“What happened?” Miranda blurted.
“Shh!” Lorenda hissed out. “I’m trying to stay incognito.”
“Looks like someone punched you,” whispered Angelique.
Lorenda tried to angle her back to the crowd. “A champagne cork got away from me. It’s nothing.”
Langston walked over. “Ladies’ night out, I see.”
“Hey, Langston,” Ella said. “We’re just surveying the damage to your sister’s face.”
Lorenda turned a half smile on him.
“What the hell happened?” His voice was a near shout.
Every head turned.
Lorenda tried to pinch the bridge of her nose, but it hurt, so she looked toward the wall again to hide her face from the crowd. “I had an argument with an angry champagne cork. It won.”
“Ouch. Must’ve been one badass cork.” Langston took a swallow of his beer with a snort.
“Don’t be a pansy,” Lorenda said. “I’ve been through childbirth. Twice.”
“I know. Mom and Dad never let me forget that the grandchild score is two to zero in your favor.” He rolled his eyes.
“If you draw attention to my bruises again, I’m going to sit here all night and make you listen to our labor and delivery stories”—she gave him a sidelong glance—“in agonizing detail.”
“Later, ladies.” Langston walked away.
The waitress came over to take their orders. When it was Lorenda’s turn she said, “I’ll have the number three and water with a wedge of lemon.” The server left, and Lorenda turned her attention back to her three BFFs. Who stared at her with open mouths.
“What?”
“Mm, mm, mm.” Ella shook her head.
Miranda let out a low whistle. “The sex is that good, huh?”
Well. Yes, it had been. Until their argument in the gym a few days ago. But what did that have to do with her drink order? “What are you guys talking about?”
“You always order beer during girls night out. Always. It’s the only time you drink because the kids aren’t with you,” Angelique said. “If you’re content with water, then something else is filling that void.”
Ella adjusted in her seat so she could look over Lorenda’s shoulder. “And the thing filling that void just walked in.”
Bruises forgotten, she turned to gawk at Mitchell, who glanced in her direction before sliding onto a stool next to his father and Joe. Totally not the trio she expected to see meeting up for a friendly drink.
All four of the mommy mafia kept staring. Mitchell must’ve sensed the attention because he glanced over a shoulder at them and did a double take.
Lorenda jerked back around. But not without taking notice of the dozens of eyes on her. A buzz started to circulate the room as people whispered. And stared at her. And whispered some more. Then started to shoot daggers at Mitchell with their eyes.
Foxtrot.
The waitress delivered their food and drinks.
“That’s a lot of testosterone over on that stool.” Miranda picked at her chicken and steamed veggies.
Was it ever.
“I’m glad you’re obviously putting it to good use.” Ella cut into her steak.
Lorenda would’ve blushed if she hadn’t wanted to cry. She missed Mitchell, and not just because of the sex. She missed him being in her life. Being part of her, because she did feel like part of her was missing.
“What’s going on?” Miranda asked. She knew Lorenda too well.
“Nothing I want to talk about tonight.” Lorenda pulled a checklist from her purse. “Let’s talk about the concert and dress rehearsal before our food arrives.”
She ran through the list until she was satisfied that all the bases were covered. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you. The kids are making amazing progress, so we’re going to be ready.”
Lorenda just wasn’t sure she was ready. She was finally getting a chance to teach music. But the cost might be more than she could bear.
Mitchell was worn out by trying to covertly keep up with Lorenda the last few days. He’d kept his distance just enough so she wouldn’t get all huffy with him again. So maybe she wouldn’t tell him to get out of her life completely, since she’d already told him to get out of her rehearsals.
Some husband he was. She’d gone to Bart for help, because Mitchell was the cause of most of her problems.
He sat sideways on the stool next to his father so his glances in Lorenda’s direction wouldn’t be so obvious. Dylan set drinks in front of them.
“Give us a minute,” Joe said to Dylan, who moved to the other end of the long bar to wait on other customers. Joe and his dad, two old buddies who went way back, shot the breeze for a minute.
