All Fired Up

by Lori Foster

  These men were impressive, and a small part of him felt pride.

  “Mitch?” Compassion, confusion, softened Charlotte’s expression.

  He’d felt many losses in his day. This one smarted more than most. “Sorry.” Working the tension from his neck, determined to get through it, he said, “The thing is—”

  And yet another voice intruded, this one strident, a voice of authority, used to being heard—and obeyed.

  The voice of a woman. “Brodie, Jack, behave yourselves.”

  As if aggrieved, Brodie rolled his eyes. “Our mother,” he said in an aside to Mitch. “And if you think we’re distrustful, prepare yourself.”

  Their mother.

  Rosalyn Crews.

  Something uncomfortable shifted inside him, making his heart kick. Breath held, Mitch turned—but of course he wasn’t ready, hadn’t even come close to preparing himself.

  His gaze clashed with hers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE REVERED MATRIARCH of the Crews family. Mitch knew of her, but he hadn’t counted on meeting her, definitely not now, late at night, in the middle of town with not only Brodie and Jack right there, but Charlotte too as a witness.

  Surprise brought Rosalyn to an abrupt halt, her lips parting, her eyes flaring. Beautiful eyes. Dark, thickly lashed.

  The same as her sons’, Brodie’s and Jack’s.

  Very, very different from his own.

  Muscles strained in the back of his neck. He didn’t run from anyone, ever. Never had.

  God help him, he wanted to run from the morass of things this woman made him feel.

  Instead he planted his big feet, locked his knees, concentrated on slow, steady breaths, and held himself stock-still.

  “Mom?” Jack moved toward her with concern.

  Mitch couldn’t help looking at her. He’d heard so much about her. In his mind, she represented ethereal ideas that he’d rarely experienced. Kindness. Compassion. Loyalty and affection.

  Things a mother gave a son, things his own mother hadn’t shared with him. Mitch wasn’t sure she even possessed those emotions. If so, he’d never seen them.

  “What is it, Ros?” After shooting Mitch a brave smile, Charlotte hurried to her.

  And just like that, Charlotte’s brief nearness shook his resolve. His jaw clenched tighter, his lungs constricted. Don’t be a fucking coward. He wasn’t, so he held his ground and continued to watch the two women, mostly because he couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it.

  He knew she went by Ros, a shortened version of her name. He’d heard it many times. Hearing it from Charlotte seemed as natural as the sun rising.

  She wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, but then, he’d built her up a lot in his head. Reality, he decided, was actually nicer.

  Instead of wispy and angelic, she looked substantive. Warm, comfortable. Motherly in some intrinsic, indefinable way.

  Real. Flesh and bone with a fiercely beating heart, instead of the paragon his imagination had conjured over the years.

  And she continued to stare, her expression arrested, still.

  “Are you okay?” Charlotte asked her.

  Briefly glancing at her, Ros nodded in reassurance, an uncertain smile pushing dimples into age-softened cheeks. She took a tentative step closer to Mitch, and he forced himself to stay silent when the urge to turn away beat inside him.

  Jack and Brodie matched Ros’s every step—for her. As her sons, their protectiveness expanded beyond just Charlotte.

  Over and over, he’d been told they were the type of men to impulsively protect anyone smaller, weaker, or in need, so of course they’d be especially vigilant for those they loved.

  They loved their mother.

  Fingertips touching her mouth in a show of wonder, Ros visually explored his face. With a short laugh, she said, “I’m sorry for staring.”

  His eyes never leaving hers, Mitch gave one sharp nod. He understood, even if no one else did.

  Yet.

  “It’s just...you look very much like someone I know. Or rather how someone I know looked when he was a man your age.”

  His automatic swallow sounded audibly in the quiet night, as did his short indrawn breath. “Yes, ma’am.” Mitch knew exactly who he favored.

  With new concentration, Brodie asked, “Who?”

  “There is something,” Jack agreed, minutely reviewing each of Mitch’s features.

