by Lori Foster
“You’re here,” Brodie said, his tone congenial even though he’d gone caveman in “protecting the little women.” “Gotta be a reason.”
“Sure.” Like the fact he had no one else, and now that he was starting over, he wanted to do it right and he figured family couldn’t hurt.
He had to reevaluate that, though, because right now, he was in fucking misery.
“So let’s hear it,” Jack said. “What’s the reason?”
This bizarre calmness of theirs was more unsettling than rage. “Look, I have no intentions of imposing, or using any of you, or...any of that. I just...” Shit, this was not how it was supposed to go.
He wasn’t a man to trip over his words. He stated his case and took the response on the chin. That’s how he’d handled getting a job as an ex-con, how he’d slowly rebuilt his life over the past year, ignoring rejection, stepping around obstacles and refusing to give up.
He wouldn’t give up now either, but damned if he knew how to proceed.
Everyone waited, silent, expectant.
He ran a hand over his face. “Is Elliott around?” Their father was the last person Mitch wanted to see, but maybe he could be a buffer.
“We’re divorced,” Rosalyn explained. “Have been for a very long time.”
Well hell. Elliott had kept that tidbit to himself. Guilt made it hard to swallow. “I hope it wasn’t my mother—”
“No.” Rosalyn stepped closer again. “Elliott doesn’t understand fidelity, and never did. That’s not on you or your mother.”
Un-fucking-believable. So she knew Elliott had cheated with his mother, and she still stood there smiling at him? How the hell was he supposed to deal with that?
Not by looking at Charlotte. Bad mistake, he looked and then didn’t want to look away. Those playful curls teased her cheek, the corner of her gentle smile—
“You were in prison?” Brodie prompted.
Feeling like he’d tripped into an alternate universe, Mitch dropped his head and half laughed. Brodie hadn’t sounded appalled. Mostly he just seemed curious. Curious about Mitch’s cursed life and the fucked-up decisions he’d made.
Like banked embers in a fire, familiar anger stirred, trying to spark back to life.
It was self-directed.
God knew he’d wasted so much time, made so many unforgivable mistakes. The future would be different, one way or another. Even if he had to face it alone.
Prison was behind him and that’s where he’d prefer to leave it, but he knew before coming here that explanations would be needed, so he sucked it up and schooled his features.
Not easy, but he’d learned to compartmentalize. He did that now, shoving the shame and regret to the recesses of his mind as he met Brodie’s gaze without flinching. “Five years.”
As if they discussed the last place he worked, rather than prison, Jack asked, “What was the charge?”
Mitch resisted the urge to look around, to see if anyone else on the street would hear. He was an ex-convict, plain and simple. No way to hide it, so no reason to try.
He opened his mouth—
And Charlotte surged forward, her tone brisk and her attitude practical. “For heaven’s sake, stop badgering him. Did you want his life’s story right here, on the main street?”
Startled by her attempt to defend him, equally resentful that she thought it necessary, Mitch frowned. “Badgering me? With a single question?”
Their reactions were a hell of a lot more tempered than he’d expected.
But then Rosalyn joined in. “Obviously he didn’t murder anyone.”
Brodie smirked. “Yeah, pretty sure a murderer would serve more time than that.”
“Did you hurt anyone?” Jack pressed, ignoring the frustration Charlotte threw his way.
Trying to present the facts in a nutshell, Mitch shook his head. “I was nailed for complicity in a drug deal. My mother’s boyfriend was the seller, not me.” Never me. To this day, he despised drugs, would never touch them, and pitied anyone who got hooked. “It was Newman’s drugs, his deal and his buyers.”
“Complicit how?” Jack asked.
Aware of Charlotte tensed beside him, her arms folded, her gaze probing, he shrugged. Facts were a hell of a lot easier to convey than feelings. “I was the driver for the delivery. There was no one else to do it, so I filled in.”
Without accusation, Brodie asked, “Why?”
I felt hemmed in.
I couldn’t come up with another solution.
And his mother...
No, he wouldn’t share any of that. It added nothing to the explanation. “Newman was arrested and no one knew how long he’d be held.” Mitch had prayed it’d be for life, but as usual, his prayers went unanswered. “His cronies found me, explained that without the deal there’d be no money for my mother’s electric, groceries...anything.” Everything.
His jaw ached as he forced out the words. Hearing them aloud, he sounded even more foolish. “I offered to take care of those things for her, but the deal had already been made. The exchange needed to happen to avoid repercussions. So I drove.”
Memories sank in, burning his gut, squeezing his heart. “One damned time, I drove.” Talk about stupid...he met Charlotte’s gaze, and somehow felt better for it. “I got busted.”
“Five years for that?” Brodie asked.
Tension coiled and knotted in his neck, making him stiff. “I could have done three years if I’d named other people, but that would have implicated my mother too so...”
Why didn’t he just tell it all and get it out there?
Because he wasn’t a fucking criminal and he needed these people to know it.
He needed them—because he didn’t have anyone else.
For some reason, it was Rosalyn he turned to this time. “With her boyfriend, Newman, in trouble, she had no one else.”
“No one but her son,” Rosalyn said.
