Seated on the love seat in Stella’s coffee shop, Crystal snuggled into Jamie’s side as she watched the morning drizzle dampen the street outside. Thick clouds had moved in late last night, storming against the windows of Jamie’s loft, the rain impatient to let loose.

Jamie pressed a kiss to her temple before sipping his coffee. Just sitting here with him, enjoying the peace and quiet was bliss. She had no desire to venture out in that ice-cold rain and go to the airport.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Jamie asked, as if reading her mind.

“No. I have a car picking me up.” She always used a service going to and from the airport.

“If I drove you, that would be another hour plus that we’d get to spend together,” Jamie said.

Crystal turned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

He grinned. “Utterly.”

“Besides, you need a nap. We got up way too early.” They’d gone to the hospital around five when the birth of Bex and Hayden’s baby had been imminent. Summer Emily Archer had come into the world just after six. A crowd of Archers and Westcotts had filled the waiting area.

Jamie yawned in response. “Worth it though. Summer’s adorable.”

Crystal couldn’t help but agree—as were Summer’s parents. Bex and Hayden had been absolutely glowing despite their exhaustion.

Stella, the grandmotherly owner of the shop, came nearby, wiping the table next to them. When she finished, she moved closer, her gaze falling on Crystal. “You’re Alaina’s friend, aren’t you?”

Crystal straightened next to Jamie. “Yes. I think we’ve met but it’s been a while.” One of Stella’s employees had made their drinks earlier, but Crystal had come into the coffee shop before.

Stella smiled, and she pushed her glasses up her nose. “I think so too. It’s nice to see Jamie with someone.” She winked at Jamie. “Won’t your mother be happy to have all three of her boys married off?”

“Whoa there,” Jamie said, uncrossing his legs. “No one here is getting married.” He slid an amused glance at Crystal, who nodded in agreement.

Stella chuckled. “You won’t hear it from me.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “But you know how small towns talk—and if you’re going to canoodle on my love seat in front of the main window, you’re just inviting speculation.” She winked again, but Crystal didn’t find any of it amusing. She’d come from a small town that liked to talk, and she hated going back there. She suddenly wasn’t too upset about leaving today.

“Well, I appreciate you not feeding any rumors,” Jamie said wryly.

“Speaking of rumors,” Stella said, looking at Crystal again. “I heard you’re writing a screenplay about Ribbon Ridge and that the KKK is somehow involved.”

What the hell? Crystal’s insides churned as adrenaline dumped through her. She clasped her hands in her lap. “Where did you hear that?”

Stella shrugged. “A friend of mine. She said she heard you talking to Kelsey at the library.”

Great. Crystal hadn’t realized anyone had been within eavesdropping distance. Son of a bitch.

“So is it true?” Stella prompted.

Jamie put his hand over Crystal’s. “Crystal doesn’t discuss projects in development.”

“Sounds like she did at the library.” Stella fixed her with a pointed stare. “Well, if you are, I would hope you’re doing your due diligence. I can’t imagine the good people of Ribbon Ridge putting up with the KKK in our town.”

Crystal started to shake. “History is full of bad decisions.”

“I suppose that’s true. Still, to think that happened here…” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Even if it did, why not set your story someplace else? Make up a fictional town or something. Folks around here would appreciate that a lot more, and if you do have a future with the charming Mr. Westcott here, you’d be better off.” She cast a smile toward Jamie.

“I’m sure you’d want history to be told,” Jamie said with a chilly edge to his tone. “And showing that it happened here—which it did—proves that it can happen anywhere.”

“I don’t dispute that. But like I said, why not make up a fictional town—because it could happen anywhere.” She looked back toward Crystal. “I thought Hollywood liked drama based on true stories but not actually true stories.” She laughed as if that would take the sting from her practically threatening words.

Though it wasn’t time for her car to arrive at Jamie’s, Crystal wanted to leave. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.” She didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm out of her voice as she stood.

Jamie got up beside her and looked her way. “Ready?”

Crystal nodded and reached for her cup on the table next to the love seat.

“I can take that if you’re finished,” Stella offered with a smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you—just keeping things real. We like to do that here in Ribbon Ridge.”

“Actually, it sounds like you don’t,” Crystal practically snapped. She immediately regretted it. Piss off the wrong people, and they made your life hell.

Stella’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, we do protect our town—and our own. You’d know that if you were a Ribbon Ridger like this nice young man.” Stella picked up Crystal’s cup. “You’ve still got some coffee left.”

Crystal forced a brittle smile. “I think I’m done here. Thanks.” She turned and left without waiting for Jamie. But she didn’t have to. He was right behind her, his hand against the small of her back.

Once they were outside, she let out a series of swear words that would’ve made her mother plug her ears.

Jamie took her hand as she dug her hat from her purse and smashed it on her head. “I’m so sorry that happened,” he said.

“I can’t believe someone was eavesdropping on our conversation at the library. Actually, I can. I guess I'm just out of practice when it comes to small towns. I should’ve known better.” She looked both ways down the street and started across.

He kept up with her. “This isn’t your fault.”

