Chase and Rick chuckled aloud, always enjoying a laugh at Roman’s expense. He didn’t answer, knew he didn’t need to. But despite the ribbing and laughter, Roman wasn’t fooled. Like him, neither of his brothers were thrilled to know they still had an unsolved crime spree in Yorkshire Falls.
* * *
Charlotte left the Gazette at a run, slowed when she got winded, and began a slow walk back to town. A twisting pain in her stomach made the pickup truck bumping down the road a welcome sight.
Charlotte stuck out her thumb and hitched her first ride ever. Fred Aames, the town’s only plumber, offered to drop her off at her doorstep. She was halfway back to her shop and away from Roman when she realized she hadn’t taken an ad in the paper. She’d just have to call Chase later. No way in hell was she going back to face the Chandler brothers and their stinking coin toss. She wondered if they were laughing about it, then shook her head.
Roman wouldn’t be laughing. He was out a candidate and would have to start over. Find another woman he could screw and leave behind, pregnant.
Her stomach churned and it took all her willpower not to ask Fred to pull over so she could puke in someone’s rhododendrons.
“So did you hear?” Fred asked. Before she could respond, he continued, obviously used to talking from beneath cabinets as he worked on plumbing, oblivious to the outside world. “Marge Sinclair had her panties stolen.”
Not again. She began a steady massage of her temples. “Marge? I just delivered those myself yesterday.”
He shrugged. “You know what they say. Here today, gone tomorrow.” He let out a laugh that was interrupted by his old pickup truck hitting a pothole and jarring her shoulder into the door. “I don’t put any stock in old man Whitehall’s comments about Roman Chandler, though.”
At the mention of Roman’s name, Charlotte’s stomach twisted in pain. Small-town life, she thought. She loved it, but sometimes it meant she couldn’t escape no matter how badly she wanted to. “No, I don’t suppose Roman Chandler would steal panties,” she said, holding up her end of conversation.
“Or, he’d steal panties if it were a prank, but he wouldn’t pilfer ’em the way the papers are saying.”
“Mmm.” Maybe, if she didn’t outright respond, Fred would catch on and change the subject.
“He’s got too much character.”
“He’s got character, all right,” she muttered. She’d rather not get into Roman’s character right now or she’d give Fred an earful that would quickly travel through the town’s grapevine. She didn’t want that any more than Roman would.
“He stood up for me back in high school. I’ll never forget it and I won’t let anyone ’round here either. You can bet I’m telling everyone I meet Roman Chandler’s no thief.” He slammed on the brakes in front of her shop.
She rubbed the bruised skin on her shoulder and gathered her bag. Who could be stealing the underwear? She mentally ticked off the victims so far. Whitehall, Sinclair … all over fifty, she realized and wondered if Rick or anyone else on Yorkshire Falls’ police force had come to that same conclusion and whether it meant anything at all. Odd, Charlotte thought. To say the least.
“Did you say something?” he asked, rising in his seat.
“I said I wonder if you realize that you’re a life saver. Thank you for driving me back here.”
“My pleasure.” He leaned over and placed a hand behind her seat. “There is a way you can repay me, though.”
“What would that be?” she asked warily.
“Move my Marianne up on your panty list.” His full cheeks colored a furious shade of red. “At least in time for our wedding night.”
She grinned and nodded her head. “I think that could be arranged.” Charlotte hopped out of the pickup before she could laugh out loud and embarrass the man further. “Thanks again, Fred.”
“You’re welcome. And when your customers come in discussing these thefts, remember to tell ’em Roman Chandler wouldn’t steal anything.”
Except her heart, she thought, sadly.
Fred drove off, leaving her standing on the sidewalk. She stared first at her business, then at the upstairs window leading to her apartment. Neither place beckoned to her right now. Since Roman had spent the night, her small apartment was no longer a safe haven to which she could escape. Her office smelled too vile for words, and in her shop, Beth’s chatty presence would have Charlotte revealing painful secrets in no time. And her mother’s house was off limits because Russell was home.
She felt like a displaced person with nowhere to go—until she realized there was one place she could curl up and be alone in peace. She stopped by the shop only long enough to tell Beth she was taking the day off, detoured into Norman’s for a sandwich and soda to go, before going up to her apartment, changing her clothes, and ducking out onto the fire-escape-like-terrace, her treasured book, Glamorous Getaways, in hand.
Some people chose comfort food. Charlotte chose comfort books. One in particular. A breeze fluttered the pages and she turned to the one she studied most, the famous HOLLYWOOD sign. She sat back against the wall, legs out in front of her, book resting on her knees. She sighed and traced the letters she knew by heart, then propped her chin in her hands and stared at the glossy pages.
Ironic, that this same book that gave her peace also represented her greatest pain. Charlotte understood why. Glamorous Getaways brought her back to a simpler time. A time when she still believed in Prince Charmings and happily ever afters. A time when she thought her father would come home and sweep Charlotte and her mother off their feet and onto an airplane to Los Angeles. To join him and give her back the security she’d lost. He never had.
So this book should be unsettling, yet it soothed her in a way only innocent childhood beliefs could. Charlotte didn’t delve deeper. Life was complicated enough. And the Chandler brothers’ coin toss had certainly mixed up her life and emotions in a way she’d never imagined possible.
Charlotte wasn’t into pity, nor did she believe she’d done anything to deserve this twist of fate. But, all things considered, she couldn’t say she was surprised. Psychiatrists had a field day with the notion that girls fell in love with men who reminded them of their fathers. A statement she’d once have disputed with a vengeance, but of which now she was living proof.
The Chandler brothers were many things: dedicated bachelors, devoted sons, and intensely loyal men. She knew Roman had never set out to hurt her. She believed he’d discounted her from his list of available women because of her family history. But she’d certainly simplified his life by falling into his baby-needing arms.
* * *
After finishing with his brothers, Roman locked himself in Chase’s office and got lost in what he did best. Writing. He tuned out everything and everyone else and spent the late morning and better part of the afternoon typing up an article on small-town life. Slice-of-life articles weren’t his thing, but somehow, this time the words poured from his gut.
Big cities, bigger stories. Large continents, even larger human interest stories. But at the heart of each of those broader pieces, Roman realized he could find the essence of people—their ties to each other, their community, their land. Just like the people of Yorkshire Falls.