The Bachelor

by Carly Phillips

  “Raina?”

  Samson nodded, looking at the pavement once more. “Pretty lady. Reminds me of someone I used to … never mind. But the two of you seem to care about Roman. What kind of name is that anyway?”

  “No more unusual than yours. Now stop stalling.”

  “Women are so damned impatient.” He sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? With Roman out of town, one more pair of panties gone would clear his name.”

  She blinked. “That’s very commendable of you. I think.” Charlotte didn’t know what to make of this tale. Though things made more sense now. She understood how the thief knew which houses to target—Samson did many of her mailings and hung around town, listening without being noticed. “Just tell me you’re through. No more stealing.”

  “’Course not. It’s getting too hard, with busybodies like you snooping around. Now, if you’re finished with the third degree, I have some business to take care of back home.”

  She didn’t question what. As he said, his life was none of her concern. “I’m finished. But I want you to know …” How did she thank a man for committing unwanted panty thefts on her behalf? “I appreciate the thought behind your acts.” She nodded. That sounded right.

  “Then you can do me a favor in return.”

  His words held echoes of Fred Aames. “I’m not making you your own pair of panties,” she said. She meant she wasn’t making him a pair for the girlfriend she doubted he had, but thought better of correcting herself.

  “’Course not. I ain’t no sissy. Besides, I got six other pairs I don’t know what to do with.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I suggest you burn them,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “There’s still that favor I want.”

  Was he moving on to extortion now? She figured he wanted her promise of silence about his escapade tonight and all the other nights he’d broken into homes to steal panties. “I won’t turn you in to the police,” she said, taking another stab at what was on his mind. Though she couldn’t leave Rick with an unsolved crime and hadn’t a clue what she was going to tell him.

  Samson waved his hand in the air as if he couldn’t care less. She knew better. “You realize people don’t pay much attention to me unless they’re running the other way or ignoring me. I can sit beside someone and hear all ’bout their sex life because they think I’m too dumb to know what they’re talking about.”

  She held out her hand, intending to offer comfort, but he scowled and she immediately pulled back.

  “But I hear other things too. And I heard your mother and father talking the other day. They’re hurting.”

  She stiffened her shoulders. “This time it’s none of your concern,” she said, turning his words back on him.

  “True enough. But seeing as how you always give an old man you barely know a break … I think you oughta do the same thing for your folks.” He started across the street, in the opposite direction of town, toward the ramshackle shack where he lived. Without warning, he pivoted back to her. “You know, some of us don’t have parents or kin.” He turned back and resumed his lonely walk home.

  “Sam?” Charlotte called after him.

  He didn’t turn around again.

  “You’ve got friends,” she said loudly.

  He continued his journey home and didn’t acknowledge her words, though she knew he’d heard them.

  He left her alone, touched as well as confused by his actions. She already knew she’d have to deal with Russell, as much as she didn’t look forward to that day. But right now it was Samson who concerned her. What in the world would she tell Rick?

  A laundry list of words collided in her brain: obstruction of justice and accessory to a crime being just some of them. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn Samson in. And her role as lookout tonight had nothing to do with it. His crimes were harmless, the thefts were over. She believed him when he said tonight was the end. She owed the police department some kind of explanation that would let them close the case, yet she needed to keep Samson safe.

  Charlotte bit down on her lower lip. The sun had set and night had fallen around her. The evening chilled her to the core and she started a brisk walk for home, all the while wondering what to do.

  She wished Roman were here to advise her. The thought rose unbidden, without warning. Roman, the journalist, the advocate for truth. Yet were he here, she’d trust him with her secret, knowing he wouldn’t let Samson get hurt either. Her heart began a rapid pounding in her chest.

  How could she trust him with such a huge secret and not believe the words he’d uttered? I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone else. I don’t want to lose you. And then there was the pained look in his eyes as he’d revealed the truth— at a time when he could have covered or lied in order to keep her in the dark. To ensure marriage and children and the family promise.