She looked at him askance. “Isn’t it? I’m dredging up some pretty awful history that it seems most of the town—maybe all the town—isn’t aware of. It really seems as though they covered things up and did a great job of it.”

“It still isn’t your fault. It’s Redmond and Hoyt Stowe’s—my ancestors. I’m way more to blame than you.”

She stopped short on the sidewalk and stared at him. “That is the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

His mouth curved into a lopsided smile. “It’s only marginally worse than yours.”

Rolling her eyes, she started walking again. “Fine.”

“Look, Stella’s an old-timer. Her parents would’ve been around in the ’20s when the KKK was having a resurgence. Maybe it’s a sore point for her. No one wants to be associated with that,” he said. “Well, no one worth a shit anyway.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

He pulled on her hand and stopped walking. “Hold it right there. If you think it doesn’t drive me nuts that I apparently come from a line of KKK leaders, you’re kidding yourself. The fact that Turner Stowe seems to have been on the side of justice and morality keeps me from having a total identity crisis. You can think it’s weird, but I still feel some sort of guilt.”

She touched his face with her free hand. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t your fault.”

“I know that. Just as I know that your story is important and most of the town will support what you’re doing. Yes, there will be some outliers who are outraged that this dirty secret is being aired, but screw them.”

“I’m not sure I agree with your ratio of supporters versus those who are outraged, but your support is the only one that matters.” She kissed him softly, cupping the side of his neck with her hand. “Geez, you’re getting soaked out here.”

“Eh, it’s barely a drizzle. This isn’t rain—not in Oregon.”

She laughed. “I’m learning. Come on, my car will be here shortly.”

He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her against him as he backed under the awning of the shop they were in front of. “I’m going to miss you so much. You are coming back, right?”

“Of course. I have a story to tell and Ribbon Ridgers to alienate.”

He chuckled as he kissed her again. “I will be your champion.”

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Keep your sword sharpened—you may need it.”

---

Jamie parked his car in his parents’ driveway and grabbed the manila envelope from the passenger seat. He jumped out and strode to the door. Before he could knock, Dad opened it wide. “Hello, son! Good to see you. Been a while since you came for dinner.”

Because he’d buried himself in work the past two weeks. It was the only way he’d been able to endure Crystal’s absence. The nights and weekends had been long, his bed empty and cold. Damn, he had it bad.

“I made stew!” Mom called from the kitchen. “One of your favorites.”

No one made stew like his mother. Jamie walked inside toward the kitchen. “Please tell me you got some sourdough from Barley and Bran.”

Mom looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “I got you your own sourdough bowl, silly.”

Of course she had. She always took such good care of him and his brothers. “Fantastic.”

“You want a glass of wine?” Dad asked.

“Nah, I’m good.” He held up the envelope. “I brought the stuff my college friend found about the Stowes.”

“Can’t wait to see it,” Dad said.

Mom waved an oven mitt at him. “After dinner—which is ready. Can you please put the salad on the table?”

Mom turned toward the oven, and Jamie rushed to intercept her, dropping the envelope on the corner of the counter.

“Let me get that.” He took the mitts and put them on.

“Jamie, you can’t just leave important documents on the kitchen counter. They might get ruined.” She let out an exasperated breath as she picked up the envelope and moved it to the living room. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Jamie resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he bent to take the stew from the oven. “You’ve taught me plenty, Mom. Like how to keep my mouth shut.”

Dad chuckled. “He’s got you there, dear.”

Jamie’s back was to them, but he could practically feel the perturbed glare Mom sent him. He put the stew on the stovetop and turned off the oven. “I remembered to turn off the oven.” He took off the mitts and turned toward his folks.

Mom was smiling. “I’ll take what I can get.” She blew him a kiss, then picked up her soup ladle to dish up the stew. “Here, take these to the table, please,” she said to Jamie.

He helped deliver the stew, and they all sat down. Jamie asked how work was going for both of them. Dad said they had a troupe of Chinese dancers coming tomorrow, and Mom said she was inundated with students selling her Girl Scout cookies in the office.

“Luckily, we have a big freezer in the garage—I bought enough to last all year, I’m afraid.” She gave Dad an apologetic look, but he only smiled.

“Fine by me, so long as you got plenty of Thin Mints.”

Mom turned to Jamie. “I heard something a bit disturbing at Bunco last night. It’s about your friend Crystal.”

Jamie noted she referred to Crystal as his friend and not his girlfriend, which she wasn’t. Not technically, anyway. But usually that wouldn’t stop Mom from calling her that, especially since she knew they were spending time together. Which told him something was wrong.

He braced himself. “What’s that?”

“Apparently, she’s writing a screenplay about our family secrets.”

Tension sparked through his frame. “Are they secrets?”

Mom frowned at him. “Of course they are. Did you know about it before last month?”

Jamie gritted his teeth. “No, but that doesn’t mean they’re secrets.” Except it seemed the family had gone to great lengths to hide what had happened.

“I’m not sure I want our family history publicized like that. Can you imagine what people will think of us?”

“They won’t think anything. The movie isn’t about us.”

