All Fired Up

by Lori Foster

  He cleared his throat. As much as it pained him, he couldn’t break an agreement. He didn’t have much, but he had his word.

  So he jammed his hands into his back pockets to help resist temptation. “I should have brought something, but I didn’t think about it until just now.”

  Remaining lazily posed on the stairs, Charlotte stroked Brute and asked, “What do you mean?”

  Fighting the urge to get closer to her, he gestured toward the backyard. “A dessert or something.” Isn’t that what guests did? No idea. He had zero social graces.

  Her smile warmed another notch. “Ros didn’t want you to. Besides, I already baked a cake.”

  “You baked a... When?” She’d been at the office early and according to Brodie, it was supposed to be a busy day for her. Not that he knew for sure. After leaving the offices, he’d headed to his new digs to do some work of his own. God knew it’d be a while before the place would be presentable, or he could make a profit. “You didn’t put in a full day?”

  “I got home an hour ago.”

  No way. “And you decided to bake?” Did she ever relax? Didn’t seem so. Not being great with idle time himself, her near electric vitality was another lure.

  But damn it, how could he ever get a date if she never slowed down?

  “Not a big deal. I enjoy baking and I had a hankering for a white chocolate cake. While it was in the oven, I showered.”

  “White chocolate? So...homemade? Not a box mix?”

  Elevating her chin again, she said, “Wouldn’t be real baking if it was just out of a box.”

  For someone who usually picked up a premade when the sweet tooth hit, it counted to him. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

  She shrugged. “The boys like it.”

  “Boys?” Another smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re calling those Goliaths boys?”

  “Look who’s talking. You’re every bit as big as they are.” Pushing to her feet, she said, “Come on, they’re all anxious to see you.” She led him and Brute around the house.

  He couldn’t resist one more question. “And you? Were you anxious to see me, Charlotte?”

  Over her shoulder, she replied, “I made you a cake, didn’t I?”

  The ear-splitting grin caught him by surprise. The cake was for his benefit, then, not Brodie and Jack’s. Nice.

  Suddenly it struck him: he’d just done what the boys had asked him not to—he’d hung around talking her up, admiring and ogling her, flirting, in relative privacy. At least at the office that morning, Brodie knew they were inside.

  Damn it, he needed to avoid being alone with her or he’d never last. When he got around her, he forgot everything except getting to know her better.

  When they reached the backyard, Brodie called to Mitch, “Good, you made it.” And then, without missing a beat, he added to Charlotte, “Thanks for watching out for him, hon.”

  So Brodie had set that up? Seriously, did he not know how tempting Charlotte looked in the skimpier clothes, lounging there on the steps, her spine relaxed, bare legs stretched out, elbows braced behind her while that gorgeous hair played around her face?

  Or maybe it had been a test. That idea didn’t set well—especially since he’d failed it.

  Or...could it have been a sign of trust?

  Jesus, he wished he knew more about the inner workings of a normal family.

  Having just noticed them, Howler came barreling from the back of the yard, a brown Lab right behind him.

  Brute, of course, did his dodge and cower act, snuggling behind Mitch and tucking his face in his ass.

  “Hey, hey,” Mitch said, trying to readjust. Not easy to do with Brute so afraid.

  One day soon, Brute would learn that he wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Until then, Mitch would just continue to reassure him the best he could.

  He’d be there for Brute...because he knew how it felt to feel threatened and alone.

  “Whoa.” Jack caught the Lab before he reached them. “This is Buster and he’s not nearly as perceptive as Howler. He’s all about playing, but I don’t want him to spook Brute.”

  “Thanks.” Mitch managed to get turned around and down on one knee.

  Though Buster wiggled all over in happiness at meeting a new dog, Brute was not receptive.

  Sitting on the grass beside him, Charlotte said, “Brute? Come here, baby,” in a soft, throaty voice that made Mitch’s ears twitch.

  He watched, no longer amazed, when Brute switched over to her and leaned into her side. Bare arm around the dog, Charlotte whispered encouragement while stroking Brute’s neck and fondling his ears.

