He parked his butt in one of the plush waiting-room chairs, while she disappeared down the hall.
He looked around his father’s brand-new digs since he hadn’t been able to pay much attention when he’d been here the day of the mugging.
Nice. Quite a step up from the old office that could’ve doubled as Sheriff Taylor and Deputy Fife’s station. A lot of chrome, a lot of black and white, a lot of glass. Way too modern for his father’s taste.
A man as rigid as his dad didn’t take change well, and Mitchell couldn’t help but wonder if the new office had contributed to his father’s stress. Maybe the modern decor was a sign that his father couldn’t keep up with the changing times.
Maureen reappeared, her fair skin more red than before. “He’s . . . indisposed.”
Indisposed. Right. Mitchell sat forward. “Tell him it’s about Lorenda and the boys. I’m sure their safety is just as important to him as it is to me.”
Maureen’s brown eyes narrowed like she wanted to ask him to leave. Or throw him out at gunpoint if the T-shirt were any indication.
Mitchell lounged back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his thigh. “I can wait here all day until he is available.”
She folded both arms over her sizeable chest and tapped a foot.
Ah hell, go big or go home. He grabbed Field & Stream off the table and thumbed through it like he really did intend to wait as long as necessary.
With a huff, Maureen disappeared down the hall again.
As he was right in the middle of reading last hunting season’s rut report, Maureen reappeared.
“Down the hall to the right.” She turned her back to Mitchell and pulled open a filing cabinet drawer. Head down, she flipped through the contents, and Mitchell made his way to his father’s office.
“Make it quick.” His father never looked up from the paperwork on the black lacquered desk. Matching bookcases lined the walls directly behind the desk, a folded American flag sitting encased high on one of the shelves.
Mitchell didn’t have to ask where it had come from. Or why his dad displayed it so proudly. Lorenda had given it to the old man the day they’d laid Cam to rest with a twenty-one-gun salute.
Mitchell drew in a pained breath. Since his dad didn’t offer one of the black leather-and-chrome armchairs, Mitchell kept standing. “Is there any way to keep tabs on Lorenda’s mugger?”
“Not unless he doesn’t show up for his trial.” His dad scribbled something on a form and flipped the page.
“How long will that take?”
His dad didn’t answer. Just kept scribbling and flipping.
“In the meantime, is there anything we can do?” Mitchell asked.
“Not legally. I’d have him watched at a distance if I had the manpower.” His tight mouth turned down in a frown, and his writing faltered for a second. “But I don’t. I had to fire a deputy last month, and the other quit to make more money in a bigger city. I haven’t found a replacement with the skills that go with the job.”
Mitchell studied the top of his dad’s graying hair. His badge. His clean and crisp uniform.
An idea flickered to life. “Deputize me. I’ll do it for free.”
For the first time since Mitchell had walked in, his dad’s head lifted and he looked Mitchell in the eye. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why not? I’ve got more than enough training.”
“With your reputation in this town?” The sheriff’s tone was patronizing. Belittling. The same tone he’d used every time the much younger Mitchell had expected his dad to give him the benefit of the doubt. “That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”
A sharp sting settled in Mitchell’s chest. That tone held all the rumors and sins that had long since caused the court of public opinion to find Mitchell guilty. He fought to keep his anger in check.
If it were just about him and his already broken relationship with his father, he’d get up and walk out without so much as a backward glance. But it wasn’t about either of them. It was about at least trying to keep his promise to his mother to make amends. And it was certainly about looking out for Lorenda and the boys, something all of the Lawsons owed her.
“Just until the guy is convicted. After that I’m leaving town anyway, so what do you have to lose?”
His dad’s fist closed tighter around his fancy ink pen. “You’re seriously going to ask me that after all that you’ve cost me?” His tone held more disbelief than disgust.
Mitchell’s anger bubbled closer to the surface, but he beat it back. “The whole situation is wrong. I just know it, and I’m better trained than anyone else in this town.”
