Her Name Is Trouble: A small-town contemporary romance (The Daimsbury Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter Four

Missy’s words rang in Luke’s head for the next day and a half. Amazing how the tabloids hadn’t gotten wind of his predicament yet. The gossip lines buzzed all through town but so far, no one seemed to have ratted him out. Maybe he had his mother to thank for that, Evelyn Morelli being a pillar of that talks’ network in Daimsbury.

He sighed as he glanced at the phone. Time he bit the bullet.

The long-distance call took a moment to reach across, and then Cade Kingston, the production man in charge of all shoots for
TnT Industries
, answered on the second ring. “Yo.”

“Hey, man,” Luke said in greeting. “How’s it goin’?”

“Busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.”

Luke laughed. Being around Southern folks, they’d all picked up the colourful language of that region.

“Wassup, man?” Cade asked.

He winced. “It’s about the shoot.”

“What about it?” The tone had gone frosty and all business.

“I...I won’t be able to make it to New York next week.”

“What? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I have a broken toe on my left foot. I’ll get the green light to travel by air in ten days. Something about the potential of swelling in a pressurised plane or something.”

“Jesus, Luke! Do you know what that’s gonna do to us? Jacob’s already blowing fire down our necks for the CSR campaign—”

“I know, which is why I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Move the shoot here, in England.”

“Wait a sec. You can still shoot?”

“Yeah, I just can’t travel to another country.”

Silence greeted him on the other side; Cade must be rolling the ideas around in his head.

“What condition are you in?” Cade asked.

“Bandage on my left foot, middle toes splintered together, and I have to use a crutch to walk. It’s supposed to ease up by next week, though.”

“A crutch, you say?”

He didn’t like the way Cade pronounced that sentence. Something brewed there and he’d be the butt of the issue.

“Listen, man, I’ll see what I can do. Let me call you back as soon as I have anything.”

“Great. Thanks, mate.” He cut the call and let out a breath. One hurdle over with; now to see what the outcome would be.

Hardly five minutes had gone by when the phone rang and he had Cade on the line again.

“It’s a go. And I have this brill’ idea for the shoot, you are not gonna believe it!”

Luke winced. That’s exactly what worried him. Whatever Cade Kingston came up with could never be simple or even good. Still, he’d evaded the sacking he’d been expecting...guess
Sinners&Saints
did need him on board. Missy had been right.

His thoughts veered back to her, and he frowned. Something about her still didn’t add up. And her name was Taylor. Coincidence that she shared the same family name as his boss? She’d said it was a common name in the South, though; what reason would she have to lie? What was he going on to think about here? That she’d be related to Jacob Taylor? The big man did have a daughter, but Iris Ann, as far as he remembered, would be in her mid-twenties and Missy looked barely legal. The red hair she hid with black dye could look the same, but Iris Ann had also had a full mouth while Missy had only the fuller upper lip...that he yearned to suckle on with a vengeance, all of a sudden. The image of Missy’s kohl-rimmed grey eyes appeared in his mind, and the memory of the innocence and trust in them settled in his gut like a punch.

Missy wasn’t hiding, yet she was running away from something. He’d bet his life on that. What to make of her?

She also concealed a sharp mind behind her klutzy ways—look how she’d rationalised about his position with the line and then given him a strategy to pursue.

Speaking of that, he owed her thanks. She’d gotten him out of a mighty pickle. Trouble, though, spelled how to get to town. He couldn’t use the crutches over the mile-long distance, and Liam had gone out to work, staying late today at the school for the girls’ football team practice.

Noise came from the kitchen, and he hobbled his way there. His mother stood at the door, putting on her jacket. She’d be going out for her afternoon stint at the Trammell manor, needing to coordinate dinner for the household seeing how at least one Trammell was in Daimsbury right now.

“Can you drop me in town?” he asked.

His mum frowned. “Sure you can go out with that foot?”

“Perfectly safe. I saw Liz this morning and she said it’s healing nicely.”

“How will you get back? I won’t return before late evening. Magnus, Agneta, and their mother are at the manor. Tindra and Elin will be over tomorrow and I have to get the rooms ready—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll call Liam and get him to pick me up on his way home.”

She shrugged. “Fine, then. Hop on.”

He followed her out and got into her hatchback Ford Focus. After pushing the front passenger seat as far back as possible, he settled in and made the most of the still-non-existent legroom.

“So, the whole Trammell clan coming down to Daimsbury? How and when did that happen?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ever since Magnus discovered Megha lived in town.”

He almost choked on his gasp. “Megha? As in, Megha Saran? She and
Magnus
?”

“Oh, they say they’re just friends, but we’ve all got eyes.” She huffed, then her face grew sombre. “Megha’s sick, you know.”

He sat up straighter. “Sick how?”

He’d grown up with the girl, and for a while, had thought she’d become his sister-in-law when she’d dated Liam back in the day.

“Breast cancer.”

“But she’s twenty-nine. That’s way too young!”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “Is she here? Maybe I should go see her?”

“She’s mostly in London where she’s getting her treatments. I don’t think she came back to the village this weekend.”

They’d reached town and she dropped him off in front of
Ben&Jari
.

The news of Megha’s sickness still rattled him, and he took a few steps towards the restaurant, hoping to have a word with Jari about his daughter’s condition.

