Damn, damn, damn.

Crystal gripped the steering wheel as she turned out of the Westcotts’ subdivision toward Ribbon Ridge. Alaina’s house—and Crystal’s home away from home—was south of town, and she’d need to drive through to get there.

Agitation ate at her, and she pulled over near The Arch and Vine. Maybe a beer would help soothe her. She reached for her purse on the passenger seat, and her gaze landed on the bag she’d stashed on the floor. It was for Jamie. She’d planned to give it to him after dinner at his loft.

Yep, she’d planned on going there. For a casual, no-strings thing, she’d certainly become addicted.

Was that a bad thing? It was still casual. And there were no strings. Then why did she feel bad? Because going to his parents’ house without telling them about the KKK connection had been a dick move.

Ugh.

She pulled her purse into her lap and rested her head on the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, but looked up when she began to get cold. That was when she saw Jamie’s car down the block turning onto his street.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the bag and stepped out of the car. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she pressed the lock on the fob and scouted the street before hurrying across.

A couple of minutes later, she stood outside his building and pressed the call button for his loft. But there was no answer. Maybe he wasn’t up there yet.

She drew her phone from her purse and used her teeth to pull off her glove. She texted him, her fingers growing instantly cold.

Can I come up?

It took a minute for his response: Sure, I just got here.

The buzzer sounded, and she went inside to the elevator. A few minutes later, she walked down the corridor to his loft. The door was ajar, something he’d done the past two nights she’d come over after he’d buzzed her up.

Gingerly, she pushed the door wider and stepped inside. He wasn’t in the entry, so she closed the door and made her way into the kitchen. He stood at the counter, popping open a beer.

“Hey.” She stepped to the island and set the bag on the granite, then deposited her purse next to it. “I brought you something.” She pulled the item from the bag and held it out. “It’s an organizer. I thought you could put it in the corner of the counter over there and use it to collect your papers and mail and whatnot.”

He took it from her and studied it. “That’s cool.”

“If you don’t like it, let me know. I got it on Amazon—I have two.”

His gaze found hers and was surprisingly warm. “Thank you. That was really thoughtful.”

She didn’t realize how tense she’d been until this moment because her insides relaxed. She felt for a second that she might sag onto the floor. But no, there was still a little bit of anxiety left over. “I am usually thoughtful—just ask Alaina. I blew it with you and your folks, though. I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

He put the organizer in the corner and immediately shoved some papers into the bottom rack. He turned back toward her. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

He pulled one from the fridge and popped the cap off before handing it to her. “I appreciate you apologizing. I explained to my parents that you felt bad about surprising them like that.”

She sipped her beer, swallowing quickly to say, “And I totally do. I should’ve told you. Can I blame all the incredible sex we’re having? It’s super distracting.”

He laughed loudly, his eyes glowing with humor. “Um, yeah. I think you can blame that. Tonight, I couldn’t wait to get you back here, and then you brought up the KKK.” He sobered, his lips drawing into a tight grimace.

She set her beer down and took his hand in hers. “Hopefully, you can see that I didn’t really want to bring it up. In fact, I was incredibly nervous even mentioning it to your mom. That has to be so awful to hear.”

“You aren’t kidding. So basically my great-great-great-grandfather—or whatever—was a KKK leader? That’s disgusting. That’s beyond disgusting. It’s horrifying.” He shuddered.

Her shoulders twitched in sympathy. “Hey, one of my ancestors actually owned slaves.”

“Wow, that’s also horrifying.” He picked up his beer bottle and clacked it against hers. “Here’s to the current generation not being assholes.” He took a drink. “Ugh, assholes doesn’t even cut it. Did they—my family—have something to do with what you’ve been researching?”

She hesitated, but not because she didn’t want to tell him—it was his family, and he deserved to know. Still, it wasn’t something he’d enjoy hearing. “The letter that Darryl—he’s the guy at the historical society who’s been leading a lot of the research—found is from a guy in Lane County. Some jerk named Dell Beatty wrote to your ancestor, Redmond Stowe, to confirm that they would set the brothel on fire on July 28, 1902. He mentioned torches and the ‘whorehouse’ going up like a tinderbox.”

