Her Name Is Trouble: A small-town contemporary romance (The Daimsbury Chronicles Book 2) (7 page)

Terry pointed at the screen where the England game was starting with his beer bottle. “Sometimes, it’s good just to be a spectator.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke spotted Liz Wallace coming in. The pub lay packed and she wouldn’t find a seat. So he waved her over then turned to his mates.

“You blokes don’t mind an addition? I’d love for you to meet Liz.”

She’d joined them by then, a pink blush on her round cheeks. “Luke, I don’t think this is a good idea—”

“Nonsense,” Cade barked.

No one dared go against the Jamaican man with the long dreads when he became so vociferous.

Liz thus found herself sandwiched between Cade and Terry. Across the booth, Finn started with the offensive.

“So you’re the new doc,” he said. “What made you decide to come to this backseat of nowhere place?”

Liz seemed to paste on a smile. “I...I grew up here.”

“No! Seriously?” Finn pounced on the admission, as expected. “Let me think... Wait, now that you mention it... I know you! Liz Gusberti, right?”

She nodded.

Finn got up and climbed with his knees onto the table to go to her and kiss her cheeks in welcome. Then he returned to his seat while a bemused Liz stared back at him.

“Tell you something. That Dr. Burns scared the living crap out of me. Always thought she had a broom up her arse. Anyone know why she left?”

“She went to Tibet, it see—you have got to be facking kidding me!” Liz exclaimed. “That sure ain’t an offside, you moron!” she yelled at the screen that had zoomed on the referee for the game.

Stunned silence graced the table, before the men relaxed and joined right in with the commentary about the game.

Luke smiled; Liz had just become one of the lads with her outburst. He’d done good to bring her in.

While the others debated the merits of each pass on the pitch, he nursed his beer and let his thoughts wander back to Missy.

She’d cut herself to feel, she said... He’d yearned to make her feel in a different way, in a manner that wouldn’t hurt her, and that had been when he’d kissed her.

He had to admit being with her had felt more than good. No evading this fact. Missy had given herself to him, opened up and shown who she was, with everything bared. How much honesty and trust did it take for someone to do that? Not to forget the life she had lived. She’d admitted to having been homeless and without food for days. Her fortitude and strength of character amazed as much as it humbled him. That young woman had wrapped steel around her inner fragility, and just knowing her made him want to be a better person, to be honest about all he was...

No more hiding. He was who he was, and definitely not the suave and sophisticated, man-slutty image he projected off his pictures.

So Luke took a deep breath. “Guys, I have something to say.”

They might all laugh at him, but he was done with living behind secrets. These people here were his closest friends; he had to cut it with them.

The table fell silent and hung on to his next words. Could he do this?

“I...I still watch
SpongeBob
,” he blurted.

Stunned looks greeted him.
That’s it.
They’d think him a weirdo. He was twenty-eight, for God’s sake. Well beyond the age to have a fixation for cartoons.

Finn shook his head. Bad sign...until the hairdresser started singing the first notes of a tune any
SpongeBob
fan would know—the Goofy Goober song.

Luke laughed, then he joined in. As their voices grew in crescendo when even Patrick joined them after an elbow nudge from his twin, the din of chatter in the pub lowered. Perfect—they’d outed themselves as freaks.

But who cared? A twenty-something young woman had lost everything she had at one point but had still managed to make something of her life, all on her own. They all needed to remain true to themselves.

Someone inside the pub joined into the song, and before long, the whole room rang with squeaky voices trying to emulate the yellow talking sponge’s high pitch.

As they brought the tune to a close, Luke threw his head back and laughed.

This was home...and it had taken someone who’d transplanted here to show him that.

Missy. There was more to her than what he’d seen already, and he couldn’t wait to find out the rest. Strings attached, this time...

Chapter Seven

Missy stood on her doorstep that Saturday morning, on her way to work, when a Ford Focus stopped in front of the shop and a short, chubby woman with cropped blonde hair came out of the car.

Evelyn Morelli waved at her as she made her way to the wooden gate and into the small garden leading to Missy’s door. In her hand, she held the basket that had contained the Girl Scout cookies for Luke.

“Good thing I managed to catch you, sweetie,” the older woman said in her low, singsong voice.

Okay, so Mrs. Morelli had not come to out her for sleeping with Luke the other night; ‘sweetie’ didn’t mean the same thing here as in her birthplace. The British used that word as a definite affectionate endearment.

Missy couldn’t see any resemblance between this English Rose and Luke—he must’ve favoured his father, who they said, had been Irish.

“Hello, ma’am.”

“Oh, none of that formality between us, darling,” Evelyn said as she came up and wrapped Missy into a one-armed hug. “But I forget. It’s a Texas thing, eh?”

“Sure is,” she replied with a smile. “Anything I can do for you?”

“You can accept this.”

Evelyn thrust the basket at her, and Missy peered down to find a glossy copy of GQ on top of the red-and-white chequered fabric covering the contents. Luke was on the cover, displayed in full length with only a tiny pair of boxer shorts covering his modesty.

