The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

Before he could comply, she whisked the paper out of his hands and read to him. “As of yet the police have no suspects, but Jack Whitehall chased a male, Caucasian, into his backyard before he disappeared into the woods behind the house. Although the police have yet to name a suspect, Jack Whitehall fingered Roman Chandler’s return as coinciding with the first theft one week ago. According to Mr. Whitehall, Roman Chandler was behind a childhood prank involving stolen underwear. No charges were filed in the incident, which took place over a decade ago, and the police believe the incidents to be unrelated.”

“Nice piece of reporting,” he muttered.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Mom, I was in high school.” What did she expect him to say?

But as for his brother, Roman was pissed. Even if the quote was attributed to Whitehall and denied by the cops, Roman couldn’t believe Chase would report such bullshit. “You’d think Chase would have more sense than to—”

“Chase reports the facts, young man. Don’t go blaming your brother for things coming back to haunt you.”

Roman hadn’t heard his mother take that no-nonsense tone with one of her sons in years. Given the soft-spoken voice she’d developed since her illness, her tone surprised him now. But she’d never put up with one brother being angry at another, and that wouldn’t change just because she wasn’t feeling well. She believed her boys should be a unit. Stick together no matter what.

Most times Roman agreed. Now wasn’t one of them. But he didn’t like her pacing or worrying because he was annoyed with Chase. “Sit down. Getting upset isn’t good for your heart.” He patted the bed.

She looked startled, then lowered herself slowly to the foot of the bed. “You’re right. I just thought you ought to be prepared. You’ve been fingered as a panty pirate.”

Roman could do nothing in return but scowl and fold his arms across his chest.

“The one thing I can’t figure is what the women’s reaction will be.”

He braced himself. “What do you mean?”

His mother shrugged. “I’m not sure if they’re going to throw themselves at you or run the other way. For your sake, you’d better hope it’s a turn-on. I hope it’s a turn-on, or those grandchildren I want are an even longer ways off.”

Roman muttered a curse. “How about you pick on Rick or Chase?”

Raina tapped her foot against the hardwood floor, narrowly missing the braided rug she’d bought him years ago. “Unfortunately, your brothers aren’t here right now.” She picked up the article and seemed to skim it once more. “You know, the more I think about it, the women in this town will probably steer clear until the charges are dropped. No one wants to be involved with a convicted felon. Even a potentially convicted felon isn’t someone a nice girl would bring home to Mom and Dad.”

“Jesus, Mom,” he said again.

“Didn’t I tell you these things come back to haunt you? It’s just like SAT scores or your grades in ninth grade. They affect the college you got into. But would you listen? No. You knew best.” Without warning, she whacked him on the shoulder with the paper, “Didn’t I tell you this would resurface one day?”

Sensing she was just getting started, Roman groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. He was too old to be living with his mother and too tired to deal with this now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The line started forming outside Charlotte’s Attic at nine forty-five A.M. Charlotte glanced at Beth, who wasn’t discussing anything with her except business. Apparently she was talked out from the night before and Charlotte respected her privacy—for now. She fully intended to corner her friend by the end of the day and find out exactly what was going on.

“Did you advertise a sale and forget to tell me?” Beth gestured to the throng of waiting women outside.

“I wish.” Charlotte knitted her brows in confusion.

She walked to the front and unlocked the door. The women poured in as if she were giving merchandise away, and surrounded her until Frieda Whitehall stepped forward, obviously the spokesperson. The older woman had graying hair, cut and set in the only style Lu Anne knew. Frieda typically dressed in polyester pants with matching, hand-washable silk blouses, and today was no different. But Charlotte knew Frieda wanted to put the sizzle back into her marriage, and so she had purchased Charlotte’s handmade bra and panty set.

“What can I do for you ladies?”

“We’re interested in the …” Frieda cleared her throat and blushed.

“The pilfered panties,” Marge Sinclair called out from the back of the crowd. “My Donna could use a pair too.”

“And I need to replace mine,” Frieda said. “I’d also like a pair for Terrie. Maybe they’ll loosen her up a bit.”