  He hadn’t lied. He’d revealed all about the coin toss. Yet he’d had to know he risked losing her in the process.

  What was she willing to risk in return?

  The morning sun shone in the storefront window as Charlotte ran through her to-do list. “So remember to put out a dish of these chocolate eggs next week,” she said to Beth, checking off item six on her list. “But keep them at the register. We don’t want chocolate ruining the merchandise.” She chewed on the cap of her pen. “What do you think of renting an Easter Bunny costume from the place over in Harrington for Easter week? Maybe we can get all the shop owners on First to split the cost?”

  Charlotte glanced at Beth, who stared at the storefront window, oblivious to everything, including Charlotte’s brilliant ideas. “I’ve got a better idea. We’ll undress you and send you naked down First with a sign on your back reading, COME SHOP AT CHARLOTTE’S. Sound good to you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Charlotte grinned and slammed her notebook down on the desk loudly enough to get a rise out of her friend. Beth jumped in her seat. “What was that for?”

  “No reason. By the way, you can start streaking down First around noon. That’s prime traffic time.”

  Beth turned a bright shade of red. “Guess I was distracted.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Guess so. Care to share why?”

  With a not-so-nonchalant gesture, Beth pointed to the window where an unfamiliar chestnut-haired man stood out front talking to Norman.

  “Who is he?”

  “A carpenter. Sort of a do-it-all kind of guy. He moved here from Albany. Joined the firemen too.” Beth sighed and absently lifted up a wrapped chocolate egg. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Beth asked.

  In Charlotte’s eyes he couldn’t compare to a certain dark-haired reporter, but for Beth, Charlotte saw potential. “He’s hot,” she agreed. However, Beth was coming off tremendous emotional pain. “But isn’t it too soon after … well, you know?”

  “I’m not rushing into anything, but I can look, can’t I?”

  Charlotte laughed. “You looking is a positive sign.”

  Her friend nodded. “Besides, anything I do or don’t do now is with eyes wide open.”

  Her eyes glittered in a way Charlotte hadn’t seen—ever. A lesson learned, she thought. A woman could, in fact, get over a man. Yet despite Beth’s ability to bounce back, Charlotte had her doubts it was as easy as Beth pretended. Still, she smiled, glad to hear her friend was thinking clearly, even as she was mooning over the hunk du jour. “Does he have a name?”

  “Thomas Scalia. Exotic-sounding, isn’t it?” As Beth spoke, the man in question turned and faced the window, seeming to meet her steady stare. “He came up to me after the last baseball game. After you ditched me and ran.”

  Charlotte didn’t reply to that dig. She’d already left a message on her mother’s answering machine that she wanted to meet with both her parents. Her insides had been churning nervously all day because they hadn’t called back and she was anxiously anticipating the moment.

  As surprising as it seemed, Samson’s words had had an effect on her. So did Roman’s
absence. She still wasn’t sure how to reconcile the coin toss with his real desires, but she knew in her heart she didn’t want them to be over.

  The time had come to deal with her parents and her past. Otherwise she had no future.

  “Oh, my God.” Beth’s squeal jarred Charlotte out of her self-absorbed thoughts, “He’s coming inside.”

  Sure enough, the door opened and Thomas Scalia strode inside. He had the cocky, confident swagger she associated with a male in charge and Charlotte crossed her fingers. She didn’t want Beth to fall into the same trap with another dominating man who wanted to take control and change the beautiful person she was inside and out.

  The bells above the door jingled behind him as he walked to the desk. “Afternoon, ladies.” He inclined his head in greeting. “Beth I already know.” He smiled, revealing dimples that had no effect on Charlotte, but obviously had Beth squirming in her seat. “But I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.” He glanced at Charlotte only briefly.

  “Charlotte Bronson,” she said, extending her hand.

  He shook it. “Thomas Scalia. But you can call me Tom.” He spoke to Charlotte, but his admiring gaze never left Beth’s flushed face.