Mitchell had spent every night in the garage apartment since Lorenda had told him to leave the gym and not come back. Since she’d refused to answer his question about wanting him out of the way.
Which had silently answered his question anyway.
Just a week ago, she’d said she didn’t want him to leave, until she’d realized that what he’d tried to warn her about all along was true. His presence in her life wasn’t in her best interest.
Not sleeping in her bed where he could pull her against him, the possibility of not having a future with her had turned him into a bear.
Probably not the best time to visit his father and try to make amends with Joe for burning his restaurant down.
His father had wanted to meet at the station, away from the public eye, since Mitchell was supposed to be keeping a low profile. Once the security app showed him where Lorenda had gone, he’d insisted on meeting at Joe’s. When it looked like his dad was ready to get down to business, Mitchell muted the cell he’d borrowed from Trevor.
“Thanks for hearing us out, Joe,” his dad said.
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Larry.” Joe took off his big cowboy hat and set it on the bar. “If you say we need to talk, then we talk.”
“Son, tell Joe where you were the night of the rec-center fire and about your dog tags.” It wasn’t a request. Mitchell didn’t speak. He weighed his options. Anything he said could be used against him. His dad had done it before, so maybe Mitchell should call Angelique over and have this meeting with her present.
“This is off the record, right, Joe?” his dad said, like he’d read Mitchell’s thoughts.
“’Course.” Joe nodded.
What the hell. Prison couldn’t be that much worse than Afghanistan.
Mitchell ran a hand through his hair. “I was alone at Middle Fork Lake the night of the rec-center fire. No one can vouch for me, so I have no way of proving that I wasn’t near the rec center when that fire started.” He looked Joe in the eye. “But I wasn’t.”
Mitchell could’ve done another tour in the war zone in the time that Joe stayed silent. “Okay. And?” he finally said.
Mitchell’s gaze slid to his father.
“Go ahead and tell him the rest, son.”
Mitchell relayed the whole story of their camping trip, including finding his dog tags across the lake in the Wilderness Scouts camp.
Joe’s bushy brows pulled together. “Why would anyone want your dog tags?”
“Honestly,” Mitchell said, “I think someone wanted to leave a piece of evidence behind that would point to me. Only I found it before the investigators.”
“Which means Mitchell didn’t have to come forward with that information. No one would’ve known if he’d kept his mouth shut.” Funny how the old man made a compliment sound like an insult.
Joe braced his weight against the bar with both elbows, thinking. Weighing. “You believe him, Larry?”
“Lord knows he’s given me every reason not to over the years, but I do.”
Gee. Another almost-Kumbaya moment.
For once, Mitchell kept his smart mouth and cocky comeback to himself.
“Mitchell’s made mistakes, and he wants to make up for them, don’t you, son?”
; “Besides the fourteen years I spent fighting a war?” Mitchell couldn’t help it. That time in hell had to count for something.
His dad leveled a cast-iron glare at him.
Mitchell rubbed the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been helping out some folks to make up for being a punk-ass kid. I’ll do whatever you want, Joe, but mostly I want you to know that . . .” He wasn’t sure how to finish, because he wasn’t going to lie again and say he’d burned down Joe’s. He didn’t have to drudge up ancient history, but he was done lying. “I’m sorry your place burned down. I really am.” That was the truth. “I know it was an accident.”
His dad’s brow wrinkled at the way Mitchell phrased that, so he skipped over it in a hurry.
“If I could go back in time, I’d make sure it never happened.”
Before Joe could respond, an angry, familiar-looking man who’d had too many beers in him came over and poked his finger in Mitchell’s chest. Pretty ballsy considering he was a foot shorter and probably hadn’t seen his feet over his beer gut in a decade.
“You’ve got some nerve coming here,” he growled. “My nephew was on that campout, and you could’ve got him killed. Or was that your intention?”
Mitchell stood, slow and easy.
