Roman should want to get the hell out of this town and away from the pain and aggravation. From his mother’s heart condition to Charlotte’s broken heart. Unfortunately there was nowhere left to run. The emotions dredged up would follow him wherever he went. This trip back had taught him Yorkshire Falls wasn’t just a place to visit, it was home, with all the baggage that word entailed. All the baggage he’d been running from his entire life.
“You’re damn right it’s what I want. She’s what I want.” Yet after avoiding burden and responsibility for years, now that he was ready to shoulder all the ups and downs of a committed relationship, the woman he desired wanted nothing more to do with him.
“So what do you plan to do about it?”
He had no idea. “I do need to look into D.C.,” Roman told Chase, at the exact moment Rick let himself into the front office, keys dangling from his hand.
“What about D.C.?” Rick asked.
“Roman’s going to look into a desk job.” Chase’s tone held surprise and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he obviously digested the information.
“Don’t get carried away,” Roman muttered. “I’ve been offered a senior editor position at the Post.”
“You’re leaving town?” Rick shoved his hands into his front pockets.
“He might as well. No one here’s going to miss him,” Chase said with a grin. He slapped Roman on the back.
“Shut the hell up.”
Rick laughed. “Charlotte problems? Then I guess she can’t vouch for your whereabouts last night?”
Roman’s head began a steady, dull throb. “Don’t tell me.”
His middle brother nodded. “Panty theft number six. So once again, I have to ask. Just where were you last night?”
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.