by Lori Foster
For more than an hour they suffered the smothering heat and endless bug bites, and finally the little blue car he remembered from his last visit pulled up.
She got out, using a hand to shield her eyes as she looked around. He’d tried to find out more about her, but folks around here were suspicious as hell, and too damned protective of her.
We’re behind the trees, honey. You can’t see us...but we see you.
No, he wouldn’t go back to the transport business. But he would find ways to run into little curly again.
Forced to reevaluate, he decided fucking with Mitch’s new neighbors would be better than going after him directly. Mitch had always considered himself too good for the people from the old neighborhood. Yeah, he’d hung with Lang some, and good thing because without Lang squealing, Newman never would have found him.
Had Lang called Mitch? Did Mitch already know how he’d worked Lang over, leaving him bloody and battered on the dirty floor?
It brought some satisfaction, especially since Mitch liked to think of himself as a protector. God knows he’d gotten in the way of Newman’s fist enough times, all to spare his mother.
“She’s alone,” Lee said, and damned if he didn’t sound excited, an uncommon occurrence for Lee.
Newman wouldn’t mind if Lee had a little fun—after he got done, of course.
As they watched, another car, a slick red Mustang, pulled into the lot and a freaking Goliath got out. He was as big as Mitch, and when he looked around, they all three ducked.
“Think he’s onto us?” Ritchie whispered in breathless alarm.
“Doesn’t matter.” Newman watched them both go inside. “He can’t be with her 24/7.”
Lee spared the vaguest of smiles. “Won’t slow me down. I’ll still tail her.”
“Cautiously,” Newman warned. “I have plans for that girl. Don’t get busted before I even get started.”
Mitch knew what he was capable of, knew exactly what he’d do. By the time they finished, he’d be begging Newman to take back the money that was rightfully his, just to see him get out of Red Oak.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A WEEK WENT by with no word from Newman. According to the hotel clerk, he’d checked out the same day Colvin had talked to him in the diner. To go where? He sure as hell wasn’t gone from the area. Mitch knew better than that. So where was he?
Not knowing put him in limbo, caught between two different worlds. Right there, within his grasp, was a new existence full of possibilities, morality and honor. But every shadow held the same old ugly past filled with emotional pain, impossible choices and the reminder that life in a cell was no life at all.
A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as he struggled with a heavy rack. It was hot as Hades inside the barn, but at least it had been freshly aired.
Working with Jack and Brodie, they’d not only put bushes around the offices, they’d also gotten the house painted, the machinery in working order, and... He had a life.
A substantial life.
A basis for building more.
Little by little, it got easier to let them pitch in, especially when they didn’t hesitate to ask for favors in return. While Jack and Brodie were both away, Ros asked him to pick up a stray cat to take to the shelter. During a storm that knocked out the power, Brodie asked him to check on his house.
Each day, one of them ensured that Charlotte wasn’t at the office alone.
They included him, helping him—and asking for help. It made him feel less like a project they worked on, and more like an equal partner.
Actually, it made him feel like...well, a brother.
He wouldn’t let Newman ruin things, but every heartbeat in his chest reminded him that he was out there, a ticking time bomb waiting for the right moment to do the most damage.
Disgusted, Mitch finished hammering the tool rack into the barn wall so he could properly arrange everything tomorrow. For once, he’d put in a full day alone while the brothers took care of their other jobs.
It felt like a reprieve, a chance to get his thoughts together without them wearing on him, making him think things he shouldn’t yet think—not with Newman on the loose.
The extra hands had been great, but Mitch didn’t shy away from hard work. He welcomed the stiffness in his shoulders now, and the sweat on his back.
Only downside? He missed Charlotte like crazy. She had a way of nudging him anytime his thoughts got too dark. Mitch wasn’t sure if she had crazy coincidental timing—or if she was just that tuned in to him.
Jack and Brodie would have to end the “hands off” stance soon, because he didn’t know how much longer he could resist.
Inside the barn, the shadows grew until he could no longer see well enough to keep working. He really needed electricity out here, but for now, the battery-operated lantern sitting on a post helped. He’d just about finished anyway.
Brute napped nearby, his head resting over a bag of grass seed that Mitch would use to fill the patchy spots in the yard.
In and around fixing up the place and trading favors, he and Brute had hung out with the family. Thinking it sent the corners of his mouth kicking up.
Before actually meeting them, family had been such an elusive idea. He’d had only a vague notion of what they’d look like and how they’d react. Making their acquaintances, he’d thought, would be enough—but of course, he’d hoped for more. Occasional visits. Some common ground.
Never, not once, had he imagined that they’d be so unbelievable. Surreal. Incredibly awesome.
Hell, with his background, he hadn’t trusted anything to be awesome. He’d expected to claw his way through every day.
Not anymore. Not since he’d discovered that his half brothers were two of the finest men he’d ever known. Big and solid, both in character and in build. Pushy, yes, but with good intentions. Sometimes funny, always sincere.