“Son.” His dad’s tone held a warning. “Let it go.” Then his dad turned to the man. “Walter, you’ve had too much to drink. Go home before you do something you’re going to regret.”
Walter Renfro. Mitchell remembered him from high school. He’d been a few grades older and rode the bench on the football team while Mitchell, Langston, and Talmadge did all the work.
A woman at a nearby table stood. “My son was there. You should be behind bars.” She glared at the sheriff. “Now he’s gone to beating his wife, and you’re buying him a drink instead of arresting him!”
“What?” Mitchell seethed. “I’ve never hit a woman.”
The entire restaurant went quiet, and everyone stared in his direction.
“Then why is her face all bruised up?” The woman wasn’t really asking Mitchell. She was accusing him.
He scanned the crowd, but Lorenda wasn’t in her seat. Finally, he spotted her darting around the dance floor toward them with her friends right on her heels.
Langston appeared at his side.
A few jeers rang out, and the negative energy in the crowd gained momentum quickly. A small crowd of sneering patrons surrounded them. Then Mitchell felt another jab to the chest.
“Back off, buddy.” The sheriff stood.
“I’m not your buddy.” Walter’s words slurred from too much alcohol. Obviously the reason he had the cojones to take on someone Mitchell’s size. Walter took a swing, Mitchell ducked, and Walter’s fist landed on Langston’s chest.
Langston didn’t even flinch, because he was built like a tank, just like Mitchell.
Walter howled in pain, holding his hand.
A snarling crowd had formed around them, and Lorenda pushed through it.
“Who did this?” Mitchell took her arm, and pulled her to him. “I need to know whose ass to kick.”
“I’ll explain later.” She glanced around the crowd.
“Don’t lie for him anymore! He’s not worth it,” a woman yelled.
“That’s enough,” his father roared. “Go back to your tables or go home.”
“We’re doing your job, Sheriff, since you can’t,” someone shouted from the crowd.
“Or won’t.” Walter still held his hand. He looked at Lorenda. “How can you do it? Cameron was a good guy. A hero. How can you desecrate his memory by marrying his no-good brother?”
“Mitchell is a decorated veteran just like Cameron was.” Tears glistened in Lorenda’s eyes.
Mitchell growled at Walter. “Don’t ever talk to my wife that way.” He took a step toward Walter.
“Don’t, son.” The sheriff’s voice was calm. A plea. The look in his eyes was that of a father. Mitchell had seen that look in his father’s eyes when he was looking at Cameron. But never him, until now.
“Everybody clear out,” Joe said. “Take your business elsewhere until you can cool down.”
Mitchell’s lips parted. Joe wasn’t throwing Mitchell out. He was throwing out anyone who wanted to attack Mitchell.
“Sheriff, why haven’t you arrested him? We want an answer!” a woman shouted, and verbal agreements rounded the crowd. She looked at Joe. “And you’re going to ask us to leave?” She jabbed a finger in Mitchell’s direction. “What about him? He burned your old place down years ago. Now he’s back starting more fires and beating up a woman just because she stood up to him and asked him to leave the school the other day.” The woman’s hands went to her hips.
Everyone went quiet.
That seemed to give the woman confidence. “My son is in her after-school program, and I saw what happened Monday in the gym. Now she shows up all bruised.”
Every set of eyes in the room turned on Mitchell, including his dad’s and Joe’s.
If Mitchell told the truth about Lorenda’s misplaced trust in Bart it might make her look bad. He’d also be suggesting that her judgment wasn’t sound, and the parents might lose faith in her. Plus, he had no evidence to outright accuse Bart, so Mitchell stayed silent. Again. Like he was guilty.
Seemed to be the story of his life.
“See?” someone shouted.
Lorenda started to speak, but the sheriff interrupted. “Mitchell hasn’t been arrested because there’s no evidence against him. He paid for his past mistakes in the military. Don’t you think that’s punishment enough?”