  Charlotte watched their wordless exchange with a combination of amusement and longing for Roman. She missed him with a desperation she hadn’t known she could feel, making their last meeting and all the hurtful words that had passed between them seem trivial. But there was nothing trivial about the coin toss and his feelings regarding commitment. Once Charlotte made peace with her own ghosts, there was still no guarantee he’d want to settle down. Especially now that he’d gone back on the road.

  “So what can I get for you?” Beth’s voice resonated with a husky quality and brought Charlotte back to the present.

  “Now, that’s a loaded question.” Thomas leaned closer.

  Beth fingered the bowl of chocolates on the counter. Her hand shook as she lifted a wrapped chocolate egg in one hand. Charlotte watched in disbelief as Beth, the poised, accomplished flirt, popped a silver-wrapped chocolate Easter egg into her mouth with trembling hands.

  “I admire a woman who’ll eat anything without regard to calories or weight,” Thomas said with a grin.

  Beth spit the candy out and dropped her face into her palms.

  Charlotte swallowed a giggle. Apparently even the most accomplished seductress got nervous around the right man. “I’m mortified,” Beth wailed, her voice muffled through her closed hands.

  This time Charlotte did chuckle. Thomas whispered something low and obviously personal in Beth’s ear. As far as the two of them were concerned, no one else in the world existed. Time to make herself scarce, Charlotte thought.

  She glanced at her watch. Four-thirty P.M. “You know what? It’s quiet today. Why don’t we lock up and leave early?”

  “Perfect,” Thomas said to Beth. “I was hoping to entice you to join me for dinner. You’re more than welcome too, Charlotte,” he added politely, but she sensed the reluctance in his tone and grinned.

  Beth shot her a pleading glance. Oh, no. No way would Charlotte be the third wheel at the start of a new romance. She’d let these two muddle through the embarrassing beginning on their own. Charlotte touched Beth’s hand for encouragement. Beth could handle this dinner with ease. As long as she unwrapped the butter pats first.

  Charlotte forced a regretful shake of her head and began to gather her things. “Thanks anyway, but I have plans,” she lied. “But Beth is free. She told me as much this afternoon.” Charlotte felt Beth’s gaze shooting daggers at her, but she didn’t mind. Charlotte had more pressing problems. “I’ll lock up.”

  “I won’t hear of it. You go on upstairs,” Beth said. “I’ll lock up behind me.”

  Stalling. Charlotte recognized the tactic well. Beth obviously figured she and Romeo were safer in the shop than alone somewhere else. Little did Beth know all the erotic things that could happen in this shop. Charlotte and Roman did. Firsthand.

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat caused by the memory. “It was nice meeting you, Thomas.”

  “Same here.”

  Less than a minute later, Charlotte had departed and ran up the stairs to her apartment. The clatter of pans and sounds of chatter greeted her as she put the key in the lock and stepped inside. So did the delicious aroma of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, which brought back surprisingly good childhood memories.

  Her stomach grumbled, a combination of hunger and fear, because she had no doubt her parents awaited her.

  “Honey, she’s home.” Her mother’s next words proved Charlotte right.

  Inside her usually solitary apartment, Charlotte found her family and a table set for three, fresh flowers and a pitcher of iced tea in the center. Her parents met her in the small family room. Stilted hellos followed and Charlotte quickly excused herself to wash up, needing a splash of cold water on her face for bravery and fortitude.

  On the way to her room, she heard the whispering sounds of two people who knew each other well. A shiver passed through her. This wasn’t how she envisioned her family at all. Yet they’d gone to a lot of trouble for this meeting, obviously taking her phone call as an overture— which it was. Now she just had to find a way to make peace with her personal ghosts.

  Dinner was a silent affair. Not because Charlotte intended to treat her parents to an uncomfortable meal, but because she didn’t know what to say. It was years too late for anyone to ask how her father’s day at work had been, or how Charlotte had enjoyed her job. She wondered if it was too late for everything. If so, it was too late for her and Roman, a notion Charlotte refused to accept.