“Jesus,” Jamie breathed. “And it burned down.”

She nodded. “What we don’t know is why the KKK would target a brothel. Maybe just because it was unseemly? We don’t have any other reason for it.”

“Which is why you’re looking for more information. Makes sense. I’d like to know why too. I mean, a brothel in Ribbon Ridge is shocking enough, but it being burned down by the KKK is something you’d see in a movie or an HBO series.”

“Right?” That was exactly what she’d started thinking. The more she learned, the more the story took shape in her mind. A movie or a limited series with Dorinda at the center. But the why was a crucial piece.

“I’ll talk to my mom and see if we can find that other box. I think she’s keen to prove that nobody was in the KKK.”

“Hey, that would be great.” She took her beer and walked into the living room, glad he wasn’t still mad at her. “Your Christmas tree is still up?”

He followed her to where she stared at the tree in the corner. “Yeah. It’s on my list.”

She turned to him. “Do you even have a list?”

He winced. “Uh, no.”

“Next time, I’ll bring you a whiteboard for your fridge—to make lists. I promise there’s nothing more satisfying than crossing things off a list.”

He set his beer down on an end table and slipped his arms around her waist. “Nothing?” He leaned forward and tucked his face against her neck. “I beg to differ.” His lips traced along her flesh, sending delicious shivers down her nape and spine.

She put her bottle down next to his and shrugged out of her coat. “I guess I’m staying?”

He helped her strip the garment away before cupping her face and kissing her. “I certainly hope so.” After a hot and heavy few minutes, he pulled back. “I can think of a list I should make, but I’ll keep it in the bedroom.”

She chuckled. “I think you can probably cross a lot of things off it—if you’re thinking of what I think you’re thinking of.”

“If you’re thinking of all the things I want to do to and with you, then yep. And you’d be surprised how many things I haven’t crossed off.” He arched that sexy brow of his and pulled her infinity scarf over her head. He turned it over in his hand. “This could be useful. But it doesn’t have ends, which makes it harder to tie.” He tossed it aside. “Bummer.”

Thoughts of him tying her up sent heat rushing to her core. “I have regular scarves.”

“Sweet. Wear one next time.” He pushed her cardigan off her shoulders and pulled the hem of her shirt from the front of her skinny pants. “You did say there’d be a next time—you owe me a whiteboard for lists.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “Two, apparently.”

“God, you’re awesome.” He whisked the shirt over her head and claimed her mouth with his. He demanded her complete response, and she willingly gave it until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.

Their kisses turned hotter, their hands more frenzied as they stripped each other until they were naked. He dashed into the bedroom for a condom and, when he returned, steered her toward the couch. While he was gone, she’d come up with her own plan. Turning him, she pushed him down to sit.

She straddled him and guided his cock into her wet sheath. He cupped her breasts and brought one to his mouth, tonguing her nipple and running his teeth along her flesh.

She ground her hips down and took him as deep as she could. Lights danced beyond her closed eyes, and she surrendered to his mouth for a minute. Then he began to move beneath her. He clasped her hips and lifted her, then brought her down hard on his shaft.

Gasping, she opened her eyes and gave him an admonishing stare. “I’m driving.” She clutched his shoulders and rode him. He thrust with her and kept his attention on her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples and urging her toward release.

“You know,” she managed to say, “I think you should put ‘bring Crystal to orgasm by only touching her breasts’ on that list.”

“Done.” He closed his mouth over her right nipple and sucked hard.

With a groan, she rocked against him as her orgasm built. She closed her eyes again and let herself go, moving with relentless abandon. He pulled on her other nipple, then cupped the globe again, pushing it up as he devoured her flesh.

She came hard in a flash of white light, her head falling back as she cried out. A moment later, he followed her to ecstasy, his cock pumping into her until he went stiff. She collapsed against him, laying her head on his shoulder as she worked to bring her breathing back under control.

A few minutes later, she slid to the side and he got up to hit the bathroom. While he was in there, she grabbed the Timbers T-shirt she’d worn every night. Padding back to the living room, she picked up her beer and sat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her.

