“If you try to reconcile with Trixie, what is it that you hope to accomplish?” Rory asked.
“I want her,” Mitch replied frankly. “I love her and it’s time she heard the truth.”
“And what about us?” Rory asked. “What about the men who’ve been beside her, the men who’ve given her two children? Mitch, man, you’re looking at the two guys who’ve been there.
“We were there to comfort her when you weren’t around, when you were behind bars dodging our phone calls, returning all letters marked ‘return to sender,’ and trying to be an absentee husband to that lunatic you called a wife. Where were you for Trixie then?”
A beat later, Rory added, “I know where you were physically, but I swear I don’t know where your mind was. You didn’t even attempt to keep in touch with us and we were your best friends. We’ve known you for twenty-six years, Mitch.”
“I never said I haven’t made mistakes,” Mitch said. “And I understand the two of you have been there for Trixie.”
“We have indeed—without conditions and without regrets, we’ve been beside her. We’ve watched her grow into this remarkable young woman, the mother of our children, the woman who has matured and thrived. Now here you are, telling us you want us to step aside and see if she still has feelings for you?”
“She does. Ask her.” Mitch looked damn confident.
Brock stood. “You can’t see her. Not right now. She’s too vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable?” Mitch copped a smile. “Come on now, Brock. Are we talking about the same woman here? Trixie, vulnerable?”
“I said you can’t see her,” Brock deadpanned. “Let’s go, Rory. We’re done here.”
Rory hesitated before meeting Brock at the door. Before they left the room, Mitch said, “You know, Rory, there’s something you should remember. The sentence I served was the punishment you would’ve received if I hadn’t taken the stand in your defense.”
“What’s your point?” Brock asked, stepping in before Mitch barricaded Rory in a corner and he came out fighting.
“No point, just stating a fact. Rory would’ve gone to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I didn’t have to come forward. If you remember, he was willing to take the fall. Why, I’m not sure, but he was ready to do it. And if I hadn’t stepped up to the plate, he would’ve been the one locked up. Who knows, maybe Jordie Anne would be alive today and—”
“Don’t you fucking put that on me!” Rory grabbed Mitch by the collar. “You don’t get to lay your guilt down at my feet and expect me to step over it every day of my existence.
“You made the decision to end Stephen Pratchert’s life. You could’ve let the cops handle him but no, you refused to trust the legal system. You’re Mitch Colony. You’ve always gotten away with whatever you wanted to do. You’ve ignored laws and operated right below the radar. And now you want someone to blame because Daddy and Momma aren’t around to save you.”
“Bastard,” Mitch grated out, shaking free of Rory’s grip. “I don’t want you to carry guilt.” He set his jaw. “Damn it, boys. I love her. I can’t get her out of my head.”
“Well you should’ve thought of that before you chose Jordie Anne,” Brock pointed out. “Trixie is our wife, Mitch. If you think Rory and I won’t protect our home and our woman, you’re wrong.”
“And if you believe I won’t find a way to see her, you’re sorely mistaken as well.”
Brock sneered. “You’ll play hell getting to her.”
Chapter Three
Brock came to a screeching halt in front of the house. They’d called Trixie when they’d reentered the vehicle and deliberately kept her on the phone until they arrived back at their farm.
Rory hopped out of the truck with his phone still pinned to his ear. He nodded at Brock, who immediately took off again, heading for the Cartwells’ house.
It was up to Rory to keep Trixie preoccupied until he returned. He didn’t need to guess how he’d manage to keep their sexy vixen busy.
A few minutes later, Brock arrived at his destination. He barreled out of the vehicle and pounced up the front steps. Kane and Braden met him on the porch before he knocked.
“What the hell’s wrong?” Kane asked, affixing his belt.
“I need to talk to you,” Brock replied. “It’s important. Where’s Peyton?”
“She’s in bed. Normal folks—at least those without a full nest—go to bed before ten so they can have a good time before they drift off to sleep.”