“He was given medals!” Walter said. “He should’ve been given a prison uniform. And he’s still getting away with it because of you. I think it’s time for your resignation, Sheriff. We don’t trust your judgment anymore or your ability to do your job and keep Red River safe.” Walter jabbed the sheriff with a finger, and a few people took a step back.
“Don’t touch my dad again,” Mitchell growled.
“Or what?” sneered Walter. “You’ll break my nose like you broke your wife’s?”
Mitchell reared back to swing, but Lorenda grabbed his arm.
“Mitchell! Please don’t.” She stepped between him and the crowd. “You people are something. This is Red River. We’re supposed to take care of each other.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” said one of the women. “Watching out for each other by getting rid of him.” She glared at Mitchell.
“Mitchell didn’t hit me.” She pointed to her face. “He wasn’t even in the room when this happened.”
Tears slid down Lorenda’s cheeks when she turned to look at him, like she was saying she was sorry.
“Sparky,” Mitchell murmured.
She didn’t listen.
“Cameron started the fire that burned down Joe’s, not Mitchell.”
The crowd went silent.
Mitchell dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes against the harsh truth that had come out after so many years of keeping it locked down tight. His hand closed around her arm, and he stepped close to her, his chest brushing against her back, and let out a sigh of resignation that made her hair flutter. “Lorenda, don’t. Let them believe what they want.”
She shook her head. “No, Mitchell.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her gaze smoothing over his face. “I loved Cameron, but I can’t lie for him anymore. Especially not if the truth can help you.”
Lorenda turned her full attention on his dad. “Mitchell never asked Cameron to stay in the military.”
The sheriff’s look of confusion turned to shock as her words sunk in.
“I begged Cameron to get out of the military when I got pregnant the second time. Mitchell tried to get Cam to see reason and come home to me and the kids.” Her voice shook. “The truth is, he didn’t want me, and he didn’t want his kids either.” She swiped at another tear.
Mitchell caressed up and down her arm.
“He stayed in the military so he
wouldn’t have to come home to us.”
The sheriff’s face turned red, and he blinked away the glaze in his eyes. “Son,” he said, turning his glassy eyes on Mitchell. “Is this true? I forced you into the military for nothing? Your brother died because of me?”
His dad’s hand went to his chest to clutch at his heart. His face turned almost purple, and his eyes rounded.
“Call an ambulance,” Langston said and jumped into action.
Mitchell was right there with him. “He takes heart medication.”
“Pock . . . et,” his dad whispered as they lowered him to the floor. And then his eyes fluttered shut.
It was after midnight when Lorenda and Mitchell finally left the emergency room in Taos and drove back to Red River. The sheriff’s EKG had shown no signs of a heart attack, and the doctor called it more of an episode.
They rode in silence with just the illumination from the dashboard and the whir of four-by-four tires filling the cab of the truck. Lorenda laced her fingers and stared straight ahead.
She pulled Mitchell’s phone from her purse and sent her mom a text. Her mom texted back saying the boys were asleep and she’d bring them to school tomorrow. Lorenda put the phone away and cleared her throat.
Still an uncomfortable silence filled the cab.
They rumbled into her drive, and Mitchell had his hand on the door handle before the truck stopped rolling.
Lorenda wrapped her fingers around his muscled arm. “Mitchell, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to cause more trouble for you and your parents.”
Mitchell’s heavy sigh reached through the darkness and whispered through Lorenda’s heart.
“It’s not your fault, Sparky.” Mitchell voice was dull. Almost lifeless. “It’s mine.” He let his head fall back on the seat. “All of it is mine and Cam’s. We set this whole thing in motion graduation night, and we’re still ruining lives because of it.”
“Don’t say that. And stop being a martyr. It’s ruining your life, Mitchell. No one else’s.”
“I’m toxic to everyone I touch.”
“Mitchell.” Lorenda slid her hand into his, and he rolled his head to the side to look at her.
It's In His Arms (A Red River Valley Novel Book 4) Page 26