydelle waggled bushy gray brows.

Without answering-because really, what could he say to that-he stumbled around the house and found the work shed in the backyard. Ten minutes later he had the mower fired up and was cutting a trail back and forth through the thick grass.

The two old sisters sipped their lemonade and gawked at him like mowing the lawn was a spectator sport.

A few minutes later, Ms. Clydelle picked a long stick-looking thing off the tray.

Mitchell did not want to know. He didn't.

She snapped open an old fashioned accordion fan and started fanning herself like a regular Southern belle.

Mitchell was sure his groan could be heard over the mower's motor.

It wasn't hot. It was the middle of September. In the Rockies. And it was overcast.

Ms. Francine waved for him to cut the engine, so he did.

"Sure is hot out, Mitchell," Ms. Francine said.

He pulled the cord again as though he hadn't heard. He was not taking his shirt off.

She snagged another fan off the tray and snapped it open like her sister.

Jesus.

He killed the mower. "Not gonna happen, ladies. I'm taken."

A thrill rushed through him. He was taken. In every way possible. For the first time in his life. He'd been in relationships, but none had ever lasted long because of his rush to get back overseas to the brotherhood of warriors where he thought he belonged. Now all he wanted to do was stay here in Red River with Lorenda and the kids, because that's the only place he felt at home.

Too bad not many people in Red River agreed.

"My wife might get jealous if you ladies keep ogling me, so I could come back when you're not home if you'd like?"

Ms. Francine harrumphed.

"Oh, don't get your boxers in a twist." Ms. Clydelle waved her cane at him. "You can join us for a glass of lemonade when you're done."

"Only if I can stay fully clothed." Mitchell wanted to establish the ground rules because he'd heard stories about these two. They seemed to be as unruly as he was, but they got away with it because of their age.

"Fine." Francine agreed, albeit with some reluctance.

He finished the lawn, put the mower away, and climbed onto the porch to join them. He took a seat in a wicker rocking chair, out of reach in case they decided to cop a feel. Which he wouldn't put past these two old rascals.

"Your house could use a coat of paint," he said.

Ms. Francine handed him a glass of lemonade.

"We live together now that we're both widows," Clydelle said. "And we don't have a lot of help."

"I'd be happy to do it." He took a sip of lemonade, and, God in Heaven, it was laced with vodka. He sputtered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's our version of afternoon delight." Francine smiled. "It's all we have to look forward to at our age."

Clydelle lifted her glass. "This and engine-washing day at the fire station during the summer. Those nice firefighters are so fit." She lifted her nose in the air. "They do take their shirts off when it's hot."

Mitchell nearly choked. "Okay, let me be perfectly clear. I'd be happy to help out if you two will behave." Only in Red River would he be lecturing two old women about sexually harassing him. He couldn't make this stuff up if he wanted to. Which he definitely did not want to.

"Well," Francine said. "I guess that's fair. But I don't want you to start if you can't finish. A half-painted house is worse than an unpainted house."

He pulled his eyebrows together.

"A lot of people in this town want you to either go to jail or go on your way." Clydelle's porch swing moved back and forth at a slow, lazy pace.

"I can't just leave this time. It's not that simple." Nothing about his situation with Lorenda was simple, and he had no idea how it was all going to work out. Especially in a town that mostly disliked him to the core, and where those grudges were bleeding over to Lorenda and the kids. "It didn't solve anything when I let myself be chased out of town years ago. It only created more problems and more heartache."

"Because you didn't have the decency to die too?" Ms. Clydelle said.

Mitchell's stare snapped to her. All the lewd teasing was gone, and she was serious.

"Survivor's guilt is a difficult thing, dear." Ms. Francine swayed with the rhythm of the swing. "My Henry had it bad when he came home from Korea. I'd imagine it would be a lot worse losing someone as close as a twin."

Heaviness settled in Mitchell's chest. Maybe that was the problem-Mitchell didn't have survivor's guilt.

He missed his brother. Every day. But he didn't feel guilty about surviving when Cameron hadn't. He felt guilty that he and Cameron had set the whole thing in motion graduation night and never manned up. Cameron had died for it, and Mitchell was still cleaning up the aftermath all these years later.

Grief bubbled up from the depths of Mitchell's soul.

"That wife of yours is a special one." Ms. Clydelle refilled her glass. "So are those two little boys. Marriage and raising a family are commitments, just like painting a house. Once you start, you can't give up."

Mitchell's heart knocked against his chest. That's why he was here, allowing himself to be objectified by two elderly women. Cameron had given up on Lorenda and the boys, but Mitchell wasn't going to. Making amends in Red River wasn't just for his mom or his dad anymore. He wasn't sure when it happened, but it had become about Lorenda and the kids and giving their future together a chance.

Not true. He knew the precise moment the goalpost had changed-when she'd fainted and landed in his arms in the park. From that moment forward his ship had been sunk, and he was all hers for as long as she wanted him.

He just wasn't sure if being with him was in her best interest. Or in her long-term plan.

"Leaving a house half painted just isn't right." Francine kept swinging.

The rocking chair soothed him while he weighed her words.