They were men he could proudly call family, and it stumped him that they wanted to do the same.
And Charlotte. Lord help him, but every time he saw her, his wants and needs doubled. He wanted family. He wanted that fanciful idea of home and hearth.
Now he wanted Charlotte too.
She never left his thoughts for long.
Craziest part? It wasn’t just physical with her, and that was a first for him with women.
Yes, Charlotte made him nuts with her approach, pushing where the others stepped back. Tweaking their curiosity whenever she sought to satisfy her own. Anytime he and one of the brothers came to an agreement, her sweet face showed innocent pleasure, the pure kind that was all about being happy for someone else.
Being happy for him.
He couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that before.
Absolutely, the physical attraction was stronger than anything he’d known. Hell, he wasn’t used to holding back. He saw something he wanted, he went after it.
It was the only way he’d ever gotten anything at all.
Now, because this was important, he had to follow someone else’s rules.
How much longer did they want him to wait? How much longer could he last?
Often when Charlotte came along, she brought lunch or dinner. The week had been filled with impromptu picnics, sometimes with him, Charlotte and one of the brothers. Other times both brothers made it, and occasionally Ros was there as well.
He now had a picnic table, thanks to Jack.
And a rocker for his porch, thanks to Ros.
They overwhelmed him—and Charlotte burned him up.
He’d like to think she’d wanted to come along each time, but he knew the guys refused to let her be alone.
They were no more convinced that Newman had left than Mitch was.
After storing all his tools, he started out of the barn, calling Brute to come along. With a grumble and long stretch, the dog tro
tted out and Mitch put the lock back on the barn doors.
In its last farewell for the day, the setting sun left a slender, hazy red line bleeding along the horizon. Evening brought cooler air, but not cool enough to be comfortable.
When his cell rang, Mitch automatically hoped it was Newman. Until the bastard made contact, he was an invisible threat left unresolved. Setting the lantern on the porch and opening the door for Brute to go into the screened-in room, Mitch dug his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
Jack, not Newman.
He wouldn’t be disappointed that his brother was calling him. Yes, he wanted it to be Newman, but he had brothers now, and he’d never take that for granted.
Dropping down to sit on the wooden step, already smiling, he hit a button. “What’s up, Jack?”
“How busy are you?”
Another favor? He’d never be too busy for his new family. “Just about to take a shower. Why?”
“Someone at the bar asked about you.”
That statement put the brakes on every thought except: Newman. “When?”
“Not more than ten minutes ago. You have time to take a shower if you want, then head that way. We’ll meet you there.”
Already on his feet and striding down the hall, Mitch said, “Fuck the shower—”
“You have time.”
That brought him up short. “How the hell do you know that?”
“There’s a new guy working at Freddie’s. Brodie and I paid him to let us know if anyone asks about you.”
Son of a... “Been nice if you’d told me.” Mitch grabbed a towel and stepped into the bathroom, opening his jeans one-handed. “How do you know he won’t take off?”
“Our guy told us he was busy chatting up a few women. Looked to be setting things up with a barmaid who’s still working, so he ordered food.”
Jesus. He wouldn’t wish Newman on any woman. If she knew him at all, she’d look for less lethal companionship. “I’ll head that way soon as I wash off the sweat. And Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
He showered in record time, gave a few swipes of the towel over his body, pulled boxers and a T-shirt onto his still damp skin, then rummaged through a drawer for clean jeans. By the time he was pulling on running shoes, barely ten minutes had passed.
Grabbing up his wallet, keys and cell phone, he started through the house—and found Brute sitting in the hallway, head cocked and eyes watchful.
“You can’t go this time, bud. Sorry.”
Flattening his ears, Brute whined.
“Ah, damn, don’t do that, okay?” Dropping to one knee, Mitch took a few minutes to cuddle him. “Every so often, I have to leave you behind, but it’s temporary, I swear.”
Those sincere brown eyes seemed to understand, making him feel a little less guilty.
“How about a treat?”
That got his ears back up.
“Yeah, you like that idea, don’t you? C’mon, boy.” Patting his thigh, Mitch went into the kitchen, forcing himself not to rush out. He found a big beef-flavored treat that usually took Brute a half hour or more to gnaw down. Hopefully by then he’d be ready for more lazing around. “Here ya go, bud.”
Sitting on his haunches, his tail brushing the floor in broad sweeps, Brute accepted the treat between sharp teeth.
“Good boy.”
Leaving Brute sprawled on the floor, the bone-shaped treat between his front paws while he worked it over, Mitch headed out, locking the door behind him.
Anxious to get hold of Newman before he could slither away again, he jogged to his car.
On the drive, he concentrated on clearing his head. Dealing with Newman required cold, emotionless concentration, not rage.
Unfortunately when he pulled up to park on a side street adjacent to the bar, he found Ros and Charlotte getting out of Charlotte’s car. Everything in him rebelled.
Where the hell was Jack?
“There you are,” Ros called. “We were waiting for you.”