When he came back from the bedroom, the sound of his phone vibrating on the kitchen counter drew his attention. He picked it up before heading into the living room.

“Fuck.” He looked at her, his eyes widening briefly before settling into an accusatory stare. “You told Brooke about us?”

Shit. She was really on a roll tonight. Wincing, she set her beer down on the end table. “Sorry. Girl talk. My bad.”

“What did you tell her?” He grabbed his beer and flopped in a recliner adjacent to the couch. He’d donned his typical post-sex outfit: a T-shirt and athletic shorts.

“Just that we hooked up on New Year’s Eve. And maybe a few times since then.”

He snorted. “You may as well have given her a play-by-play.” He lifted the beer to his mouth, then paused before drinking. He shot her another gaze—this one bordering on fear. “You didn’t, did you?”

“No!” She pouted. “Brooke and Kelsey said they’d keep it secret.”

“Brooke and Kelsey?” He rolled his eyes rather dramatically. “They don’t keep secrets from Cam and Luke. They’re disgustingly honest and open and quite happy to be that way. Apparently, that’s what happily ever after looks like.” He scoffed at his beer before taking another drink.

Crystal felt bad again. “I keep messing up tonight.”

He shot her an irritated glance. “Yeah, kinda.”

She deserved that—sort of. He didn’t have to be a jerk. “I said I was sorry.”

“Did you?” He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in places. “Never mind. I’m being a dick. I’m a little stressed, sorry.”

“Is it because of earlier?” Maybe he was still mad at her. “Should I go?” She unfolded her legs from beneath her.

He set his beer down and looked at her, his gaze earnest. “No. Don’t go. I had a shitty day. I told you that I day trade, right?”

He’d mentioned it the other night during one of their late-night post-sex chat sessions. “Yeah.”

“I lost a bunch of money today.” He shook his head, regret evident in the set of his jaw. “Kind of fucked myself because my loan payments are due.”

“What loans?”

“Grad school mostly. I had some scholarships, but not enough. And the London School of Economics isn’t cheap.”

No, she didn’t imagine it was. “Do you need some money to pay your bills? I could cover you for a bit if that would help.”

His gaze flickered with something—surprise? Anger? She wasn’t sure. And he quickly cloaked it, grabbing his beer again and settling back in the chair. “Nah. I’ll be fine. So, I’ve been meaning to ask… How long will you be in Ribbon Ridge this time?”

She noticed he changed the subject, and hoped—again—that she hadn’t screwed up. You know what? She wasn’t going to worry about it. “Just a few more days, then I have to head back to LA for some meetings and stuff.” Plus, she missed her house in Los Feliz, and while she was excited about a little snow, she’d be happy to warm up in southern California.

“So that’s home to you, and not Blueville?”

She nodded. “Yep. Blueville hasn’t been home since I was eighteen.”

“It’s sort of like Ribbon Ridge, right?”

“Pretty much. It feels different, though. With all the wineries around here and the Archers’ new hotel, Ribbon Ridge is a destination. No one wants to go to Blueville—they want to escape.” She laughed again, but it wasn’t entirely backed by humor. Her hometown made her uncomfortable, with good reason.

“You visit, though.”

“Of course. But only when I have to. I love my family, but going back there makes me feel claustrophobic. I force myself to visit a few times a year, but I don’t stay long.”

He leaned back in the chair, eyeing her intently. “How come?”

The reasons she stayed away—of which there were plenty—rose in her mind, but she wouldn’t share them. She didn’t even like to think about them.

She shrugged. “Just busy.” She finished her beer and used that as an excuse to get up and go to the kitchen. Setting her empty on the counter, she went to the freezer. “Don’t suppose you have any of that ice cream left?”

“Yep. Saved it for you. But I’ll take a scoop if you’re dishing up.”

She pulled out the container and decided dishes would be redundant. Grabbing two spoons, she went back to the living room. Just like that, they’d both evaded topics they preferred to avoid. Which was fine with her. Things were great as they were, and if they both wanted to keep from getting too personal, she was totally onboard.