Her understanding damn near crippled him. “She was...difficult.” Weak, dependent, selfish. She wasn’t anything like you. “I wanted nothing to do with her lifestyle, so I’d lived away from there from the time I was seventeen.”
“Where?” Jack asked.
“Here, there. Doesn’t matter.” He’d often been homeless on the street, but it was better than being Newman’s punching bag.
Brodie scowled. “She let you go?”
Yeah, he could see why that seemed so far-fetched to Brodie. But for him? His mom had usually been too doped up to notice he was missing.
Saying, “She couldn’t have stopped me,” seemed like a simpler explanation than the pathetic truth.
Charlotte touched his arm. “But she was still your mother, so when she needed you, you were there.”
Unable to face her, Mitch turned away, and in that moment he hated himself. Hated what he’d done and why, hated his mother’s choices and the consequences. Hated the fucking emptiness that had him here now, seeking impossible things with people who didn’t deserve someone like him in their lives.
He hadn’t been able to protect his mom from Newman, so in the end it hadn’t mattered. “It was stupid of me to get involved. I know that.”
“Maybe,” Ros said. “Also a little desperate?”
Her pity stung. “As an addict, Mom was totally reliant on Newman.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, when at the time—and still—it mattered too damn much. “If the deal had fallen through, they’d have snuffed her without hesitation.”
“Jesus,” Brodie murmured.
Mitch faced them again, ready to coast through the rest while he still could. “So I did it, I got caught and I served my time.” Digging his keys from his pocket, he said, “I gotta go.”
“Wait,” Charlotte said, reaching for him.
He back-stepped before she could touch him. He had to leave, and he
had to leave now. “My dog is waiting for me.” He gave his attention to Brodie. “I’ll call your office tomorrow, see if you want to talk. If you have the time.” Tension dug into his neck, but he kept stepping away. “If not, I understand.”
“Wait.” Brodie strode after him.
Not knowing what to expect, Mitch braced himself.
Brodie stopped in front of him. Without Rosalyn’s show of emotion, he said, “Show up at ten and bring the dog. We’ll get to know each other over coffee.”
Disbelief stole his voice. Show up at ten. Just like that? He admitted to prison time, to taking part in a drug deal, to being a brother they’d never known because of their father’s indiscretion—and he got invited over for coffee?
Could it really be that easy?
Yeah, right. Nothing in his life ever came without a lot of sweat, hard work, and sometimes blood. It had taken him a while, but he’d learned patience—and so he stood there while his heart punched against his ribs.
With a crooked grin, Brodie settled a hand on Mitch’s shoulder in a firm clasp. “Welcome home, brother.”
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLOTTE DIDN’T WANT to think about the fact that she’d taken extra care with her hair, smoothing out the curls that would no doubt return before the afternoon, thanks to the humidity accompanying their current summer heat wave. She’d also put on a touch of makeup the way Jack’s wife, Ronnie, had taught her.
Thankfully neither Jack nor Brodie seemed to notice, which was unusual in the extreme since they rarely missed anything, ever.
She thought Ros might’ve noticed, given the small smile she’d sent her way, but she didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t that Charlotte wanted Mitch’s attention. She had, before he’d disclosed his relationship with Brodie and Jack.
But now?
Well, she loved them like brothers. She admired them in so many ways.
But never, ever, would she get involved with a man like them.
She wanted, needed, someone more settled. A homebody who’d be happy without excitement. A guy who’d enjoy quiet dinners at home, who’d welcome children, who’d share a contented life with her.
Yes, the brothers had married and somewhat settled down, and they were definitely dedicated to their wives. But they’d always be adventurous alphas who didn’t blink at signs of danger. That wasn’t the life she’d wanted.
She wanted a man who would blink, one who’d avoid danger so that he’d never cause her to worry.
Not that Mitch was knocking at the door, begging her for a date anyway. Last night, after everyone started showing up, he’d more or less frozen her out. Yes, there’d been the occasional long look—but with Mitch, she wasn’t even sure what those looks meant.
In many ways, he reacted like any other guy—and yet, somehow she knew he wasn’t. It was probably the intensity.
Oh my heavens, the man was intense.
Brodie and Jack had facets to their personalities, shades of humor, sensuality and loyalty that rounded out their protective natures and added interesting nuances to their alpha ways.
Mitch should have had the same, and yet it was as if someone had stolen those things away, leaving only stark determination and raw pride to keep him going.
He fascinated her.
He made her think things she hadn’t really thought about before.
He had her fixing her hair and playing with makeup. Crazy.
Coasting through the offices, Charlotte adjusted the plate of cookies, set out napkins, ensured mugs sat by the coffee. Damn, she felt at loose ends but she wasn’t about to dive into work, not until they all met with... Oh, wait.
Mitch was here to unite with his family, or so they all assumed since he hadn’t yet stated his purpose.
She, however, was not family.
Nudging her hard, Brodie said, “No brooding. I have a feeling the man has indulged enough of that.” On his way back out, he added, “Bring on the smiles. That’s what he needs.”
Charlotte bit her lip, then called, “Brodie? Hold up a second.”
He stepped back into the break room doorway. “What’s up?”