“Stay out of it and let me handle things.” His dad went back to his paperwork. “You can see yourself out.”
Mitchell strolled to the door and stopped with a hand on the doorframe. “I’m going to watch out for her, Dad.”
His dad’s scribbling stopped, and he slowly raised his gaze to meet Mitchell’s. For a moment the hardness in his father’s eyes softened. And Mitchell caught a glimpse of the youthful dad he remembered from before their personalities started to clash and their relationship turned into a complete clusterfuck. Maybe because his father had the same ingrained protective instinct as Mitchell, which was both his biggest gift and his biggest weakness.
“She deserves that much,” Mitchell said. “She shouldn’t be alone in the first place.”
And just like that, his dad’s stone-cold stare was back. “No, she shouldn’t. Are you so hell-bent on hovering over your brother’s wife out of loyalty to Cameron or for some other reason? I saw the way you looked at her. Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”
Mitchell should feel guilty. Lorenda had stirred something deep inside that had been locked away so long he couldn’t even label which emotion it was.
But, no, he didn’t feel guilty. Cameron was the one who should’ve felt guilty for tossing away the best thing that had ever happened to him. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Mitchell’s mind that being here for Lorenda now was right. Leaving before the mugging mystery was solved would eat him up with guilt.
“I’m going over to the house to visit Mom. Just thought you should know so you can avoid me.” He glanced up at the flag. A flag both he and Cameron had proudly served with their whole hearts. “And Lorenda’s last name might be Lawson, but she’s not Cameron’s wife anymore, Dad. It’s time you accept that.”
His father’s lips thinned, the tension lines around his mouth deepening.
Mitchell walked past Maureen with a tip of his head and a “thank you, ma’am.” He left before his smart mouth got away from him and sent his dad to an early grave. Or at the very least to the hospital with chest pains. For his mother’s sake, Mitchell didn’t want to shatter his father’s illusion of Cameron. But that illusion had somehow morphed into a delusion over time.
An evening glow lit the sky, and Main Street was quiet. He reached his brother’s old truck with long strides and climbed in. Mitchell had accepted that Lorenda wasn’t taken anymore the moment she’d fainted in his arms. Couldn’t help it, because nothing had ever felt better than when he was holding her.
What he hadn’t accepted yet was how perfect the feeling had been. And how much he wanted to have her in his arms all over again. Only conscious. And naked. And all his.
Chapter Ten
The following Saturday morning Lorenda’s schedule was just as busy as it had been the previous weekend—she was showing more vacation cabins to the same client, Albuquerque’s newest symphony conductor. Her parents had lined up the appointments and had conveniently forgotten to mention the client’s identity.
She rushed into the bathroom, already running late, and flipped on the shower to let the water heat up.
Mr. Daniel Summerall had seemed like a nice guy and a great catch. Professional. Good looking. More a gentle kind of guy and really well dressed in a trendy sport coat and dress shirt left unbuttoned at the top. All the things Lorend
a should want if she were looking for a relationship.
But she hadn’t been the least bit attracted to him.
A fact her mother hadn’t stopped harping on all week. “Give it some time. Get to know him,” her mother had said. Over. And over. Every day since last Saturday.
Lorenda stuck her hand under the running shower only to jerk it back when the icy water bit into her skin. She turned the knob labeled “H” wide open. All that came out was freezing water.
Sierra. Mitchell had tinkered with the hot water heater last week. As nice as it was to have someone around the house to do the heavy lifting, it looked like she’d still have to give Al’s Plumbing a call. Delta. No time for that today. She had to meet Mr. Summerall at the first listing in less than an hour, and she was all sweaty from a morning run. She couldn’t be late, and she couldn’t show up smelling like a gym. She wanted that sale, because she could use a small portion of it for her music program.
Plus she hadn’t mustered the nerve to bring up the music program during her last appointment with Mr. Summerall, even though her parents had already laid the groundwork for her. She was such a chicken.