She sat on his lap and handed him a spoon. His lips spread into a grin. “Do we need spoons?”

Heat spiraled through her. Clearly he was onboard too.

---

Throwing his car into Park, Jamie stared at his parents’ house for a minute before turning off the car. Mom had texted him last night—she’d found the missing box of memorabilia.

Unfortunately, Crystal was gone. She’d left for LA that morning and wouldn’t be back for a couple of weeks. Jamie wondered how he was going to spend his nights. Ah well, the same way he’d spent them before New Year’s, he supposed.

Still, he was going to miss her. Whether he liked it or not, she’d become…something. A routine, maybe. Damn, that sounded cold. He didn’t want to label it.

Yes, it was good that she was gone for a while. That would prevent his brain from trying to categorize whatever it was they were doing together.

He hopped out of the car and jogged through the frigid drizzle to the front door. Dad opened it before he could and ushered him inside.

“Come in and warm up,” Dad said, closing the door behind Jamie.

“Thanks.” Jamie let the heat of the house envelop him as he walked farther inside.

Mom came up from downstairs with a coffee mug in her hand. “Hi, do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, that’d be great.” He took off his coat and hung it on the back of one of the dining chairs.

“You know, you could hang that up,” Mom said, pouring coffee into a mug.

Jamie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I could, but it’s damp and I don’t want to put it in your closet.”

Dad kissed Mom on the cheek and nodded toward Jamie. “I need to head over to the school for a bit. They’re repairing some ductwork today, and I want to make sure everything’s going smoothly. See you later.”

Mom watched him go, her hands cupping her mug. “Bye, dear.”

Jamie picked up his coffee cup and inhaled the strong brew. He loved the smell of black coffee but had stopped drinking it that way after developing a creamer habit when he’d lived in the UK. Thanks to Sadie.

He opened the fridge in search of something that would suffice. “You still don’t have creamer, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Mom said, a smile evident in her voice. “I knew you were coming, so I picked some up at the store this morning. Vanilla, right?”

“That works great.” He actually wasn’t picky. He poured a healthy splash into the coffee, and Mom handed him a spoon. “Thanks.”

Mom leaned her hip against the counter and sipped her coffee. “Crystal sent me a very nice apology note.”

“Did she?” Jamie hadn’t known that.

Mom nodded. “Tell her thank you for me next time you see her—if you see her.”

“She’s back in LA now.” Jamie didn’t elaborate on whether he’d see her.

“So you really aren’t dating or anything? I wasn’t sure.” She waved a hand. “Never mind what you said. Mothers pick up on things.”

“No, we aren’t dating.” Their parting last night had been sweet but also devoid of any promises. She hadn’t said she’d call him. He hadn’t asked her to keep in touch. For all he knew, they were done. Which was great. He didn’t want anything that required explanation or that would need to be terminated.

He’d be quite happy to not repeat his Sadie experience.

“I’ll be honest—I have a hard time picturing you with someone like her. The life she leads… I don’t know.” Mom shook her head. “She’s a bit older than you too, isn’t she?”

Five years. Not that she’d told him that. He’d figured it out based on Alaina’s age, which was easily searchable on imdb dot com. “It’s all moot, Mom. We aren’t a ‘thing.’ She’s a nice gal, but we have nothing in common.” Except amazing sex.

She smiled at him. “Does that mean I can go back to trying to set you up?”

He laughed. “Absolutely not.” He turned away from her and went to the table. “Is this the box?”

She joined him and set her cup down on the table. “Yes. I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous to open it up.” She looked at him askance, chewing her lip.

He put his cup down too and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Whatever’s in that box doesn’t define us.”

“I know that.” She sat down. “Let’s get to it.” She pulled the lid off, and Jamie took it from her to place it at the end of the table. He reached into the box and removed all he could while Mom scooted the box out of the way.

Jamie sat down beside her while she separated the contents into two stacks. There were three photo albums. All were black paper and about six inches tall and ten inches wide. The first said “Stowe” in large letters with the dates 1919-1930.

“This is the one I remember,” Mom said, opening the album.