Mom’s hand paused in midair, a spoonful of stew halfway to her mouth, and her eyes widened. “Oh, so it’s already a movie?”

Jamie summoned all the patience he could. “No. It’s not.”

Visibly relaxing, Mom took the bite of stew and a moment later said, “Well, that’s a relief. I’d appreciate if you would talk to Crystal about this—tell her how much it would hurt our family.”

Jamie looked over at Dad, who was frowning into his stew. He turned his head back toward Mom. “I’m not going to do that. This is history, and we don’t own it.”

“You don’t care that everyone will know we’re descended from white supremacists?”

“Of course I care. But I can’t change that. We are descended from white supremacists. Just as we’re descended from a man who fought against them. What my friend learned—and what’s in that envelope I brought—is that Turner Stowe was a prominent attorney in San Francisco. He worked tirelessly to protect and advocate for the rights of women, children, and minorities. He did a lot to help the Chinese community there. What you’ll also find in that envelope is a photograph of Turner with his mulatto wife, Rose, and their three children. They are also our family, and I’m quite proud to call them that.”

Dad looked over at him with warmth and understanding. “He sounds like someone I’d want to call family too.”

“I agree, of course,” Mom said. “But it doesn’t negate the KKK side of the family.”

Jamie let out a breath and practically dropped his spoon. “It doesn’t need to be negated—it happened.”

Mom pursed her lips at him, her eyes agitated.

Dad gave her a sympathetic look. “Dear, you may have to accept that this is out of your control.”

“If Jamie won’t talk to her, I will,” Mom said. “Is she here in town now?”

Jamie was losing his appetite—good thing he was almost done anyway. “No, she’ll be back tomorrow for the opening of the exhibit.” Kelsey had planned a reception, and Crystal planned to arrive in time for that. Jamie had offered to pick her up at the airport, but she’d insisted on taking a car, citing horrid Friday rush-hour traffic. He hadn’t been able to argue with her on that point.

Mom smiled, looking quite pleased. “Excellent, I’ll talk to her then.”

Jamie could well imagine how that might go, and he wasn’t about to subject Crystal to that. “No. I’ll do it.”

Mom briefly narrowed her eyes at him before taking another bite of stew. “You said you wouldn’t.”

He didn’t bother masking his irritation. “I changed my mind.” He stood up with his plate and took it to the kitchen. Turning back to the table, he said, “I’ll talk to her, but I can’t promise anything. Like I said before, you don’t own this history.”

“I understand that.” Her response was tight and tense, and it didn’t sound very understanding.

Jamie was more than ready to go. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Do you want leftovers?” she asked as he walked out of the kitchen.

Did she not realize he was pissed? It didn’t matter; she’d offer him leftovers anyway. She was his mother, and as she always told him, she loved him regardless.

“No, thanks. But it was great—I really appreciated the bread bowl. Good night.” He grabbed his coat and headed outside.

Before he got to his car, he heard the door open and close. He turned his head to see Dad jogging toward him.

“Wait up, Jamie.”

Jamie turned outside the driver door. “I was nice.”

“Yes, you were, but then we raised you to be polite.” He frowned. “Your mom wasn’t mean either.”

“No, just unreasonable.”

“That’s not fair. She’s upset about all this and has a right to be. She just needs to work through it.”

“She’s had several weeks now.”

Dad nodded. “I know. Don’t be too hard on her. I’ll try talking to her again, okay? I understand your perspective, and I agree—this is history, and we don’t own it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate you saying that. And talking to her. Again.”

“Well, like you said with Crystal, I can’t make any promises.” His mouth quirked into a semi-smile. “But that’s women for you.”

Jamie snorted. “I guess. I just don’t want Mom to be rude to Crystal tomorrow night. She’s worked really hard on this story, and it means a lot to her.” She’d talked about her progress with him over the past couple of weeks—not necessarily specifics, but enough for him to hear her passion for the project. And to feel proud of and excited for her.

“Sounds like she means a lot to you.”

“Yeah, I guess she does.” He guessed? He was falling in love with her. And wasn’t that a shock as well as a potential pain in the ass. He had no idea what in the hell she’d say to that.

Dad gripped his bicep briefly. “We’ll get through this, son. And someday have a laugh.”

Jamie let out a semblance of a laugh and shook his head. “We’ll see.” He wrapped his Dad in a quick hug. “Thanks. Tell Mom I really loved the stew.”

“Will do.”

Jamie got in his car and waved at Dad, who watched him drive away.

What the hell was he going to say to Crystal? She knew how his mom felt about this. Just as he knew that Crystal was going to do whatever she wanted with the story—as was her right. Yeah, he’d talk to her, but only so he could tell his mother he’d tried. He had no expectations of changing the outcome that was already in motion. Nor did he want to.

Shoving the turmoil from his mind, he willed himself to think about Crystal. Soon he’d hold her in his arms, kiss her, tell her how much she meant to him.

Would he?

Anxiety curled in his gut. He’d done a good job of keeping women at bay and protecting himself from falling in love again. Crystal wasn’t Sadie, but there were issues to overcome.

And did she feel the same? He was almost afraid to find out.