But more than the image, the accompanying caption caught her eye.

“Mary Beth is the one that got away!” Exclusive interview with the
Sinners&Saints
lad inside.

“Oh, sorry, dear. I forgot to leave this in the car.” Luke’s mother grabbed the magazine and handed her the basket. “Blueberry muffins. I whipped up a batch at the Trammell manor and as always, I made too much. Those girls just want to keep on looking like sticks, you know. And I needed something to put into that basket to return to you, so there you have it.” She gasped. “Oh, wait. You’re not allergic to gluten or anything, are you? I forgot to ask—”

While her babbling came across as endearing, it also drove Missy rather batty in the wake of seeing that quote from Luke on the cover. So he still remained hung up on his ex...

“It’s fine. I’m not allergic,” she said and took the hamper.

“Okay, that’s good, sweets. I better get going. Promised Honor I’d babysit Ryan this morning so she could get her hair done. Tata!”

Missy waved her off then she dashed into the cottage to drop the muffins and then out again to Jenny’s shop in front. She needed to know the whole deal like, yesterday.

As soon as the bell over the door tinkled, Jenny turned to her.

“Oh, sorry, luv. The delivery men still haven’t brought in the Cornettos today—”

Missy nodded. She always came into the shop for the ice cream. “You got the latest GQ?”

“The one with our Luke on the cover? Sorry again, luv. It’s sold out.”

“Drat!”

“I only managed to nab a copy for meself—”

“Can I borrow it?”

Jenny watched her with narrowed eyes. “Uh, sure, I guess. Bring it back ASAP, though, okay?”

Missy grabbed the magazine that Jenny brandished like a trophy and stalked out of the shop. Back into the cottage, she fell into a plop on the sofa and flipped the glossy open to the page of Luke’s interview.

She drank in the words, and with each paragraph she uncovered, the dread inside her heart solidified and grew heavier.

In the piece, Luke talked about his break up with Mary Beth—the first time he’d even spoken about that time in his life—and his admission that he’d always thought the two of them would end up getting married. Hence the caption of ‘the one that got away.’

But more than this, something else made her grow sick. Luke never berated or spoke ill of his ex-girlfriend who had left him for no apparent reason after five years together. One quote stood out above all else, calling to her, and she had to admit it, shaming her.

“
What I loved most about Mary Beth, and what I respected about her, was her honesty. She never hid anything from me; I got what I saw with her, and when the two of us no longer worked for her, she said so and we both moved on. It’s this honesty that has kept us friends, the fact that she was always upfront about everything and nothing.
”

And that’s where it hurt. Missy had shown him no honesty, because she’d kept her real identity hidden.

She loved Luke, and that meant she owed him at least a modicum of truth. To keep on with her lies would be to dishonour the very thing she cherished about him.

He shouldn’t know about Iris Ann...or should he? Because right now, it looked like she’d lied. By omission, yet a lie, nevertheless.

Missy bit her lip as she ran her fingertips over a close-up picture of Luke’s gorgeous face.

What to do now?

***

The thought stayed with her throughout the lunch run, and when one-thirty p.m. came and the restaurant closed, she hobbled to the kitchen and let herself fall onto a stool. Images of those interview snippets rolled in her head, and in the turmoil created, her mind also turned towards whatever her father was planning back in Texas.

As much as she wanted to ignore his plans for the outreach campaign, some part of her died to know what brewed, and if there just might ever be hope of him taking her seriously for once in his life.

The clock ticked by and the minutes brought no solution to her dilemma. In the end, the questions eating up at her, she caved in.

Missy went in search of a computer so she could access the Net and see what this new endeavour by
TnT Industries
would be about. Upstairs, Ben informed her his laptop had crashed; she could go one floor up to the loft and check with Megha, if she wanted.

And she didn’t want that... Megha always struck her as too wary and reserved, as if her shrewd dark eyes saw everything a person wanted to hide.

But know she must, so she bit the bullet and started up the stairs to the loft. After a soft knock, she waited for Jari’s daughter to open the door.

Megha watched her with narrowed eyes from underneath the long bangs covering her forehead. Missy squirmed under the scrutiny. She should turn tail and run.

“Sorry, bad idea,” she mumbled.

She’d moved away from the door when Megha grabbed her sleeve and forced Missy to face her again.

“You came up all this way to chicken out now? After you’ve already faced the dragon?”

A rush of heat flooded Missy’s cheeks. “I don’t think of you as a dragon.”

“Of course you don’t.” The other girl had crossed her arms in front of her chest and tapped her foot on the floor. “What do you want?”

Missy gulped back. “I...I, uh, need to access the Internet.”

Those fathomless dark eyes bore into her, and she hopped from foot to foot. Finally, Megha opened the door wide and beckoned her in. She pointed to a laptop on the antique escritoire in the corner.