Jamie took one of the others. It had dates scrawled on the bottom of the cover: 1905-1919. He reached for the third—he wanted something dated around the time of the fire. But the last one didn’t have dates, and it was slimmer than the others. Nevertheless, that was the one he chose to open.

Inside was a photograph of a family. There was a couple and five children—two boys and three girls, one of whom was in her mother’s arms. At least he thought it was a girl. Young boys were put in dresses in those days. Beneath the picture, it read 1882. Jamie turned the page and saw two portraits. They were of the couple from the family picture.

“Hey, here’s Redmond and Lavinia Stowe.” Jamie didn’t mention that he was the KKK leader. What had Crystal called him? The Cyclops? Jamie studied the picture as if he could discern whether or not the man was a monster.

The following pages held photos of their children—portraits of them done as babies and a few when they were older, some in groups, and some with animals. One, dated 1891, in particular stood out to Jamie. It was of the three sons—apparently that baby had been a boy—and a large dog. Names were captioned beneath the photo in order of their standing, reading from left to right: Hoyt, Francis, Beau, Turner.

Hoyt was a man by this point. He clasped the end of a rifle, which stood beside him on the ground. He looked a bit sullen, but then no one was smiling in any of these photos. Francis was next to him, a few years younger, maybe in his late teens. Then came Beau the massive dog, his tongue lolling from his mouth. Turner had his hand on Beau’s head. He was much younger than the others and wasn’t smiling either, but there was something about his gaze that was warmer. He looked almost familiar, actually.

“Hey, Mom. Does this kid look like me when I was the same age?”

She leaned over and peered at the photograph, then studied Jamie before going back to the photograph. “Yeah. A lot, actually. That’s kind of spooky.”

And gross. Jamie didn’t want to look like a guy who was in the KKK!

In the middle of the book, he came to a large photograph of a man with his hand on a bible. The caption read: Hoyt sworn in as mayor, 1901.

He turned to a blank page followed by another. And another. Given the patterned fading of the paper, it was obvious there had once been pictures and now they were missing. “Looks like some of the photos were removed.”

Mom glanced over again. “Hmm, yeah. That’s too bad.”

The next page held photos again. His heart raced as he saw the year 1902. It was a single photo of a man next to a horse. He thought it was Redmond Stowe, the patriarch, but it was a bit blurry. He turned the page and the year jumped to 1904. He quickly looked through the last few pages of the book and felt a rush of disappointment. What had he expected to find? A KKK gathering complete with burning cross?

He was glad he hadn’t. But what had been on those blank pages?

Mom finished with her album and slid it over to him. “This one has some blank spots too. Quite a few toward the middle, actually.”

Jamie flipped through it. There were a few photos of Ribbon Ridge interspersed with the family. “We should give this to Kelsey for the exhibit.”

“I’ll do that.” She sighed, opening the third album. “I should’ve remembered I had this sooner.”

Jamie came to the middle section. The first photograph after the blank spots was of a trio of men wearing black armbands. Jamie flipped back, and one of them was the middle Stowe son, Francis. Curious, Jamie turned to the next page but there were no more black armbands.

Mom finished with her album and then picked up the first one Jamie had gone through. He reached for a small stack of papers and shuffled through them. The top one was a commencement notice from Williver College dated 1938.

Jamie set it aside. The next paper was a letter dated December 24, 1923. He started reading:

“Mom.” Jamie stared at the faded handwriting. “You should read this.” He set the letter on top of the album she was still looking at.

He watched her as she read. When she finished, she closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “We don’t know what this really means.”

“I think we can make a pretty good guess. Don’t you?” He took the letter back and quickly scanned it. “He says Hoyt and Redmond aren’t good guys, that they murdered someone. And the words hate and intolerance are synonymous with the KKK.”

Mom put her face in her hands. “This is terrible.”

Jamie touched her shoulder again. “It is. And we can’t change that.”

She put her hands in her lap. “I know. It’s just… This isn’t who I thought we were.”

“Of course not. And we aren’t those people.”

She looked over at the stack in front of him. “What else did you find?”