  Sweat broke out on his neck and his skin felt too tight.

  Screw it. He couldn’t take the suspense a second longer, so he stated the undeniable truth.

  “I look like Elliott Crews.”

  Seconds clapped by like mini explosions, but at least he breathed easier.

  It was done. No taking it back, no retreat.

  Forward. That’s the direction he had to go. Relentlessly, deliberately forward.

  Drawing a cleansing breath, Mitch took his own turn studying expressions.

  Mouths had dropped open, but now snapped shut. Charlotte, bless her generous heart, was the only one to blink.

  Not the way he’d wanted to do things, but fuck it. Falling back on old ways, he faced the coming censure.

  Out of the four people now gawking at him, it was Charlotte’s gaze that burned the most. Putting the pieces together, thinking it through, she saw things now that she hadn’t before.

  What did she think of him now? Her gaze seemed almost...admiring, but he wouldn’t buy into that.

  With a knowing and self-deprecating smirk, he briefly met her gaze. It all looks different now, doesn’t it? And she hadn’t even heard the worst.

  He could almost see her interest going up in flames—and he didn’t blame her. He was a bastard for being here, a real prick for what he was about to do.

  He looked away, yet every fiber of his being chafed at her nearness.

  Locking on Rosalyn was easier than seeing Jack’s or Brodie’s disdain. If he gave in an inch, it’d only derail him.

  He wouldn’t let that happen.

  “I know,” he quipped into the silence. “Hell of a shocker, right?”

  Eyes going liquid, Rosalyn drew a shaky breath.

  Oh, shit. He locked his jaw and tried not to care...but yeah, that proved impossible.

  Jack flattened his mouth.

  Brodie asked, “Our dad?”

  With one terse nod Mitch confirmed, “Yup. He’s my father as well.”

  * * *

  TALK ABOUT AN incredible bombshell. Shock constricted Charlotte’s lungs, so how must the others feel?

  Instinctively wrapping her arm around Ros, she turned to Brodie and Jack. They appeared utterly dumbfounded.

  Did neither of them see what it cost Mitch to come to them?

  She did. She saw so very, very much.

  Like most macho men, Mitch would try to hide it, but she wasn’t fooled.

  Maybe because she’d already experienced his protectiveness, his concern, she felt she knew him. Knew him better than she should have in such a short time. But there’d been something—a connection of sorts—that kept her irresistibly drawn to him.

  Now especially, that she knew why he was here.

  Like his brothers, he was a big man, powerfully built, his wide shoulders taut with dignity and his expression one of forced arrogance. He stood alone against them, awaiting his fate.

  Her heart broke for them all, but she knew the Crews family. They had each other, and that meant they could tackle most anything.

  Charlotte looked at Mitch again. God help her, she couldn’t keep from looking at him.

  Yes, now that he said it she saw the similarities. Mitch’s hair was lighter, sort of a dark blond, and unlike Brodie and Jack, he didn’t have Rosalyn’s dark eyes. The rest though—the bone structure of his face, that incredible body, his h
eight, even the way he smiled...

  With a sound of—delight?—Rosalyn pulled away and opened her arms in acceptance. “I knew it!”

  Horror replaced Mitch’s stoic expression as she came at him.

  Matching him step for step, Ros said, “Even though I couldn’t believe it, I swear I recognized you!”

  Brodie tried to stop her—like that would ever work? “Mom, wait.”

  Ros laughed. “He’s your brother.” Intent clear, she all but pursued him.

  Oh, how Charlotte loved her. For this—and many other things.

  “You’re taking him on his word?” Jack asked, more with distrust than animosity.

  “You have eyes in your head, son. You can see the truth same as I can.”

  Appalled, Mitch hastily fell back a few more steps.

  If he went much farther, he’d end up in the street.

  He looked back, gauging the distance, but it wasn’t enough to evade Ros as she threw her arms around his waist.

  Because Charlotte watched so closely, she saw something tragic cross his face.

  Confusion. Torment.

