She looked surprised at that. "I'm not tough. I'm sweet—everyone says so."
"Not in the kitchen, babe."
"What do you mean?"
"You're cutthroat. I was afraid for my life when I dusted the pans wrong."
"You were not," she said with a frown. "And I just wanted to get everything right."
"Which you did. Just saying you might come across to some people like a creampuff, but you've got a lot of steel in your backbone."
"I'm trying to find a way to take that as a compliment."
"It is a compliment. You run a tight ship in the kitchen, and you should. You have high standards, and I respect that." He pulled up in front of her bakery and shut off the engine. "Like you, I don't believe in doing anything halfway."
"That's true. If you're going to go for something, you have to go all in. That's what my dad always said."
"Smart man." As he looked at her, he knew he wanted to go all in—with her. But how could he? His future was uncertain. And he'd just said he didn't believe in doing anything halfway. Starting something with her that he might not be able to finish…it seemed risky and potentially painful—for both of them.
"You're staring, Roman," she said softly.
"I don't know what to do about you."
"Do you have to do something?"
"I don't want to give you the wrong idea, Juliette."
"Which would be what? That you like me a little?"
"I like you a lot, but you know I'm probably going to leave. If I pass my physical to get reinstated, I could be gone quickly."
"I know you have decisions to make and a career you love. Everything you said is true. I'm staying and you're probably leaving. I'm building a business that takes a lot of energy and the last thing I need is a complicated social life. But…I really want to kiss you right now and worry about tomorrow—tomorrow."
Her soft confession stole the breath from his chest. "Then kiss me."
She leaned forward and he met her halfway, their lips touching off an immediate wave of heat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made out in the cab of a truck—probably when he was a teenager, and he felt a little like a teenager now, driven by desire for a beautiful girl, who could easily upset all of his plans. But it was impossible to think with Juliette's sweet mouth under his.
They were good together. The chemistry was unmistakable, and he wanted to get her into bed. He wanted to take his time with her. No more hurried, rushed, good-night kisses. Just him and her, a soft mattress, a long night…
But there was always a morning. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Juliette.
And the last thing he wanted Juliette to do was to hurt him. They were treading into dangerous territory.
So he had to retreat.
He'd done it before in battle. If there was no immediate way to win, back up, fight again another day. That's what he'd do—in a minute…or two.
And then someone banged on the window.
They jolted apart.
He stared in disbelief at the woman knocking on Juliette's window. "You've got to be kidding me."
"It's Martha Grayson," Juliette muttered, as she opened the door. "Miss Grayson. Is something wrong?"
"I was just going to ask you that. He's not attacking you, is he?" Martha gave Roman a glaring look. "Are you all right?" she continued. "Should I call the police?"
"No, he's not attacking me. Everything is fine," Juliette said. "I don't know why you'd think it wasn't."
"It looked like you were struggling."
"I wasn't struggling," Juliette said. "I was kissing him."
"Well, that was a stupid idea. Are you getting out now? I just want to make sure you get safely inside."
Juliette flung him a questioning look. He shrugged. It was just as well they said good-night, and he doubted Martha was going to leave them alone together anyway. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for coming tonight."
"You're welcome. I had fun."
"So did I," he said, as they exchanged an intimate look.
Juliette got out of the truck and closed the door. He started the engine and drove down the street, thinking that Juliette wasn't going to get away from Martha as fast as he was.
Twelve
"You really should stay away from Roman Prescott," Martha told Juliette. "I know a young woman like yourself can get caught up in a man as handsome as that, but he's no good."
"Roman is a good person," Juliette defended. "You should get to know him. You should judge him by who he is today and not who he was as a teenager."
Martha looked taken aback by her remarks. "You weren't here when he was terrorizing the town and a leopard doesn't change his spots."
"But a man can grow up," she pointed out. "And if Roman had been guilty of anything, then it seems like he would have ended up in jail, which didn't happen."
"Just because he got away with something doesn't mean he's innocent. You know, his father was nothing like him. He was always at the top of his class. I don't know how he sired such a wild one."
"Roman's father was an A student?" That didn't sound like the guy who'd sold his belongings and dropped out of college.
"Oh, yes. Brett was smart and funny, too. Everyone liked him. He used to bag groceries at the market. He always helped me out to my car. I heard he left school and ran off to California. I guess once he got there, he forgot all about his good upbringing. It's a shame. I'm sure Vincent was disappointed. He always wanted a son to follow in his footsteps."
"Maybe Roman will do that," she suggested, knowing that was just wishful thinking on her part. Roman's heart was in the military. He wanted to go back, and she needed to remember that, not fantasize about him staying in Fairhope to build houses and be her boyfriend.
"I don't see that happening," Martha said. "Anyway, I should go home."
