"You know this how?" The sheriff's icy tone was back. His scowl deepened the lines of age around his face.

She turned to Mitchell and waited for an answer. She'd like to know too, because it gave her the creeps.

"I'd pulled up to the curb on my motorcycle." He leaned closer to Lorenda, a hand still on the back of her chair, the other arm resting on the table. "I was checking out the park. Assessing an area before I walk into it is a habit." He shrugged. "An occupational hazard, I guess."

Lorenda's heart thudded for all Mitchell must've been through.

She placed a hand over his, and his gaze snapped to hers. He blinked all emotion away. At that moment, his resemblance to his brother disturbed her on the deepest level because she'd seen the same cold, empty look in Cameron's eyes during his leaves from the military.

She yanked her hand away.

Mitchell cleared his throat. "I saw Lorenda but then noticed the guy walking toward her. He was nervous, twitchy. He moved like someone who was up to no good. Spotting unnatural movements and body language is part of my training, and this guy might as well have been wearing an orange prison uniform."

The sheriff sized both of them up, then turned to Lorenda. "Anything else you want to add, hon?"

"Nothing I can think of, but if I remember anything, I'll call you." She shifted to the edge of her seat.

He turned to Mitchell. "You'll need to be on your way out of town by nightfall."

Mitchell's grip tightened around the back of her chair, and his forearm flexed against her back. "You don't get to make that decision this time." His voice went as hard as his father's.

"Interesting that trouble started the minute you rolled into town." The sheriff stood. "So I'll take you to your motorcycle and escort you to the city limits."

Mitchell stood, drawing himself up with so much brawn he seemed a foot taller. "Interesting that it's a free country." He gave his dad a cocky stare. "So I'll be staying until I'm good and ready to leave on my own." He folded both arms over his broad chest, his biceps rippling as much as the muscle in his jaw. "And you're welcome, by the way."

The sheriff's brow wrinkled. "For what?"

"For it being a free country and all." Mitchell kept his composure cool and calm, but that muscle still ticked in his jaw. "I just spent the last fourteen years of my life defending your freedom. I didn't mind at all."

"Get out," her father-in-law said. "Or I'll throw you out."

"I'd like to see you try." Mitchell's voice had gone low and dangerous.

Lorenda eased out of her chair. "Gentlemen, come on." They ignored her. Or maybe they couldn't hear her over the roar of testosterone. "Sheriff, your grandsons are right outside. Do you really want them to see this go down?"

The sheriff didn't move, but a muscle in his jaw flexed and released. Like stubborn-ass father like stubborn-ass son.

She latched onto Mitchell's arm to tug him away before the situation got worse, but the door swung open and in waltzed Mitchell's mom, Becky Lawson. Affectionately dubbed Badass Becky by Mitchell and Cameron's circle of high school friends. And although those friends were now grown adults, not one of them had mustered the courage to fill her in on their little moniker. Lorenda couldn't blame them. All five foot zero of sassy attitude blazed in, sporting a newly coiffed beehive hairdo, starched Wrangler jeans, a rodeo belt buckle the size of Arizona from her barrel racing days, red roper boots, and a purse shaped like a riding saddle that everyone knew had a hidden compartment for a concealed weapon.

Her mother-in-law only wanted people to think she was packing, but Lorenda knew Becky didn't actually carry a weapon. Didn't need to. Her index finger, which she drew and turned on the sheriff, was loaded and ready to blast anything in its path.

Becky Lawson was Lorenda's hero.

"You"-Becky pointed to her husband-"are not going to bully our son out of town again."

The sheriff sputtered.

Her badass tone turned on a dime when she glanced at Lorenda. "I'm glad you're okay, dear. I'm so sorry about what happened in the park. It must've been frightening."

Just like that, Becky's sass was back. "And you"-her smoking finger swung to Mitchell, ready to keep firing; Lorenda choked back a laugh when the Special Forces war hero turned chalky white with fear-"are going to do exactly what I told you to do when I asked you to come home."

"Becky!" the sheriff roared. "You asked him to come here?"

"Darn right." Her finger swung away, putting her husband in the crosshairs again. "He's out of the military and here to make peace with you before it's too late."

Out of the military? Lorenda had assumed Mitchell was on leave.

The sheriff's face deepened to a frightening shade of purple and he rubbed his chest.

"Larry." Becky's tone turned fearful. "Do you need your heart medication?"

Mitchell was at his father's side with near superpower agility, a hand on his dad's arm to help him into a chair. "Dad, you need to sit down."