Utterly flattened, his gaze shot back and forth from her smiling face to Charlotte’s gentle scrutiny. “Why are you here?”
Hooking her arm through his, Ros said, “For you, of course.”
She tried to go forward but Mitch planted his feet and refused to budge. Easy enough. Incredulity left him rigid enough that his joints stopped working. Guessing the instigator of this little surprise, he frowned at Charlotte. “You actually brought her here?”
Charlotte opened her mouth—but Ros cut her off.
“I would have driven myself if she hadn’t.”
So not Charlotte’s fault—but that still didn’t explain the outrageous irresponsibility of their presence. “Jack actually let you...”
“Ha!” Pulling away, Ros jammed her hands onto her rounded hips. “Get it through your head, Mitch, no one tells me what I can or can’t do, where I can or can’t go. Especially not my sons.”
He swallowed. Ros had a mean way of staring when irate, and clearly she was. He couldn’t recall his own mother ever using that particular tone with him.
Usually too lit to do more than sneer, she had rarely cared enough to put in the effort.
It was the first time Ros had been that cross with him—and some fickle part of him appreciated that she, at least, considered him worth it. “Rosalyn, listen—”
“No, you listen.” She hooked his arm again, tighter this time. “We’re here with you.”
She propelled him forward three steps before he dug in again. “Where the hell is Jack?”
“Here,” Jack said, coming up behind him. “And there’s Brodie.”
He looked up to see Brodie crossing the street toward them.
Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.
Disgusted, he asked, “And your wives?” That’s all he needed to round out this farce.
Aggrieved, Jack looked back to his yellow Mustang parked in the lot of the drugstore beneath security lights. “Ronnie’s there.” Pained, he added, “I convinced her we needed her to keep watch in case Newman tries to sneak out the back.”
“And if he does?” Brodie asked, amused.
“She promised to call me, so...here’s hoping she doesn’t lose her cool and do something crazy.”
That made Ros frown in worry; she hugged his arm even more.
“Mary agreed to stay home with Howler, Buster and Peanut.” Brodie popped his neck from one side to the other, then rolled his shoulders and muttered, “Only took me twenty minutes to convince her.”
“Well.” Charlotte laced her fingers together. “Maybe we should head in?”
“Yes,” Ros said. “Let’s do.” They started forward.
One happy little group—not that Mitch was happy. Why should Ros and Charlotte be there? Why had Brodie and Jack even told Charlotte about it? Except...they were close. Anyone could see that.
Did that mean sharing every damn thing? God, he hoped not.
They turned the corner, got halfway to the entrance and...
The door to Freddie’s opened. Music and conversation spilled out with muted golden light, until the tall silhouette of a broad-shouldered man shadowed it all. With his back to them, the guy looked down one side of the street. Letting the door close, he turned the other way—toward them—and the bottom fell out of Mitch’s stomach.
No. It couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.
But it was.
“You,” Ros whispered, the single word quiet with an outraged strain that grew and grew until it fairly crackled with heat—and she erupted. “Bastard.”
Finally, she released Mitch. Hell, she pushed away from him so hard and fast, she all but launched herself up the sidewalk like a missile with one target in mind.
Her ex-husband.
Brodie and Jack’s father. Mitch�
�s father too.
The one and only Elliott Crews.
* * *
STUNNED SURPRISE RENDERED Charlotte mute. The last thing they needed tonight was a visit from Elliott, yet here he was. Big, good-looking—and if she read Ros’s mood right, about to get his butt kicked.
Jack rushed forward with a muttered curse. Brodie heaved a sigh and followed.
Mitch wore an expression so enigmatic, Charlotte couldn’t guess at his thoughts. It was as if he’d gone perfectly still, every inch of his face carefully devoid of expression. No frown. No curiosity.
No welcome.
It had to be painful for him to see Elliott again, given their background and the way Elliott had walked away, leaving Mitch to an unthinkable fate.
Easing closer to him, wanting to offer comfort whether he wanted it or not, Charlotte nudged him and whispered, “Oops.”
He didn’t look down at her, but for the briefest second or two she detected a slight smile.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Brodie and Jack caught Ros in mid jump and managed to interrupt her attack on their dad. The fist that Ros swung—not an open palm, but an actual fist—missed Elliott by only a few inches.
“Rosalyn,” Elliott said in alarm, reaching out to her. “Honey, what is it?”
For a second, Ros struggled against her sons. Anger seemed to have stolen her voice, but her glare was enough to make Elliott take a quick step back.
Flat, irate, Jack asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m visiting.” But the way Elliott said it, everyone saw the lie, especially when his gaze skipped past them to Mitch. After a three-second stare and a slow blink, Elliott released a long breath. “Mitch. You’re all grown up.”
Charlotte felt compelled to scoot even closer to him, close enough that her hand brushed his.
Rather than take it, Mitch reached around and opened his hot palm to the small of her back, moving forward and taking her with him. “Elliott,” he said with the same enthusiasm he might use to order a coffee. It was respectful but nothing more.