Awe invaded Missy as she contemplated the room. She’d never have expected prickly Megha to have surrounded herself with antiques and vintage home decor stuff. Guess you never really knew someone completely.

She made her way to the computer and sat down on the solid wood swivelling chair. Her mother loved antiques and had furnished their Hamptons beach house with old treasures she’d found at flea markets and auction houses all over the USA. Missy’s trained eye told her Megha sat on a veritable fortune with her furniture.

Enough procrastinating, though.

She lifted the laptop’s screen and logged onto Google, typing ‘TnT outreach campaign’ in the search bar.

More than a million hits? She gasped. Seriously, what was all this about? Link after link opened to reveal the breadth and scope of the movement her father’s company wanted to set up. The mission statement reminded her of what Dove had done with its ‘Real Women’ campaign a few years prior—a quest involving the very customers who stood by the lines of clothing
TnT
brought out.

And then in one article, she came across a video clip. Her father at the mike of some fashion reporter during a red carpet gala. Before she could stop herself, she’d clicked play and waited with baited breath for the buffering to complete.

Missy listened to his words as if in a daze, and when she replayed the video again, she gasped and brought a hand up to cover her mouth. She stood on the brink of breaking down, and the gesture was as much to stop further gasps as to give her something to hold on to.

“...I take no credit for this idea,” her father was saying. “It was all of it the vision my daughter, Iris Ann, had for the business.” He paused and a flicker of pain seemed to pass on his distinguished features. “I hope that wherever she is, she is fine and gets a chance to discover that the company is moving in the way she wanted it to.”

A ticker tape ran at the bottom of the screen, the text stating that Iris Ann Taylor had been missing for the past ten months, and ending with “father’s desperate quest to bring lost daughter home.”

Is that what he is doing?

A tear rolled down her cheek and she absently rubbed her moist eye with the tip of her sleeve.

“Bloody hell,” Megha said from the other side of the room where she read a book in the window nook. “You look like a train wreck.”

Of course—most of her eye makeup would’ve been swiped across her face.

Missy winced, and she stifled a groan when Megha stood, ditched the book, and stalked her way.

“You must’ve been watching that clip on repeat for ages,” she said as she approached and peered at the screen.

Just peachy—give Megha an inch and she’d take a mile. But Missy was here using
her
laptop; she couldn’t be a bitch.

Megha frowned. “What about this has got your knickers in such a twist?”

Missy’s lower lip trembled, and no word came out when she tried to speak. The other woman watched her with a frown, and seen so up close, Missy could detect the faint ashen tone to Megha’s usually dusky skin. Right, the cancer treatments must be taking their toll on her.

“I...I should get going,” she said, and tried to push the chair back.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Megha pushed her down into the seat with a surprisingly strong hand and whirled her around so they’d be face to face. “You’re looking more and more like road kill with every second. What’s the matter?”

Could that be concern in the scathing tone? Megha had never cared for her, staying detached all the time. Missy had even thought her a snob.

But the little note of worry now jostled her, and the straw broke the camel’s back once more. She couldn’t keep going on this way; she had to talk to someone.

“I...I’m her,” she mumbled.

Megha stared at her with wide eyes.

“Iris Ann Taylor,” she continued.

This time, a frown met her confession.

She’d need proof. She motioned for the girl to give her a second and turned back to the computer, where she accessed Google Images and brought up a picture of Iris Ann on the screen. Then she turned back, the photo next to her face.

Megha’s frown deepened before it lifted and surprise burst on her face. “Holy cow! You’re not pulling my leg, eh? It’s you. You’re her. She’s you, I mean...Damn!”

Missy grimaced and nodded as she watched the other woman skitter back a few steps to go plop herself on the bed.

“I don’t get it,” Megha said, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Everything. What are you doing here? You’re one of the richest heiresses in the whole world, but you,
Missy
, are supposed to be penniless and homeless.”

“I am.”

“Uh-huh.” Disbelief dripped from the word.

So Missy started her story, and she left no detail out. Megha already knew her identity; she could know the whole truth, too. She didn’t realise she’d started talking about Luke until she noticed the raised eyebrow when she mentioned their night together on Thursday.

“And now I don’t want to keep lying to him,” she finished.

“Sweetie, you got yourself in a mighty pickle.”

She snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“So what do you plan to do now?”

She shrugged. “I can’t keep lying.”

“You already said that, but what does it mean in concrete terms?”

Missy took a deep breath. There would be no going back after this step. Had she thought this through enough? Wasn’t she making the biggest mistake of her life?

No, the biggest mistake would be to lose the little respect Luke could’ve had for her when he discovered from someone else that she’d been dishonest.

“I...I need to become Iris Ann again. At least physically. I cannot hide behind smokescreens anymore.”

“And the first thing that needs to go is that hideous black hair.” Megha jumped to her feet. “Good thing I’m besties with Finn and Patrick over at the salon. They might not even charge you ’cause doing the hair of Iris Ann Taylor for her comeback will be a major coup.”