So that's why Mitchell was home. Larry Lawson was a god in this town because he put 250 percent effort into his work. Kept crime low and tourism high, the lifeblood of Red River's economy. It was also the reason Mitchell's finger-slinging mother was ready to serve him divorce papers. But it wasn't just about her being tired of coming second to his job. He wasn't the healthy horse he'd always been. Except, by the look on the sheriff's face, he wasn't ready to be put out to pasture yet.

"I don't need your help." Sheriff Lawson pushed Mitchell's hand away. "Becky, my medication is no one's business but mine." He turned a heated glare on Lorenda and Mitchell. "And it doesn't leave this room."

Becky's fist went to her hip.

Oh boy. At the exact same moment, Lorenda and Mitchell took a step back to avoid the blast of firepower that was sure to follow.

"It darn sure is my business, Larry Lawson. So both of you shake on it and promise me you'll try."

Sheriff Lawson snatched his hat off the table and crammed it on his head. "After all that he's done, Becky, I'll die and go to hell first."

Mitchell let out a hollow laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. He shook his head, then headed to the door. "Have a nice trip." Mitchell cracked the door. "I've been there. It was called Afghanistan."

"Mitchell Lee Lawson, you get back here this instant and give your mother a kiss." His mom's voice echoed through the crowded police station, and everyone went still.

Mitchell stopped. Put both hands on his hips and dropped his head with a sigh. Some things never changed. She could stop an armored tank with that tone of hers. He turned and gave his mother a peck on the cheek and a hug. "It's good to see you, Mom, but did you really think Dad would let bygones be bygones so easily?" Mitchell spoke so only she could hear. He'd warned her. The second she found out that he hadn't re-upped she'd started in about him coming home.

"Give it time, son. For me." His mom's salty tone turned to a plea.

That plea was the only reason he hadn't already taken the overseas job. A job with a paramilitary company that would reunite him with a lot of his military buddies-people who actually wanted him around and had his back. A job that would send him back to the war zone. Only he'd be making a lot more money for a lot less bullshit.

Lorenda came out of the interrogation room, cheeks still flushed, steps still cautious. Body still freaking gorgeous. His father trailed behind and put a hand on her back like he was offering support. Amazing how the old man could be so nice to some people and such a jerk to his own flesh and blood.

Bart shot out of a chair in the waiting room and came over. "Sheriff, I can give my statement now. I was closest to Lorenda when it happened. I helped her up after that jerk pushed her down."

"Thanks, Principal Wilkinson. Have a seat and we'll get to each one of you as quick as we can," the sheriff said.

Bart looked disappointed, but he backed away.

"Grandma!" Jaycee ran over with the puppy, and Trevor followed. "Look! We got a puppy."

The boys' excitement seemed to spur the chatter back to life in the waiting room.

"Oh." Mitchell's mom stared at the dog. The dog's snout was flat and his head was too big for his body. His hair was medium brown and short with an occasional long, black wiry strand poking through the thick coat.

"His name is Malarkey," Trevor shouted. "Isn't he cute?"

Someone from the waiting room laughed.

Cute wasn't the word Mitchell would use. From the look on Lorenda's face, cute wasn't the word racing through her mind either. When Lorenda came to stand next to his mother, his father hung back a few steps with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

"Well. Sure, boys." His mom patted the dog's oversized head. "Cute."

Clydelle and Francine waddled over, cane thumping and purse swinging.

"We're giving our statements next, Sheriff. We're old and can't wait around." Francine peered over thick reading glasses. "I hit him with my purse."

"And I hit him with my cane," Clydelle crooned. "Didn't slow the little shit down one bit."

"Malarkey's a shit!" Trevor hollered.

Lorenda clamped a hand over his mouth, but then Jaycee spoke up. "No, he's a bullshitz." Jaycee seemed awfully proud of himself for correcting his little brother.

Lorenda groaned.

And Mitchell was surprised that his dad wasn't clutching his chest. His dad didn't do chaos on any level. At least not before Mitchell had joined the military at eighteen and left town.

Correction. Not before he'd been forced into the military and shoved onto a bus by his hard-ass, unyielding father as an alternative to going to juvie for arson. And just like Mitchell had taken the blame for the fire, he'd also gotten the blame for his twin showing up at the recruit depot two days later.

Life would've been so much easier if Cameron could've just sucked it up and told their old man the truth. If he had, his brother would still be alive.

His gaze coasted over Lorenda's beautiful face, her slender neck, finally anchoring to the creamy flesh where neck met shoulder. If Cam had manned up and told the truth, Mitchell wouldn't be standing in his brother's place right now, wanting to protect her. Wanting to kiss her.

Wanting her, period.

Which was a prick move by anyone's definition.

Francine adjusted the purse on her arm. "Lorenda, dear, a dog is the best security alarm money can buy."

"Oh my God!" Lorenda's hand flew to her mouth. "We didn't pay for him."