  With the main meal over, Charlotte stared into her coffee cup and twirled her spoon around and around, mustering her courage. “So.” She cleared her throat.

  “So.” Annie looked up at Charlotte, so much hope and expectation in her eyes, Charlotte thought she might choke on it.

  Her mother wanted a reconciliation of sorts and Charlotte could think of only one way. “Why haven’t you two gotten divorced?” she asked over her mother’s fresh-baked apple pie. Her parents’ forks clattered to the table in unison. But she wouldn’t apologize for asking what had been on her mind for years.

  She needed to understand how they’d gotten to this point. It was time.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Russell stared at his daughter, deliberately not looking at his wife. If he let Annie sway him, he’d continue to take the blame for their separations, but no more. And not just because he wanted a relationship with Charlotte, but because he had a hunch her future depended on his answers.

  His truthful answers. “Your mother and I never got divorced because we love each other.”

  Charlotte lowered her fork and tossed the napkin on the table. “Forgive me, but you have a funny way of showing it.”

  And that was the problem, Russell thought. “People have many ways of expressing their feelings. Sometimes they even hide things to protect the ones they love.”

  “Is that an excuse for being absent all these years?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this. I can’t.”

  She rose and Russell stood, grabbing her arm. “Yes, you can. That’s why you called me. If you want to yell, scream, throw a tantrum, go ahead. I’m sure I deserve it. But if you want to listen and then go on with your life, I think you’ll accomplish much more.”

  Silence followed and he let Charlotte take stock, decide where to go from here. It didn’t escape his notice that Annie had remained in her seat, quietly watching. Dr. Fallon had said any antidepressant medication took a while to work, so Russell didn’t expect miracles overnight. If she didn’t feel ready to take part in the conversation, at least she was here, and he knew what a huge step that was for her.

  Charlotte folded her arms across her chest and exhaled a sigh of acceptance. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Your mother always knew I wanted to act and I couldn’t make a living at it in Yorkshire
Falls.”

  Charlotte glanced at Annie for confirmation and she nodded.

  “To make things one hundred percent clear, we got married before she ever got pregnant with you, and we got married because we wanted to,” her father said.

  “Then why’d you …” Charlotte paused and swallowed hard.

  Watching his daughter’s pain, his heart nearly ripped in two, but there’d be no healing without tearing each other apart first. He knew that now. “Why’d I what?”

  “Leave?”

  He gestured to the couch in the other room and they settled into the flowered fabric. Annie followed and sat on the other side of their daughter. She grabbed Charlotte’s hand and held on tight.

  “Why’d you go to California without us?” Charlotte asked. “If you loved Mom as much as you say, why not stay here or take us with you? Would having a wife and a child have been such a huge burden? Would it have cramped your lifestyle?”

  “No,” he said, clearly upset she’d think such a thing. “Don’t ever believe that. I couldn’t stay because being an actor is who I am. I couldn’t sacrifice myself. Selfish, I suppose, but true. I needed to act and I needed to be in the best place to follow my dreams.”

  “And I always knew that.” Annie spoke for the first time, then brushed a tear off Charlotte’s cheek.

  Charlotte rose and walked to the window, grasping on to the windowsill as she looked out. “Did you know I used to dream you’d take us all to California with you? I kept a packed suitcase under my bed just in case. I don’t know how many years I held on to that fantasy. Eventually I realized that being an actor was more important to you than we were.” She shrugged. “I can’t say I ever accepted it, though.”

  “I’m glad. Maybe somewhere in here …” He pointed to his heart. “Maybe you realized it wasn’t true that I didn’t care more about my career than you.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me how things really were?”

  Russell wished the explanation were as concise and compact as she seemed to think it was. But emotions were involved. His, Annie’s … it wasn’t simple. All this time Russell had thought by nurturing Annie’s need for familiarity and a child’s need to be with her mother, he was helping them both. But as his daughter stared at him with huge, accusing eyes, he knew what a huge mistake he’d made.