  Stroking and fondling? Struggling to get his brain out of a sexual morass, Mitch said, “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Inch by inch, Charlotte let Howler wiggle in closer until the two dogs were happily sniffing each other and acting like friends again. “Jack, let Buster go, now. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “You sure?” Jack asked, deferring to Mitch.

  Mitch shrugged. Charlotte, with her magic touch, seemed to have it under control—which was more than he could say. “Give it a try.”

  “Go easy, bud,” Jack cautioned Buster, before releasing his collar.

  Ears flopping wildly, Buster bolted up to them, jumped on Howler, and the two spun away for a little roughhousing. Brute watched with interest and maybe yearning, his tail giving a few tentative wags, his expression alert.

  “You know you want to,” Charlotte whispered to him. “Why not go for it, big boy?”

  Mitch stared. Hard to believe, but by the second he wanted her even more.

  Bounding back, Howler gave a ridiculously high-pitched yowl, and managed to entice Brute a few feet into the yard. This time when he and Buster took off, Brute loped after them.

  “Well, look at that.” Brute didn’t leap into the thick of the play, instead watching on the fringe. To Mitch, the important part was him being there, occasionally running alongside the others, overall looking pretty...happy.

  He turned to help Charlotte up, but she’d already stood without him noticing and was moseying into the yard, keeping close to the dogs.

  In case Brute needed her? Protective. He liked that.

  Hell, he liked everything about her—including that lush little behind in her shorts.

  “Ahem,” Ronnie said, drawing his attention as she sauntered near.

  During his second visit to the offices, he’d been briefly introduced to the wives, Ronnie and Mary. They were both attractive in different ways, but more importantly, they were as friendly as the guys.

  “You’ve met the dogs, so I figured you should meet the ruler of the roost.” Ronnie nuzzled a mid-sized cat with fuzzy gray-and-brown fur and wide green eyes. “This is my Peanut.”

  Cute. Mitch ran one finger beneath the cat’s chin, earning a rumbling purr. “She gets along with the dogs?”

  “Peanut is a very pretty male kitty, and yes, they dote on him.”

  “Ah, sorry Peanut.” From everything he’d heard, he had a feeling Ronnie would have fit right in at his old neighborhood. He liked her mess with me or mine and I’ll land my boot on your butt demeanor. She had an edge that promised one and all she wouldn’t take any shit.

  With short platinum hair and an abundance of earrings, she flaunted a style all her own. For a variety of reasons, she’d turn heads wherever she went, but she aimed all her sex appeal at Jack.

  Mary, Brodie’s wife, was still with Rosalyn as they carried dishes out from the house. Because her hands were full, she smiled her welcome. Despite blazing red hair, freckles and a full figure, she was a mix of elegance and business savvy.

  Looking back at the cat, Mitch asked, “This is the one you rescued?”

  “Yes.” Ronnie rubbed her cheek against the cat’s head. “My little cupid.”r />
  Rolling his eyes, Jack joined them.

  “You know it’s true.” Then to Mitch, she said, “Some major asshole was tormenting Peanut, and I was so furious I wanted to stick my knife in his forehead.”

  Wow. Unsure if she was serious, Mitch glanced at Jack.

  Blowing out a breath, Jack said, “I wish that was a joke, but curbing her wasn’t easy.”

  “Ha! You didn’t curb me.” Leaning toward Mitch, she said, “You should have seen him. Jack might act all smooth and urbane, but he doesn’t tolerate cruelty. He went dark and mean real fast.” She grinned at her husband. “Sexy as hell, let me tell you.”

  “You’re telling everyone,” Jack complained, but he used one arm to pull her in for a hug.

  “Pretty sure that’s when I decided he was a keeper, so Peanut gets the credit. If it wasn’t for this cat, I might still be under the delusion that Jack was suave.”

  The way she stated that like an insult had Mitch grinning.

  From the picnic table, Mary chimed in with, “Brodie is never suave. In fact, he has one mode—caveman. It’s part of his charm.”