A woman in the waiting room stood up, wearing a Red River Animal Shelter shirt two sizes too small. "You can have him for free after what you went through today." She nearly had to shout over the low roar in the waiting room. She seemed way too eager to give the ugly dog away. Maybe the woman should've paid Lorenda to take it.

Lorenda's hand went to her throat, and she stared down at the puppy.

The dog wiggled, so Jaycee put him down and he loped into the waiting room. The boys followed.

"The dog's a good idea, Lorenda," the sheriff said, his hand falling to his holstered gun again. "Keep your doors locked, and I'll drive by your house every chance I get."

"Won't help." Mitchell had seen Cameron's pictures of the whitewashed cottage in the woods that Lorenda had bought for them. His brother had hated it. Didn't think he could go back to Red River and live in a perfect fairy-tale house after what he'd had to do as a sniper. Didn't want to come back to his home, his wife, or his kids at all. "Her house is pretty secluded."

His dad sent a scowl Mitchell's way, but instead of resenting it, a nugget of sadness expanded in his chest. Lines of bitterness and loss ran much deeper around his father's eyes than Mitchell remembered. His hair was grayer. But most worrisome was the pale, unhealthy tint to his father's skin, which was usually deep with color from his active lifestyle.

"I can protect my daughter-in-law and grandkids," his dad growled.

Mitchell didn't bother to respond because it would have likely caused his dad heart palpitations. "Do you own a gun, Lorenda?" Mitchell asked her.

"Of course not." She glanced over at the boys just as the dog barked. As if on cue, he squatted and peed on the floor. Lorenda sighed as the sheriff's assistant hurried to a closet and pulled out a mop.

Clydelle leaned on her cane. "Can't see why Lorenda would need a gun when she's got a trained security guard right here."

Everyone including Mitchell turned a quizzical stare on the old woman with silver-blue hair.

She harrumphed as if annoyed by their thickheadedness and then waved her cane in his direction. "Mitchell can look after her."

Only if he was with her twenty-four seven. "I can't-"

"That's a grand idea!" Francine clasped wrinkled hands, her purse swinging at her elbow.

Hell no, it's not.

Trevor and Jaycee ran over, the dog loping behind. "Uncle Mitch can stay in our garage apartment!" Trevor said. "Can you teach us to shoot a gun? Like our dad? We want a BB gun, but Mom won't let us get one." He kicked the ground.

When Mitchell looked at Lorenda, her full, pink lips parted, but no words came out.

He smiled at the kids. "Guys, I don't think-"

"It's a terrible idea." His dad hitched up his pants.

The temperature in Afghanistan must've dropped below freezing, because, for once, Mitchell and the old man agreed on something. He could not live with Lorenda. His mouth was already watering every time he looked at her. Moving in with her would be like falling on his own grenade.

"Lorenda, you and the boys can stay with me and Becky for a while."

"I'm not moving out of my house." Lorenda's annoyed tone quieted everyone. "That house is . . ." She hesitated, and uncertainty flashed in her eyes. "That house is my sanctuary. It's where I belong."

"Actually, Trevor's idea is perfect," his mom said. "If Mitchell stays in Lorenda's garage apartment, that solves every problem."

The boys cheered and ran through the sheriff's office, coaxing Malarkey to chase them.

Becky flashed a warning look at Mitchell. She put a fist on her hip. And when the fist went to the hip, Mitchell and Cameron had known Badass Becky meant business. If both fists landed on her hips, it was time to duck and run for cover.

"Lorenda and the boys will be safe, and you'll have a place to stay as long as you're in town, Mitchell."

Mitchell scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Sure, he could look out for Lorenda and the kids for a few weeks. But he had a high-paying job waiting for him, and it was one of the few jobs Mitchell was trained to do. His ex-commander had recruited most of Mitchell's old team into the private security company . . . at least the SEALs who were still living . . . but the job wouldn't wait for him forever. A job like that didn't lend itself to family life. Cameron was proof of that, and Mitchell wouldn't do that to a woman or kids. So after Mitchell left . . . he glanced at his father's deepening scowl . . . which might be sooner than later at the rate things were going, who would look after Lorenda then?

Becky's other hand went to her hip, and she lifted a penciled brow.

Hell. He wanted to yell "Incoming!" because she obviously had them all zeroed.

"It's either that or I will move in with Lorenda until we get to the bottom of this, and Mitchell can stay with his dad." She graced them all with a sweet smile. "A little father-son time would do you two some good."

Badass Becky had damn good aim.

Lorenda's expression ran the gamut from how do I politely backpedal out of this mess to what just happened? She swallowed and turned glazed eyes on him. "I guess you're moving in with me."