She skittered across the slate tile and grabbed a plush moss-green towel off the rack, wrapped it around her, and darted through her bedroom and down the stairs. Trevor and Jaycee were spending the day with her parents, so with virtually no knowledge of how water heaters or plumbing worked, she tried the boys’ shower.
No luck.
Next she tried the kitchen sink. Again, freezing. She’d hose off outside if it meant getting at least enough lukewarm water to rinse the sweat off.
She cracked the door and peeked outside to see if all was clear before checking the water temperature from the hose. And thank the shower gods, Mitchell’s truck was gone.
She chewed her lip. The apartment had its own water heater, which meant a hot shower was waiting. Calling to her. Daring her to finally open the door that separated her bedroom from Mitchell’s private quarters.
It was rude to invade Mitchell’s privacy, even if she did own the place. But it was her last option before she was stuck washing off with as much class as the dog.
She charged back inside the house, up the stairs, and straight to that door. The door she’d wanted to open for days. The door she’d dreamed of busting through. The door her brain told her to barricade shut just to keep herself from the temptation. One hand rested on the brushed nickel knob, and the other held the towel in place at her chest.
She probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t spend the day with a client without a shower, especially since she’d run an extra mile this morning.
Her body heated in places it shouldn’t at the thought of opening that door. Like she’d be crossing a threshold and there would be no going back.
Gah! That was stupid. Mitchell wasn’t home.
With a turn of the knob, the lock clicked open and she walked in. Napping on the old sofa, Malarkey’s head popped up and he whined.
She came to a halt with a skid.
Huh. Mitchell usually took the dog with him. Which meant he would probably be back soon.
That spurred her into motion. If she hurried, she could grab a quick shower, then hightail it back to her side of the door before Mitchell got home from wherever he’d gone. She crossed the small apartment, rounded the corner, and hustled through the open bathroom door.
Right into a hard, wet wall of muscle.
“Oof!” She collided with Mitchell, and every last drop of air whooshed out of her lungs. She tried to blink away the black spots in front of her eyes, because, holy mother of God, all that male hotness was darn near blinding. He was naked except for dog tags and a white towel draped around his waist. Nope, no water heater problems here, because steam swirled around the bathroom and right off of Mitchell’s rock-hard body. Thousands of droplets slid over his sleek build and sparkled under the light. She tried to pull back, slipped on a towel that was on the bathroom floor, and stumbled.
The ceramic sink rushed up at her, so by instinct—or idiocy for being in Mitchell’s apartment to begin with—she let go of the towel to keep from cracking open her head.
Quick reflexes and all, Mitchell did the exact same thing. His towel dropped to the floor along with hers as he caught her and hauled her against his firm, slick body. Oh, she really liked firm and slick. Had forgotten how much she liked it.
She slipped a forearm over her breasts just before she landed against his chest. “Oh my God, I thought you were gone!” She should step away. But then he’d see her naked from head to sweaty toes instead of just the up-close-and-personal angle above her forearm.
“I pulled Cam’s truck around back to change the oil.” His arms settled around her waist, calloused hands causing a tidal wave of lust to riot through her entire body.
Dear Lord.
They were completely naked. At the same time. In the same room.
With the light on!
Panic mushroomed through her chest, squeezing her lungs so tight she was afraid to take a breath. But instead of scrambling for her towel, she whispered, “The water heater went out in the house.”
“I figured it would.” His voice turned to gravel, and his eyes darkened. “Your plumbing needs some attention. Mine’s just fine.”
Obviously. Everything looked just fine here. And how could he make plumbing sound so sexy?
Unless that lusty tone in his voice was just her imagination . . . or her fantasy. Maybe she should slap herself to see if she was dreaming.
Because he looked even better in his real-life birthday suit than he had in many, many of her dreams. The plumbing that was pressing into her belly and growing firmer by the second was solid and fully functional. All hot-blooded male flesh. All hers, if she wanted it.