  “I have charm,” Brodie bragged.

  Damn, but he liked these people. All of them. They were like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow created the perfect picture, rough edges and all.

  “What about you?” Charlotte asked as she rejoined them. “What’s your usual mode?”

  Survival. And with it, suspicion—of everyone and everything. Not something he wanted to share aloud, so he said instead, “I don’t know. Definitely not suave—”

  Ronnie saluted him.

  “—but I hope not a caveman either. Maybe...cautious?”

  Nodding, Charlotte said, “How about honest?”

  The others, all listening in, gave a chorus of “hear, hear.”

  That probably made sense. After all, he had nearly bludgeoned them with his brutal honesty.

  “Independent,” Ros called out.

  “Determined.” Jack gave it more thought. “Stubborn.”

  Laughing, Brodie called from the grill, “Glad they’re dissecting you instead of me.”

  The way they did it, he didn’t mind, but he did turn the tables on Charlotte. “Your turn.”

  “I don’t know.” Her brows pinched down. “I’m just me.”

  “She wins people over with her baking,” Brodie offered.

  “And her generosity,” Jack said.

  “You guys.” Face warm, she sauntered off again.

  Watching her, Mitch smiled, and silently added “humble” to the list. Also protective, proven in the way she shadowed Brute. She knew how to take a joke, and how to dish it back.

  Jack said to Ronnie, “We’ve lost him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think maybe we’re reeling him in.”

  Mitch didn’t bother denying that. “Her mode is subtle.” He watched her pick a dandelion from the yard, then twirl it between her fingers. Subtle but effective, innately sensual, and almost impossible to resist.

  With a frown, Jack started to say something, but got cut short.

  “Who wants treats?” Rosalyn called out, and immediately Howler and Buster raced to her. Brute, unsure of the offer, approached more slowly, but once he caught on, he was just as excited as the others.

  Using care to ensure they each only got one, Ros doled out the biscuits with affection.

  Once Brute had his, he returned to Mitch, but since Howler followed, Brute whined.

  “He’s never gotten over being starved,” Mitch explained. “Sometimes he hoards his food.”

  From the grill, Brodie said, “Howler’s the opposite. He eats everything as fast as he can, usually in one big gulp.”

  True enough, Howler devoured the treat in three seconds flat, then rolled to his back, plate-sized paws in the air, his droopy lips falling back to reveal sharp teeth in an odd doggy grin. Watching Brute upside down, he wiggled closer until Mitch had to laugh.

  “Cut him some slack, Brute. He wants to be buddies, not steal your snack.”

  Whining, Brute looked out at Buster.

  “Ah, so it’s the new guy, huh? Well, I don’t think he’d steal your treat either.”

  “With Buster, we never know,” Ronnie admitted. “He’s sweet, but he’s not as sharp as Howler.”

  “Don’t insult the dog,” Jack said, helping Brute by breaking the treat into little bites that he hand-fed to him.

  That seemed to entice Brute—or else he was afraid Jack would eat it if he didn’t.

  After that, Brute found the water dishes on the back porch, then he headed out to the yard, the other dogs following, and they all returned to their play.

  Hands on his hips, his heart oddly full, Mitch watched Brute dart around the yard.

  Brodie came to stand beside him. “Howler won’t let other animals be strangers. Those grandmother tendencies I mentioned? He makes sure all the kids play nice.”

  Mitch didn’t take his gaze off the animals because he didn’t want another man—his brother—to see how hard it hit him. He loved Brute, and damn it, he felt a kinship to him. “He deserves to loosen up.” He deserves to feel accepted.

  The thought lingered, but it was yet another better left unsaid.

  “Everyone does.” Lightening the moment, Brodie sniffed the air. “Hope you’re hungry. I grilled corn on the cob and potatoes to go with Mom’s famous fried chicken.”

  It smelled so good, Mitch’s mouth watered.