As Martha mentioned the word home, Juliette was reminded of her earlier research and her connection to the Graysons. "One second, I wanted to ask you something," she said. "I understand that you once lived in my old childhood home on Primrose Lane."
Martha's eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she slowly nodded. "That's right. I forgot you lived there as a child."
"Why did your family move out of the house?"
"My parents wanted to get a smaller place after Cecelia and I had left home, so they sold the house and moved into a condo. We did love growing up there, though."
"When you lived in the house, do you remember a secret hiding place under the floorboards in the downstairs bedroom closet?"
Martha's eyes widened. "What?"
"Roman found the secret hiding place during his demo work on the house and thought it was a little odd." She didn't want to mention the letters until she got a feel for what Martha knew.
"I never knew about any hiding place like that. My father used the room as a study, so I was rarely in there. Was there something hidden inside?"
"Roman said it was a box of letters," she said.
"Letters?" she said faintly. "From who?"
"There weren't any names mentioned."
"Oh, well, then it will be impossible to find the owner."
She was actually starting to think it might be very possible, and that she might be talking to the owner right now. Martha definitely knew more than she was saying.
"It would be a shame to just throw them away," she said.
"What else can you do?" Martha asked. "If the person who wrote the letters wanted to keep them, they wouldn't have left them behind."
"I suppose that's true."
"I have to go," Martha said abruptly.
"Of course. Good night."
As she watched Martha hurry down the street, she wondered about her odd response. Her attitude toward the letters had been off. Why? Were they hers?
Martha would be the last person she could imagine writing such beautiful, romantic love notes.
On the other hand, the woman had never married…
She pondered that thought as sh
e unlocked her door and walked up the stairs to her apartment.
If Martha were the owner of the letters, she'd made it clear that she didn't want them.
But if she wasn't the owner…
She sat down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes. There was another woman to consider in this scenario—Martha's sister, Cecelia, who definitely seemed more the type to write a love letter. Maybe she needed to talk to her. But she had a feeling it would be better to do that without Martha around.
She flopped back on her bed, suddenly exhausted, but as she stifled a yawn, her fingers touched her still tingling lips, and her thoughts fled back to Roman.
Things were getting hotter each time they were together.
But like Roman, she didn't know what to do about it. She just didn't want it to end…and she knew it had to.
She couldn't think about that now. But someday she was going to have to face reality, and she had a feeling it was going to hurt.
* * *
As Roman signed off on a delivery of sheetrock and wood Thursday afternoon, he felt a little overwhelmed by the enormous amount of work in front of him. Demo was one thing. Building was going to take more time, more skill, and more help.
His grandfather had come by earlier and told him he was looking into subcontractors for sheetrock, electrical, and plumbing and was just waiting for some people to get back to him. In the meantime, Roman should just keep doing what he was doing.
He was happy to keep working, but his physical was in three days. What if he was cleared to go back to duty? How was he going to let his grandfather handle all this on his own?
Even if Vincent could hire subs, they would bill at a higher rate than laborers, and the budget would go through the roof.
He was surprised that his grandfather didn't seem to understand that. He'd always been excellent at estimating time and materials, but everything about this project seemed different than the ones his grandfather used to run. Had he lost some of his mental sharpness? Or was he letting some sentiment about the house drive his decisions?
With a frown, he realized he was just wasting time wondering when he could give his grandfather practical help by just getting back to work.
He was about to do that when the doorbell rang. He strode down the hall and opened it, thinking—hoping—it might be Juliette.
It wasn't. It was Travis.
He wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baseball cap on his head. His beard was as ragged as it had been a few days ago, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Juliette was right; Travis still looked like hell.
"What are you doing here?" he asked shortly, not in the mood to deal with Travis.
"I was just down at the lumber yard. They said your grandfather is looking for laborers."
"Seriously, Travis?"
"I need the work," Travis said, a bitter edge to his voice.
"And you think you and I are going to work together?" He was stunned that Travis would show up and ask for a job after everything that had gone down between them.
"Look, we have a past, but that doesn't matter. I'm worried about the present. I lost my job. My mother is having health issues. My wife took off and has no interest in raising our kid. I have been all over this town looking for work. If you have work, I can do it. We don't have to talk. We don't have to be friends."
"Just like that, I'm supposed to forget you tried to send me to jail? You think my grandfather has forgotten that?"
"You did the same to me."
"No, I didn't."
"That's what Chief Winters said."
"I didn't talk to the police at all. I sat there in silence for hours. And then the chief came in and told me you and Doug gave me up."
"He said the opposite to me."
Travis's story matched the one Doug had told him. Had Chief Winters turned them against each other? He was still thinking about that when he saw a car pull up in front of the house and Doug Winters got out.
"What is going on?" he muttered.
Doug paused when he saw Travis on the porch, but then he squared his shoulders and came forward.