Grab the towel and run!
Her feet seemed to be glued to the floor because they didn’t move. When she pulled a lip between her teeth, the generous firmness against her belly turned to granite, and he moaned. Moaned!
Which caused her to forget the towels pooled at their feet. Instead, she uncrossed her arm and let her needy nipples—which matched his granite plumbing in firmness—press into him. At least they were on the same page.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world, she sank both hands into his damp hair and pulled him into a red-hot, openmouthed kiss. With tongues and everything. And, oh God, his taste, his touch, his heated breath washing over her as she angled her mouth against his to give him better access was so, so yummy.
She deepened the kiss and pressed her full length against him. That produced another moan, this one so deep his chest rumbled against her breasts, and Lorenda thought she might orgasm right there.
His roughened hands caressed up her back until she did a little moaning too. Okay, a lot of moaning, because, holy sierra, Lorenda loved being in his arms. So strong, so dependable, so safe.
So talented at the moment.
She broke the kiss to nip at the wetness on his neck. When she let her tongue slip through her swollen lips to lick at the small space where his corded neck met a muscled shoulder, he growled. Pushed her back a fraction and leaned forward to cover one of her peaked nipples with his hot mouth. Anchored his hands to her hips and guided her backward to the sink. Then both of his large palms slid down and around until they cupped her ass.
Without warning, he lifted her to sit on the edge of the counter. She squeaked as he stepped between her legs, his shaft pressing against her throbbing center.
“Sparky,” he rasped out. “I need to get protection.” He tried to step away, but she pulled him back, clamped her legs around his firm, perfectly formed butt, and held him tight.
“Not yet.” She trailed soft, sweet kisses across his chest, and his breath hissed out.
“You keep that up and we won’t need protection,” he said through gritted teeth, one hand pressing into the small of her back like he wanted to melt their bodies together skin to skin.
“Kiss me again.” She w
anted to feel his warm mouth against hers, feel his hot body wrapped with hers for a little bit longer before they . . .
He wound a handful of hair into his hand and angled her head so that they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Perfect together.
Her hand brushed over the metal dog tags hanging around his neck, and the coldness of the metal and all they represented seeped into her fingers. A chill sliced bone deep, even though the air was thick with steamy heat.
Her head snapped back, and she tried to blink the glaze from her vision. “Mitchell.” She swallowed, staring up into his chocolaty eyes. His were just as glazed over with lust as hers must’ve been.
She couldn’t do this. He was everything she didn’t need. Everything she didn’t want. But her girl parts were screaming for more. And his muscled chest, and handsome face, and sultry eyes, were drawing her in until she didn’t think she could let go. Couldn’t let go of what his body could do for hers. Couldn’t let go of the need in his eyes that matched the need spiraling through her body. Couldn’t let go of him.
This was insane!
The doubt must’ve shown in her expression, because Mitchell’s eyes softened. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and stepped away to snatch up his towel. The crown-of-thorns tattoo undulated over the tension of his muscled bicep, then he turned his back and draped the towel around his waist.
“Go ahead and shower. I’ve got errands to run.” He stopped. Looked over his shoulder like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. “See you later, Sparky.” He drew in a breath and walked out, leaving her to stare at a closed bathroom door.
Leaving her wanting him more than ever.
“This is one of our newer listings,” Lorenda said to Daniel Summerall a little over an hour after she’d been naked with Mitchell. Discussing their plumbing.
She forced her toes to uncurl from the tips of her designer black pumps. One of the things Lorenda loved about her job was being able to dress up once in a while. Trade in Red River’s standard dress code of jeans, thermals, and hiking boots to be a girly girl. Clothes, shoes, lingerie, and the way she decorated her cottage were all feminine and frilly and just for her. It was the way she filled the void of being single.
It's In His Arms (A Red River Valley Novel Book 4) Page 10