“Nothing yet.” He started sifting through it, looking for another letter, or maybe a photograph. Halfway through, he did find another letter, this one dated April 21, 1933.

There was more, but it was all about the weather and grandchildren and other topics that didn’t particularly interest Jamie. He scanned down to the end and read:

Jamie reread the letter, this time reading every word. He could feel this woman’s empathy but also her judgment. He moved the letter toward his mother and sorted through the rest of his pile. But there were no more letters or anything else of note.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother pick up the letter and start reading. Her hand went to her chest and stayed there until the very end when it ascended to her mouth. She shook her head again. With trembling fingers, she set the letter down and looked at him.

“You can’t give these letters to Kelsey. They’re too personal. Too private.”

“But they’re also history.” He recalled that TV show that researched a celebrity’s ancestry and how Ben Affleck didn’t want the fact that his family had owned slaves to become public. “It isn’t right to bury the past.”

She took both letters and folded them in half. “There’s no evidence, save these letters. We don’t really know what happened.”

“There’s another piece of evidence. Some guy from Lane County wrote to Redmond Stowe confirming their plan to burn down the brothel. With torches.”

Mom blinked at him. “Why would the KKK burn down a brothel?”

Jamie still didn’t understand that part, but it was clear that his ancestor, Turner Stowe, had married a woman of color and that he wasn’t a member of the KKK as Jamie had feared. “We should find out about Turner Stowe,” he said quietly. “And Hoyt—particularly how he died. It seems like Turner was somehow involved.”

It took Mom a moment to respond, and when she did, she sounded defeated. “Yes, we should.” She looked at him, her eyes beseeching. “Can we do that before we go about sharing this information? I mean with anyone, including your brothers.”

Hell. Those were the first two people he wanted to tell. Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He imagined Crystal’s reaction. This information could really help her research. Then again, if he had more information, wouldn’t that be better?

Mom’s shoulders suddenly drooped. “How do we find information?”

Jamie wasn’t sure but thought that digging up birth and death certificates on the Stowe family would be a good place to start. “Are there birth and death certificates in any of this stuff?”

“Oh!” She quickly stood. “They’re in the other box. Mom kept them all in a manila envelope. I’ll be right back.”

Jamie stood and stretched. His eye caught something white stuck between the cardboard on the bottom of the box. He pulled it out—an envelope with a Ribbon Ridge address on the front. And a San Francisco return under the name T. Stowe.

“Well, hello,” he murmured. “Now I know where to find you.” And he knew just who he’d ask for help. He had a friend from his undergrad days with a master’s in library sciences—like Kelsey. But he couldn’t ask her, which made him feel bad. He’d make it up to her—and to Crystal—when he had a better, more complete picture.

Mom returned a couple of minutes later with the envelope. They sifted through the stack of legal documents. “I didn’t realize there was so much here,” Mom said.

“Your family was pretty hard-core about saving stuff.”

“Some stuff,” she muttered. “It would be nice to have those missing pictures from the albums—maybe they’d fill in some of the blanks in this horrible story.” She looked over at him, her eyes bright. “And they’re your family. Warts and all.”

Yes, they were.

“Here’s Turner Stowe’s birth certificate.” She handed the paper to Jamie and kept looking.

He wanted the death certificate. Actually, he wanted Hoyt’s death certificate to see how he’d died.

Mom continued going through the certificates, and suddenly, her hand stilled.

“What?” Jamie leaned over and saw that she held Hoyt’s death certificate. He died October 30, 1923 of stab wounds to the chest.

Mom’s jaw dropped as she turned her head to look at Jamie. “He was killed.”

“It certainly looks that way.” He didn’t know if Crystal and her researcher friend had found anything about that, but Jamie meant to look into it. “I’ll add that to my research. See if I can find a newspaper article or something.”

Mom touched his arm, her eyes softening. “Thank you. I don’t mean to be difficult. This is just… It’s a shock.”

“I get it. We’ll figure it out together. But people will have to know at some point.”

She nodded. “I don’t have to like it.”

He pressed his lips together. “Nor do I. Nevertheless, we can’t change the past. All we can do is work to prevent it from happening again.”