"You know, you'd look right smart in a police uniform." Francine tapped her chin. "Think you could wear one the next time you mow the lawn?"

Christ. These two obviously had a thing for first responders, which was breaching the creepy zone. "I told you two you had to behave."

"I'm being serious," said Francine, and Clydelle nodded in agreement. "Can't think of a better person to be a deputy than you, Mitchell."

He let out a hollow laugh. "People in this town want my head. I'm the last person they'd want wearing a badge."

"Then it seems to me you better get to work helping your dad catch the real criminal, because he could sure use the help."

"How are you ladies so sure that I'm not the real criminal?"

Ms. Francine snorted. "Young man, if you were a real criminal, you wouldn't have come back to Red River. This little town isn't exactly prime hunting ground for crime."

Exactly the thing that had been needling the back of Mitchell's mind. There was no monetary gain in the fires or in the mugging. Mitchell's instincts told him Lorenda was the only common denominator. She was mugged for a suitcase of old clothes. She was at Middle Fork Lake when the fire broke out. And indirectly, she stood to lose from the rec-center fire because she didn't have a place to rehearse.

Shit. The pieces fell into place, locking together like a jigsaw puzzle. He'd known there was a connection, but he hadn't seen the big picture until now. Bart Wilkinson was the only other common thread. And Mitchell himself.

"Well, I'm going inside to watch my soaps." Ms. Clydelle used her cane to stand, then she swatted his thigh with it.

"Ouch." He rubbed his leg.

"Let us know if you plan to stay in town long enough to finish painting that house." Francine stood too.

Mitchell gave them an appreciative smile for encouraging him. It had been a long time since anyone in Red River had done so. And then he went to find his wife.

Chapter Twenty-One.

By late morning, Lorenda found that juggling the Y chromosomes in her life was getting harder. They seemed to be multiplying.

Bart Wilkinson had called and asked her to stop by the school for a quick update on the music program. Mitchell would probably be upset that she'd gone alone, but she was a big girl and could handle Bart, no matter how much Mitchell's overprotectiveness might disagree.

Good thing she met with Bart, because he'd managed to convince a few of the parents to let their kids come back to the program. Rehearsals were back on, and so was the concert. So when Felix Daniels asked her and Dylan to meet at Joe's for a lunchtime interview about the music program, she'd been happy to accept.

Imagine her surprise when yet another male called asking for her time and attention later that afternoon. Daniel Summerall was coming into town and wanted to look at the cabin again.

More Ys than she could handle.

She walked into Joe's in black heels, a black pencil skirt, and a cream silk blouse. Her program was back on, and she was going to own it! She slung her hobo bag over a shoulder, and strutted.

The peanut shells under her feet made her black stilettos wobble off balance. She stopped. Smoothed her skirt and glanced around the crowded room to see who'd noticed. Every head turned in her direction, not a friendly face among them, and the chatter quieted.

So the stilettos may have been over the top.

She perched on the edge of a stool at the bar where Dylan was working. "Maybe we should've picked a more private spot for the interview?" She put her purse, phone, and keys on the bar.

"Don't let people chase you away from your dream. Trust me, I know." Dylan filled an order and placed it on a tray. "So what's our game plan for the interview?"

"Well, I just met with Principal Wilkinson. A few kids are reenrolling, so we can start rehearsals again on Monday. That doesn't give us a lot of time before the concert, but we'll work with what we've got. As long as the kids do their best, then the rest is on me."

Dylan wiped his hands on a towel and slung it over a shoulder. "For the record, I think what you're doing is great, Lorenda. Thanks for asking me to be part of it."

Her confidence soared a little higher. "That's exactly the spirit I want Felix to see. I want the whole town to see how music can change a kid's life."

Dylan gave her an understanding smile as Felix walked in wearing his trademark suspenders and black beret tilted just enough to one side to look suave. His white hair and Santa Claus beard were stark against his black flannel shirt. He sidled over to the bar and sat next to Lorenda.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice." Felix set a small tape recorder in front of her. "Honestly, between the two fires I haven't had much time to get this interview done. I'm glad we're finally getting together. There's nothing more I like reporting on than community projects." His look slid from Lorenda to Dylan. "So who wants to start?"

Dylan braced his elbows against the bar. "She's the boss. I'm just helping out."

"Okay, then." Felix pressed a button on the recorder. "Lorenda, what makes you want to start a free community music program for kids?"

That was the only cue she needed. She poured out her heart about how music had touched her life. Her heart. Her soul. Allowed her to reach into an alternate dimension and get lost in it. It soothed her when she was worried. Calmed her when she was upset. Cheered her when she was sad, and marked every phase of her life from the time she'd first picked up an instrument as a child to right now.

She stopped talking for a moment and listened to the C&W music that was streaming low through the speakers to entertain Joe's lunch crowd. Her eyes closed as she let the song seep into her innermost thoughts. It would forever time stamp this moment, this memory, into her heart, like music had done with so many other memories.

Music was the thread that stitched the many facets of her life together.

And suddenly, both the heaviness and the joy of falling in love with Mitchell pressed down on her. She was in love with him. One hundred percent heart and soul.

Probably a good thing since they were married.