Clearing her throat didn’t help her find the right words. “It’s occurred to me that I’m not related, that Mitch might not want me—”
“He wants you. You’re not dense, Charlotte. Now that we know he’s a brother, he’ll have to reconsider that.” Brodie gave an exaggerated shudder. “I don’t even want to think about—”
Horrified by his thought process, Charlotte gave him a shove that didn’t budge him at all. “Don’t be an ass!”
On his way past, Jack said, “Tell him not to breathe, why don’t you?” and continued on to the front glass door, peeking out, then looking at the clock.
“Five more minutes,” Brodie told him, rubbing his hands together.
Charlotte realized they were both anxious, more so than she was. Made sense. It wasn’t every day a brother you knew nothing about showed up in your life. Add in that he looked so much like them, that he carried himself the same way—well, you’d think she’d have noticed, right? But she didn’t know they had a brother, so she hadn’t paid any attention.
Since Mitch seemed to need them, she completely understood why Brodie and Jack were so anxious to see him again.
Luckily for Mitch, these brothers were big on family, and even bigger on protection. Somehow, they’d make it all okay.
And then Mitch would, could...well, she didn’t know. Stick around? Become a part of things?
Was that even what he wanted?
As if there’d been no interruption, Brodie added, “You had to have noticed how he looked at you, right? I know interest when I see it. The man was all but—”
“I meant,” she said, speaking over him before he could embellish his nonsense, “that I’m not family, so maybe I should make myself scarce.”
Brodie’s brows drew together. “You’re family.”
Jack stuck his head in. “You’re family.” With a scowl at Brodie, he asked, “Did you say she’s not family?”
“Not me, no.” He nodded at Charlotte. “She said it.”
Ros shoved both her sons out of her way—and for her, they actually moved. “You are family in all the ways that matter.”
Since she’d lived with them for quite some time, ever since her parents had passed away, she knew that was how they felt—and she loved them for it. “I’m not Mitch’s family.”
“I’m not either,” Ros said, “but I’m not about to budge and neither should you. We’ll all accept him, because we’re all involved.”
Jack and Brodie shared a look, then Jack came on into the room. Brodie remained lounged in the doorway.
They tried to appear nonchalant, but Ros knew them too well. Folding her arms, she speared each of them with her narrow I’m-your-mother frown that put them on guard. “What?”
Sitting down, Jack crossed his arms on the table. “I did some research.”
Disbelief took out her knees and Charlotte dropped into a chair opposite him. “You couldn’t have waited to hear what he has to say?”
“He’ll be here today,” Brodie pointed out. “He’ll know where we work, and in this town, he could easily find out where any one of us lives. Ask a farmer, a grocery clerk, someone at the bar—hell, he could probably talk to a cow and get our entire backgrounds. Everyone knows us. It’s smart for us to understand what we’re dealing with.”
“If it was just Brodie and me,” Jack continued, “that’d be one thing. But you and Mom live alone—”
“We live together,” Charlotte corrected. “Just because a man isn’t there, doesn’t mean we’re alone.”
Brodie and Jack shared a look, and prepared to argue the point.
“So?” Ros released a deep breath without censuring either of them. “What did you
find?”
“Ros!” Charlotte couldn’t believe she’d be a party to them snooping. “He came here in good faith.”
With a pointed look, Jack said, “Actually, we have no idea why he’s here. Last night he left without saying.”
“Damn near ran,” Brodie added with a smile. “I think Mom spooked him.”
“Or maybe it was Charlotte jumping in to defend him,” Jack mused. “He didn’t seem to like it.”
“Oh...shut up.” Charlotte folded her arms and tried to deny the heat rushing to her face. She had defended him.
If need be, she’d do it again.
“He clearly had eyes for you.” Ros patted her hand. “Brodie and Jack are being protective. Nothing wrong in that.”
Ros probably felt that way since they’d learned it from her. Rosalyn Crews epitomized the alpha woman. She’d fight the devil himself to defend her boys—and then she’d go after them with the same energy if she thought they deserved it.
Charlotte didn’t like the snooping, but then again, she understood. They’d worked too hard to build their business, they had reliable reputations in the town.
“For what it’s worth, all I found was that he’d done the time and why. Other than getting busted that one time, his record was clean.” Looking down at the table, Jack traced a scratch and cleared his throat. “Also, his mother passed away a few weeks before he was released from prison.”
Hand to her throat, Ros frowned. “That poor boy.”
“Not a boy,” Charlotte protested. Somehow she knew Mitch would hate being pitied, either for the boy he’d once been or the man he was now. “He’s—”
“Alone,” Ros said. “Or at least, he was.”
Brodie nodded. “Other than Dad, it doesn’t look like he had anyone.”
“And we all know what that’s worth,” Jack said with disgust.
Charlotte agreed. Elliott wasn’t exactly a bad person, but he was a terrible father, and he’d been a worse husband. Whatever he lacked, though, Ros more than made up for it. It was because of her that Brodie and Jack had grown up with love, security and guidance. Charlotte knew it, because she’d worked with them from the time she was sixteen, and they’d moved her in at eighteen when her mother passed away.