The sight of Missy seated at a booth with an opened ledger in front of her greeted him inside. She seemed engrossed in her task, brows furrowed, hair pulled up in a messy bun from which poked out a chopstick. The same fuzzy and oversized black sweater covered her form. What was that? Some sort of social uniform for her? Unless that amounted to all the clothing she possessed; he recalled her mentioning she’d lost everything back in London. He couldn’t help but notice how just the tips of her fingers peeked out from the too-long sleeves.

Missy loved to hide her hands, it seemed. Why? Could she be a former druggie? If so, she did appear on the mend now. He wouldn’t hold her past against her, if she’d changed...

She didn’t seem to pick up that he stood there, so he went to the booth opposite and slid in while clearing his throat. She jumped in her seat, one delicate white hand with long, slender fingers going over her heart while her eyes grew big in her face.

“Dang, sugar! You shouldn’t startle a girl like so!”

Her accent flowed through every word, thicker than usual. Pretty, though. The lilting drawl suited her elfin face and mischievous eyes. And that delicious mouth... He groaned and shuffled to adjust his jeans, careful not to let her see what the thought of her lips pressed to his had done to his body.

Blimey, he hadn’t desired a woman so swiftly since his break up with Mary Beth. There’d been the odd fling here and there, but getting hard for a relative stranger? He’d thought that kind of reaction gone from his sensibilities lately.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

She frowned at him, before breaking into a smile. “How’s the foot? Must be getting better if you’re gallivanting around town.”

“It’s better, though I’m not out of the woods yet.”

“So you still can’t make the shoot in New York, then.”

“Speaking of that, I took your advice.”

She dropped her pen and pushed the book aside. “And?”

He leaned back in the booth and straightened his legs. “And you were right. They’ve agreed to move the whole hoopla to England. I’m worried what the handler is gonna pull on me, but that would be a small price to pay, I suppose.”

She laughed, a merry trill that tugged at heartstrings he’d long thought gone.

“You should always worry about what Cade Kingston can pull on you.”

Warning bells went up in his head. “How do you know it’s him I spoke about?”

A blush tinged her cheeks. Then she shrugged and flapped her hand in the air.

“Come on, it’s common knowledge the genius behind every
Sinners&Saints
campaign is named Cade Kingston, one of the most flamboyant men in the fashion world who surprisingly, turns out to be heterosexual.” She paused. “The man’s a legend.”

No, she wasn’t hiding anything from him...and she couldn’t be the missing Iris Ann Taylor.

“Since you’re mentioning legends, where’s Jari? I wanted to have a word with him. Just heard about Megha...”

She nodded. “Tough thing to stomach, innit?”

Strange how the accent from South London and Surrey also agreed with her. She must be picking up the way of speech here. He’d been so much all over the world that half the time, he no longer had an accent anymore. Add to it the many other languages he’d learned to master while being in foreign lands and then shacking up with other models, it was a miracle he still spoke clear English.

“Let me get Jari for you. He’s out back.” She stood and grabbed the ledger. “I better get going, too. Ben’s gonna need a hand with the food.”

A strong sense of loss invaded him when she turned around and left. He wanted to spend more time with her, get to know who she hid underneath those bulky clothes and guarded exterior.

Jari Saran came out of the kitchen and gave him a heartfelt hug in greeting. “Looking good, lad, despite Missy working her troublemaker tendencies on you. Ollie Murs should’ve cast
her
in the video for his song.”

Luke chuckled as he eyed the older man. Jari would be in his fifties now, and his past good looks had grown even more pronounced with the emphasis of his silver hair. That man could model for seniors any day and make a killing.

“I...I heard about Megha,” he said. “My mum just told me.”

The unlined face suddenly looked craggy. What must he be going through, seeing his daughter suffering through such harsh sickness?

“She’s brave, I’ll tell you that.” A chuckle escaped him. “And she’d sock me or anyone who’d dare say that to her face. For her, it’s just a struggle to get past. Says she has no other choice but to fight back.”

Luke smiled. “Her spirit’s not taken a blow, then.”

Megha had been one of the most shrewish and opinionated persons he’d ever met.

“It sure hasn’t. That’s my girl.”

“Give her my best regards next time you see her. I’m not sure we’ll cross paths before I leave.”

“I will, son.”

“And how about you? You holding up?”

Jari gave a weak smile and nodded. “Ben’s a great help.”

The whole townsfolk believed these two to be a gay couple; not that they’d ever come out till now, though.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

Luke recognised the tactic for what it was; a deflection. “Tell me you still have some tandoori from the lunch run.”

“Better yet. There’s some fresh made for the evening crowd. I’ll get you a plate.”

“Great. Easy on the rice, though, please.”

He smiled as Jari stood and walked back to the kitchen. He only had to kill a few minutes before Missy waltzed out into the empty restaurant with a plate in her hand. To his surprise, she carried it to his table and placed it in front of him all without losing a drop of the food.

His thoughts must’ve been obvious on his face because she laughed and pointed at her bare feet.

“I don’t trip if I don’t wear any shoes.”

“How is that possible? Barefoot and flat soles are almost the same.”

“Almost is right.” She grinned and turned towards the kitchen. “Enjoy your food.”

He didn’t want her to go. That same knife of loss slashed through him once more. He loved her sunny nature that appeared to cast a hole in the gloom that had enveloped his existence since Mary Beth had left him.

Luke frowned. Where did these Heathcliff-type ramblings come from?

“Stay,” he said. “Keep me company while I eat.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Is that really a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I run the risk of hurting you again.”

He leaned forward and put his forearms on the table. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”