  Everyone sat at the tablecloth-covered table, and somehow he ended up between Rosalyn and Charlotte. Not that he minded bumping Charlotte every so often, feeling her thigh touch his, but damn, it worked as pure temptation. He picked up her scent without even trying.

  Twice he lost track of the conversation.

  No amount of distraction would keep him from noticing how they worked as a unit. Someone always had eyes on the dogs, ensuring they didn’t leave the yard. Jack got up once to refill the water dishes. Mary went inside to get the salt that Ros had forgotten. Brodie caught Ronnie’s napkin when it almost blew away. It was all so natural, it almost felt choreographed.

  And the...affection. More demonstrative than Mitch, they openly teased each other—and him on occasion. They hugged, touched, laughed together.

  When he’d come up with the idea of finding the brothers, he hadn’t known exactly what he wanted. A fresh start, yes. Some semblance of family, sure. Roots. Home.

  This, picnics in the yard with home-cooked food and happy animals at play...it was so damn picturesque, it didn’t feel real. He’d had nearly a week with them, but it wasn’t enough.

  Would a year be enough? A lifetime? Would he ever be at ease in scenarios that were as unfamiliar as flying to the moon?

  He didn’t know, but he hoped to find out.

  “Mitch?”

  He looked up to find Charlotte watching him.

  The quick smile didn’t conceal her gentle concern. “Everything okay?”

  One glance around the table showed everyone looking at him, making him wonder if he’d missed a question. “What—” His phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse to dodge all those penetrating stares. “Sorry, I’ll just be a second.” As he stood, Charlotte touched his arm, her gaze inquiring.

  With one step he took himself out of her reach, and her hand dropped. “Be right back.”

  Glad for the reprieve, he drew out the phone while walking a good distance from the table. Recognizing Lang Hardy’s number, he answered with, “Hey, Lang, what’s up?”

  He didn’t count many as friend, but he and Lang had known each other since they were kids. In fact, Lang was the only one who knew where he was now.

  “I’m sorry man. So damn sorry.”

  The fine hairs on Mitch’s nape jumped in alarm. Anger sizzled along his spine. H
is breathing shortened.

  He recognized those defensive reactions—learned in childhood, sharpened in prison. Walking farther away so none of the others could hear, he asked, “What did you do?”

  Suddenly Brute was at his side, leaning into his leg, huffing a little with worry. Mitch automatically laid a hand on his muscled neck.

  “Newman came after me.”

  The shock of that took a second to hit. The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears nearly deafened him. His blood chilled.

  “Mitch? Let me explain.”

  Explanations weren’t necessary. If Lang had talked, he already knew why. “How bad?”

  In a rush, his voice strained, Lang explained, “He wanted to know where you were. I didn’t want to tell him. I even tried to run when I first spotted them at my house—”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” Staring straight ahead, not seeing anything, Mitch’s brain was already scrambling. Calmly, with the understanding Lang requested, he asked, “How bad did he hurt you?”

  “He worked me over, man. Broke two fucking ribs. Blood... The old lady found me and freaked, okay? She dragged me off to the hospital and this is the first chance I’ve had to call.”

  “When?” He may or may not have time to get away from his brothers and Ros, away from Charlotte, before trouble came bearing down on them all.

  After a long pause, Lang admitted, “I figured he was there already. Not like you went that far.”

  Definitely not far enough. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Your ass.” Lang cleared his throat. “Dude, he was in a rage. You know how he is.”

  Yeah, he knew only too well. With his head dropped forward, Mitch worked the knot of tension forming in his neck. “You’re okay?”

  “The ribs and nose will heal.”

  “Nose?”

  “That’s why there was so much blood. You know Maria. She thought I was dying, but I’ve busted ribs before.” After a short pause, Lang burst. “Goddamn it, I should have held out! I shouldn’t have blabbed to him. If I’d—”

  “He wouldn’t have stopped.” Mitch knew that for a fact—because he knew Newman. He felt a little dead inside, and also quietly enraged. “He would have beaten you until he got what he wanted, or he would have used that fucking blade.” Newman looked for reasons to draw his knife.