"Did I miss the reunion notice?" Doug asked.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"We need to talk about the fire." Doug shot Travis a look. "It's good you're here, too. Saved me a trip to try to find you."
"I don't want to talk about the fire. I'm looking for a job," Travis said. "I'm a grown man with a kid to feed. That old story isn't of interest to me."
"Well, it is to me," Doug said. "Let's go inside."
Without waiting for an invitation, Doug pushed past him and then Travis followed.
The three of them stood awkwardly in the empty living room.
"You got chairs anywhere?" Doug asked.
"I don't think you'll be staying long enough to sit," he said, folding his arms across his chest.
"I might be. I was talking to Juliette last night and she said if I really wanted to know the truth, I should look for it." Doug let out a breath. "So I went down to the police station today and I asked them for the case file regarding the fire. I read through each of our statements and the other interviews that were conducted. It seems that none of us actually accused the others of setting the fire."
"What?" Travis asked in surprise. "That can't be true."
"It is true. My father played us off against each other."
"Even you—the golden boy?" Roman asked.
"Even me," Doug replied, looking him straight in the eye. "I think he wanted to make sure I never talked to either one of you again. It worked."
He thought about that. It made sense. "All right," he said slowly. "So we weren't rats, but no one stepped up and confessed. Unless none of us were guilty. I know I didn't set the fire."
"Neither did I," Doug said.
"Or me," Travis put in. "I was the last one in the park, but I stopped smoking when you guys left. Kathy Marson snuck out to meet me. We made out for a while, and then she went home and so did I. Everything was fine."
"You never said you were with Kathy," Doug said with a frown. "I didn't see that in the file."
"I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to get her in trouble for sneaking out after curfew. And her house had just burned down. She was devastated. But she knew I didn't have anything to do with it."
Doug nodded. "I believe you, Travis, and I believe you, Roman, because it turned out there were two other suspicious house fires in the county that year. They weren't in Fairhope, but they weren't that far away. One of those houses was located next to a park as well. The other was near a school playground. No suspects were ever arrested."
He was surprised at that new piece of information. "I don't remember hearing about that."
"I don't, either," Travis said.
"It wasn't in the newspapers," Doug admitted. "The police report said the fire investigators couldn't find a definitive link. But I believe the real reason there was so little follow-up on this fire was because my father was protecting me. He probably wasn't a hundred percent sure I was innocent. I'd been disappointing him all year. And he hated you, Roman. He thought you led me down the wrong road."
"Only you were right there next to me, not behind me," he reminded Doug.
"I know." He handed Roman the file folder. "You can read through it. You'll see that I'm telling you the truth."
"So what do you want from me now?" he asked.
"I don't know. We were friends once. Maybe at the very least we could stop being enemies. This is a small town. If we're all here, we're going to run into each other."
"I'm not staying that long," he said. "And let's be honest—your real reason for trying to clean this up is so your run for mayor won't be tainted."
"That was a big part of my motivation," Doug admitted. "But it was also about finding out what my father did back then. I have big plans for my future, and I don't want any surprises."
He actually appreciated Doug's honesty about his ambition.
"What do you think, Travis?" Doug asked.
"I'm hoping that this new information means Roman might hire me." Travis's gaze swung to him. "Does what Doug found out change anything?"
He pondered that question. Was he really going to hang on to an old grudge that had obviously been based on misinformation? And wasn't he just as guilty for believing in their betrayal as they'd been for believing in his?
"Yes," he said, giving Travis a nod. "I'll hire you by the hour for the next three days. My grandfather will have to sign off on anything beyond that, but if you are an asset, I'll recommend that he do that. There's a lot of work, so if you're good, you'll probably stay busy."
"All I need is a chance," Travis said, relief in his eyes.
"You've got it." He looked at Doug. "I will not impede your efforts to be mayor."
"Thank you. In return, I'll make sure that Martha Grayson and some of the other town criers have the correct information regarding the fire," Doug said dryly.
"How do you think your father will respond to that?" he asked.
"He won't love it, but I'm happy that he didn't do anything illegal during his investigation. He just didn't work that hard to get to the real culprit. But even if he had, it's doubtful he would have found the arsonist. Neither of the other two fires has ever been solved." He paused. "If you want to stay here, Roman, you can start over with a clean slate."
"I'm not sure it will be that clean even if we wipe the fire offense away. I wasn't exactly a choir boy."
Doug smiled. "True. We did have some fun back then."
"Yeah, we did," he muttered.
"The best was putting that bulldog in the lake," Travis added, his expression much lighter now.
"I really thought he'd just jump off and swim back," he said. "I didn't think the entire fire department would come out to rescue him."
"I thought the best time was when you put crime scene tape around the principal's car, and spread ketchup on the ground," Doug said. "He had a day off but everyone thought he was dead for a while."
He groaned. "I don't think we need to rehash the old days."
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