  Hope.

  Amazing that Ros’s affection could so profoundly affect such a towering, powerful man.

  Typical for Ros, she didn’t care. She tilted back once to smile up at him. “You look exactly like him.”

  Breathing a little too fast, his arms held in comically stiff angles away from his sides, doing all he could not to touch her, Mitch frowned. “I know.”

  Ros squeezed him again, then suddenly fury levered her back. “I’ll kill him!”

  Everyone stared at her.

  Cautiously, Jack asked, “Dad?”

  “Yes, your father!” She spun with a fist in the air. “How dare he not tell me?”

  Mitch flexed his neck and his knuckles, then tried a polite smile carved from discomfort. “I should apologize—”

  “Oh, honey, no.” Just that quick, she reached up—way up—and cupped his face. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”

  Thick brows leveled over his golden-brown eyes. “Actually, ma’am,” he said through his teeth, “you can’t know that.”

  “He’s right, Mom.” Brodie reached for her, caught her glare and retreated with frustration. “You don’t even know why he’s here.”

  Undeterred, Ros smiled. “He’s here because he’s family.”

  Mitch tightened—his mouth, his eyes. His fists. Incredulity visibly warred with something more.

  Alarm and sympathy brought Charlotte a step closer before she caught herself. Whatever Mitch felt, it wouldn’t be improved with her intrusion so maybe she could help in another way.

  Normally, directing the family fell to Ros, but yes, she was a bit distracted with hugging Mitch right now.

  The loud clearing of her throat drew all eyes to her. Chagrined, she attempted an upbeat smile. “How about we go to the house and talk?”

  “Yes,” Ros said with enthusiasm.

  At the same time Brodie and Jack tried to make excuses.

  “Ronnie’s waiting for me,” Jack said and Brodie added, “It’s late and Mary will worry.”

  Knowing her sons well, Ros leveled a telling look on each of them...and played dirty. “That’s fine. I don’t want my lovely daughters-in-law to worry. You two head on home and Charlotte and I’ll visit with Mitch.”

  “What?”

  “Hell no.”

  All sweet manipulation, Ros promised, “We’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

  Charlotte laughed at Jack’s horrified expression and Brodie’s stubborn refusal. They both knew Ros would win, so why fight it? Feeling impish, she offered, “Mitch can ride with me.”

  “The hell he will.” Brodie stepped forward, then grudgingly offered, “He can ride with me.”

  Charlotte thought that would get the ball rolling.

  Unfortunately, Mitch disagreed.

  With an icy growl, he asked, “Do I get a say in the plans?”

  “For now,” Ros said, her tone gentle as she hugged him again, “you get the biggest say. But you’re here, right? You made it this far. So why not visit?”

  He turned away, turned back and kneaded the muscles at his neck.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE COULDN’T HELP but notice the way his biceps bunched, the muscles that ticked in his lean jaw.

  In a barely there voice, she taunted, “You know you want to.”

  His eyes, a mellow brown with golden highlights, flicked over to her, narrowed for a heart-stopping moment, and then shifted to Brodie. “Look, I didn’t plan this—I mean, I did, but not here and not now. Not with...” He gave a vague gesture toward Charlotte.

  She’d have been insulted, maybe even hurt, except that he also tried to slip away from Ros—without much success.

  Keeping an arm around his waist, Ros squeezed him again.

  She seemed unable to help herself.

  “I thought we could talk, you, Jack and me, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “You only say that,” Jack muttered, “because you don’t know our mom.”

  Charlotte grinned. No, he didn’t know Ros, but he was about to.

  * * *

  OUT OF ALL the scenarios Mitch had prepared for, he hadn’t figured on this. Gently but with firm resolve, he took Rosalyn Crews by the arms and eased her back, giving himself space to breathe. Though the woman was short and a smidge on the plump side, she had the fearless, in-charge attitude of a superhero.

  With her fresh-faced appearance, her light brown hair in a casual ponytail, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she didn’t look old enough to be mother to two grown men.

