Roman.
S he picked up a photo of the four blond siblings with a fourth, dark haired boy all in orange cold weather gear on a background of snow. They were all a tad younger in this shot, the boys down on one knee with Dixie stretched out on her side on their upraised knees while behind them stood an older couple. Their parents, judging by the eye color the blonde siblings shared with the man and smile all five youths shared with the woman. And that smile wasn't just for the camera. Genuine happiness shown in their eyes, even those of the oldest looking boy with the dark hair and dark eyes.
Who were these people who appeared so open and guileless? Had Roman retained the honesty she saw in his younger self and of those he grew up with?
She needed to hash this all out with someone. If only Aunt Honey weren't incommunicado. She could talk to Kitt who lived across the street from The Castle, the young mother she'd hired to help her clean out The Castle and pick through Honey's cast offs. They'd formed a close bond over a like-minded work ethic, their individual man troubles, and a shared appreciation for her contractor's physique.
But she didn't want to impose her issues on Kitt whose priority challenged husband left her short on funds for bills most months. Besides, she knew what Aunt Honey would tell her. The Fire Chief had already found the contractor's equipment to be at fault for the fire. There'd be no reason for Roman to remove evidence now.
And hadn't he already accepted responsibility? Honesty personified. Add reliable, neat, clean, and physically fit. He was damned near a Boy Scout. She needn't be worrying about him and his access to The Castle. Her worries should be focused on how to get The Castle cleaned up, repaired, and sold before her balloon payment was due.
"I need coffee ." Tess charged the kitchen. A charred remnant of toast crunched under her foot, releasing new scorch fumes into the air and stopping her dead in her tracks.
Last evening, jogging the hilly neighborhood where The Castle held court, she'd smelled the smoke. Being an old neighborhood full of aged shade trees, she'd thought someone was burning pruned branches. Green wood burning would have explained the smoke plume spiraling into the sky.
But the childhood campfires and college bonfires of her youth had had a pleasant scent. This one did not.
The fire truck siren that had moments before turned the heads of the small town folk but not that of a city girl suddenly took on an importance to her. The hairs at the nape of her neck had stood on end and she'd picked up her pace when she should have been slowing--cooling down. Each stride brought her closer to the smoke and hammered foreboding up her spine. By the time she rounded the last corner before The Castle, her muscles were burning.
Just like her house. Her one hope to prove her father wrong--to prove she could succeed on her own without him or any man--going up in flames.
"Thank you, Roman St. John."
Tess frowned at the mess her burnt toast had made of Roman's floor. Would serve him right if she didn't clean up. After all, if not for his defective equipment, her house wouldn't have caught on fire. If not for the fire, she wouldn't have been forced to move into his house. And if Roman hadn't abandoned her--hadn't left her to make her own breakfast, there wouldn't be burnt toast on his kitchen floor right now. She'd even had to sacrifice her first cup of coffee putting out the flames.
In her rebellious pique, she opted for making herself a fresh pot of coffee first. While it brewed, she went around opening windows to air out the place. After all, she was the one who'd have to breathe the fumes all day if she didn't. To get to the window in Roman's bedroom she had to go around his bed--his massive four-poster that screamed 'marriage bed'.
She skirted the big bed, eyeing it as she headed for the door. There wasn't so much as a wrinkle in its cover. Tess snorted. She'd bet Roman even folded
S he picked up a photo of the four blond siblings with a fourth, dark haired boy all in orange cold weather gear on a background of snow. They were all a tad younger in this shot, the boys down on one knee with Dixie stretched out on her side on their upraised knees while behind them stood an older couple. Their parents, judging by the eye color the blonde siblings shared with the man and smile all five youths shared with the woman. And that smile wasn't just for the camera. Genuine happiness shown in their eyes, even those of the oldest looking boy with the dark hair and dark eyes.
Who were these people who appeared so open and guileless? Had Roman retained the honesty she saw in his younger self and of those he grew up with?
She needed to hash this all out with someone. If only Aunt Honey weren't incommunicado. She could talk to Kitt who lived across the street from The Castle, the young mother she'd hired to help her clean out The Castle and pick through Honey's cast offs. They'd formed a close bond over a like-minded work ethic, their individual man troubles, and a shared appreciation for her contractor's physique.
But she didn't want to impose her issues on Kitt whose priority challenged husband left her short on funds for bills most months. Besides, she knew what Aunt Honey would tell her. The Fire Chief had already found the contractor's equipment to be at fault for the fire. There'd be no reason for Roman to remove evidence now.
And hadn't he already accepted responsibility? Honesty personified. Add reliable, neat, clean, and physically fit. He was damned near a Boy Scout. She needn't be worrying about him and his access to The Castle. Her worries should be focused on how to get The Castle cleaned up, repaired, and sold before her balloon payment was due.
"I need coffee ." Tess charged the kitchen. A charred remnant of toast crunched under her foot, releasing new scorch fumes into the air and stopping her dead in her tracks.
Last evening, jogging the hilly neighborhood where The Castle held court, she'd smelled the smoke. Being an old neighborhood full of aged shade trees, she'd thought someone was burning pruned branches. Green wood burning would have explained the smoke plume spiraling into the sky.
But the childhood campfires and college bonfires of her youth had had a pleasant scent. This one did not.
The fire truck siren that had moments before turned the heads of the small town folk but not that of a city girl suddenly took on an importance to her. The hairs at the nape of her neck had stood on end and she'd picked up her pace when she should have been slowing--cooling down. Each stride brought her closer to the smoke and hammered foreboding up her spine. By the time she rounded the last corner before The Castle, her muscles were burning.
Just like her house. Her one hope to prove her father wrong--to prove she could succeed on her own without him or any man--going up in flames.
"Thank you, Roman St. John."
Tess frowned at the mess her burnt toast had made of Roman's floor. Would serve him right if she didn't clean up. After all, if not for his defective equipment, her house wouldn't have caught on fire. If not for the fire, she wouldn't have been forced to move into his house. And if Roman hadn't abandoned her--hadn't left her to make her own breakfast, there wouldn't be burnt toast on his kitchen floor right now. She'd even had to sacrifice her first cup of coffee putting out the flames.
In her rebellious pique, she opted for making herself a fresh pot of coffee first. While it brewed, she went around opening windows to air out the place. After all, she was the one who'd have to breathe the fumes all day if she didn't. To get to the window in Roman's bedroom she had to go around his bed--his massive four-poster that screamed 'marriage bed'.
She skirted the big bed, eyeing it as she headed for the door. There wasn't so much as a wrinkle in its cover. Tess snorted. She'd bet Roman even folded
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