The Bachelor (30 page)

“Samson?” Her surprise turned to complete shock. She ran up the bluestone walk. “Get out of the bushes now.” She pulled on
the green shirt that blended with the foliage. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He rose to his full height. “You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you. What’s going on?” Her gaze dropped to his gloved right hand, full with what looked like her panties in his
fist. The crocheted panties she sold, Charlotte mentally amended. Of all the bizarre things … “Hand them over.” She extended
her hand.

He muttered a growl. “None of your concern.”

“If you were just cross-dressing and not theft, it wouldn’t be my concern. But since you’re stealing, I’m making it my business.
And I intend to find out why. But first, you get inside and put those panties back.”

“No.” He folded his arms like a sulking child.

“The Carltons will be back from the game any minute, so you’re going to return those and then we’re going to talk.” She glanced
toward the front door, which she assumed had been left unlocked.

This darn town was still living in an age when everyone trusted everyone else. Even with this panty thief business, no one
took the threat seriously enough to lock their doors. In George and Rose’s case, they probably figured they had Mick as lookout,
though what the aging, slightly arthritic beagle could do to an intruder was beyond her.

Speaking of the dog … “Where’s Mick?” she asked warily.

“Eatin’ steak.”

She let out a sharp exhale.

Samson’s dark eyes clouded. “What was that for? You don’t think I’d hurt him, do you?”

Charlotte shook her head. No, she didn’t, and not just because no one had been harmed during the course of the other robberies.
In her heart, she trusted the gruff older man and thought even this strange turn of events would have some kind of explanation
she could understand. She hoped.

Before she could ponder what his motives were, the beagle in question came barging out of his new doggie door, baying and
circling around Sam. Charlotte sighed. “You don’t have any more steak in your pockets, do you?”

He shook his head, “Wasn’t supposed to need any. If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d be long gone by now.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned down, hefting the heavy dog into her arms. She didn’t want him to decide to attack if he caught
Samson inside, not that Mick had a surly reputation. That distinction belonged to Samson.

Mick wasn’t only heavy, he was wet as he slobbered and drooled on her arm. “I’ve got him, now get inside and put those panties
back before I get a hernia,” she hissed. “I’ll stand guard.”

Samson glared at her, but thankfully he turned, stomped up the steps, and let himself back into the house. Gloved hands, no
fingerprints, she realized now, and shook her head. She grunted and shifted position. Mick’s front paws touched her shoulder,
his warm, chubby body aligned against her. “Care to dance?” she asked him.

He licked her cheek in response.

“Oh, brother. Well, at least you know how to kiss up to a lady.” She twirled around the front hedges until she realized exactly
how mentally disturbed she looked, then ducked behind a tree. If she was ever asked about this, she’d have to cop to a sudden
love for dogs and buy herself a pet. All in the name of cover-up.

Thankfully Samson returned before the Carltons got home and she had to explain why she was holding their two-ton dog in her
arms. She let Mick down and he bounded back inside. She was quickly forgotten. “Typical male,” she muttered.

Without another word, she grabbed Samson’s arm and dragged him with her across the rest of the yard and down the street, waiting
until they were out of the subdivision before starting in on him. “Talk to me, and don’t give me any of that
it’s none of your business
crap. Why are you stealing women’s panties? Panties I made?” she asked him.

“Can’t a man have privacy?”

“Unless you want me to head straight on over to Rick Chandler, you’d better start explaining.” They continued their walk to
town, but he remained stubbornly silent. Frustrated, Charlotte stopped in her tracks and yanked on his sleeve. “Samson, there’s
nothing good that’s going to come of this if you force my hand. Rick will have to prosecute and they’ll probably throw you
in jail for a little while, or have you tested by a psychiatrist, and then—”

“I did it for you.”

That was the last answer she’d been expecting. “I don’t understand.”

“I always liked you.” He looked down and kicked at the ground with his worn sneaker. “You were such a friendly kid. All the
others ran from me, but you always waved hello. Just like your mother. Then when you moved back after your time away, you
didn’t change none. You still made time for a strange man.”

“So you stole the panties because … ?”

“I wanted your business to work so’s you’d stay in town.”

Charlotte was oddly touched by his words. He cared, even if he had a strange way of showing it. “What made you think panty
raids would help my business?”

“At first I thought it’d just give you some attention.”

“I think my advertising has done the same thing.”

“Not on as grand a scale. And I only planned one theft. The next morning I found out that the youngest Chandler boy came home
the same night. I remembered his panty raid.” Samson tapped his head. “Picture-perfect memory.”

“You mean photographic memory?” Charlotte asked.

“I mean I don’t forget a thing. And when I realized everyone else remembered it too and I saw the lines outside your shop,
I knew I’d done good. Plus, with the Chandler boy in town, I knew I had a good cover going.”

Her mind boggled at the way the older man’s brain worked. “Weren’t you worried about Roman getting blamed for your … uh, crime?”

He waved away her concerns. “Couldn’t see Officer Rick arresting his own brother without evidence, and since Roman wasn’t
guilty, there weren’t evidence to find.” He waved his gloved hands in the air and grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

She wasn’t. “Shame on you for setting yourself up like that! I don’t care how harmless the theft or how good your motives,
you shouldn’t have done something illegal at all. Especially not for me.”

“That’s gratitude for you,” he muttered, back to his moody self.

She eyed him carefully. “Roman’s been gone a week. Care to tell me what tonight’s theft was about?”

He shook his head from side to side and exhaled an exaggerated sigh, as if to say she was dense and he knew it. “I got the
boy into trouble. Had to get him out, didn’t I?”

“You took this last risk for Roman?” Was there no end to the surprises Samson had inside him?

“Haven’t you been listening?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “I did this for
you.
Because you smile at me when no one else does, except your mother the few times she comes to town. And because you give me
errands for money, instead of charity. How else do you think I knew who bought the darn panties? I mailed ’em for you, didn’t
I? Besides, Ms. Chandler’s good to me, too.”

“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, C
OME SHOP AT
C
HARLOTTE’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.”