  In every way that Mitch could observe, she was the opposite of his father, Elliott.

  Done dwelling on Rosalyn—something he hadn’t meant to do—Mitch said to Brodie, “Could I talk to you and Jack privately just a minute?”

  Brodie opened his mouth, but it was Rosalyn who said, “No,” in a way that closed Brodie’s mouth and made Jack sigh.

  To Mitch, she said, “We’re a family. You can talk to all of us.”

  Unwillingly, his gaze sought out Charlotte. Was she related too? Jesus, if he’d almost—

  “Not me,” she said fast, flustered, maybe knowing his thoughts. “I mean, they’re like family to me, because my parents passed away. But we’re not blood related.”

  Brodie cocked a brow. “Any reason you offered up that little clarification?”

  “Shush,” Rosalyn told him. She laced her fingers together and studied Mitch. “As I’m sure you know, I’m Ros, their mother, so what concerns them concerns me.”

  Mitch tried to stare her down. “It could concern you tomorrow instead of right now.”

  Ros didn’t flinch. “We’re all here now, so come to the house. I’ll fix coffee, and Charlotte made cookies earlier. We’ll get acquainted.”

  Her goodwill bombarded him, destroying his resolve—and yet, that little tidbit distracted him. So Charlotte baked?

  What the hell did he care? He didn’t. If he wanted a cookie, he’d damn well buy a package at the grocery store.

  Squaring his chin and looking down at Ros, he said, “To be honest—”

  The look she gave him had to be some patented maternal expression that conveyed disappointment, determination and a donkey’s stubbornness to have her own way.

  He’d never seen it before, but then, he’d had a different type of mother.

  The look was effective. The longer she gave it, the more powerless he felt.

  Why would she welcome him when her husband had cheated? Why act as if she was happy to meet him?

  He heard himself mutter, “This is not a good idea.”

  As if she’d already won—and maybe she had—Ros smiled. “Of course it is.”

  Without meaning t
o, Mitch glanced at Charlotte, saw her distracting, sexy mouth curled in a sentimental smile, and quickly looked away. Time to obliterate all those scorching fantasies because now more than ever she was off-limits to him.

  Easier said than done. He was aware of all of them, but Charlotte most of all. Her attention soothed and incited in equal measure. The sooner he got away from her, the better.

  For them.

  Rubbing his chin, Mitch considered his options.

  Because her sons were big and capable, Ros might think she understood him.

  She did not.

  From all he knew, Brodie and Jack were nice guys who could, when necessary, adequately kick ass. Clean fighting without any dirty tricks. Measured and civilized.

  Survival had honed Mitch. No irony, no showmanship. Just pure, basic nature learned from birth, every day over twenty-nine years. Prison had sharpened his few blunt edges.

  He wasn’t naturally cruel, but could be the cruelest bastard around when provoked.

  He knew right from wrong, but damned if that line didn’t sometimes blur.

  He valued life—and yet, he’d take it if necessary. Had tried to take it a few times. Left in prison much longer, who knew how many would have died?

  For him the focus had been the same: his survival. He’d wanted to live, and to ensure that he did, he would have killed others.

  None of that applied here, though, and he absolutely couldn’t take advantage of Rosalyn’s kindness.

  That meant coming clean. Laying it out there.

  “Let’s roll credits on the drama, okay?” Head-on, he met the dark gaze that matched her sons’ eyes. His face felt hard, his intentions harder, but he admitted, “I’m an ex-con.”

  He was ready for recriminations—yet none came.

  Brodie and Jack did shift closer.

  And Mitch didn’t have to look to know they’d blocked Charlotte completely while standing at their mother’s back.

  An ex-con was a threat. He got it.

  But no bitching? No demands that he hit the road?

  Showing his teeth in a mockery of a smile, he said, “Yeah, I figured that’d get your attention.” Now to cut past the absurd reception and lay it out there, before they all got the wrong ideas. “I don’t want anything from any of you.”