Small Town Secrets

by Molly Kate Gray

  Small Town Secrets

  Molly Kate Gray

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Molly Kate Gray

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5155-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5155-0

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5135-9

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5135-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art 123rf.com

  My Dear Husband, you kept believing in me even when I didn’t always believe in myself. Even when I was ready to give up on “this writing thing,” you encouraged me to keep going. Thanks for your limitless support … and help with the housework, groceries, laundry, and everything that kept the family afloat.

  Miss M and Bud, I couldn’t ask for more amazing kids. Thanks for putting up with take out, a less than pristine house, and a mom with a laptop firmly attached to her fingertips. Y’all each deserve a medal … or homemade brownies.

  My “virtual” friends D and C, even though we’ve never actually met, y’all have been my biggest cheerleaders. Whenever I was overwhelmed, you were always just a click away. This book likely wouldn’t exist without the two of you.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  July

  Tara frantically tossed the last of the week’s worth of clothes into her suitcase. Even though she’d been here for six days, she hadn’t allowed herself to spread her things out too much across the smaller-than-normal hotel room. Unlike the rest of the news team, she’d crossed her fingers before each morning’s meetings began, hoping that Chuck would listen to the weather forecast and let them all go home early — wishful thinking at its finest. Her mom always said she was a glass half full kind of person.

  After lifting her favorite charcoal-gray sweater from where she’d left it draped over the armchair, she turned in a slow circle, scanning the room. Only her worn sneakers were still sitting on the faded carpet. Satisfied she wasn’t forgetting anything, she stretched across the overstuffed suitcase to grab her favorite necklace. She slid it over her head, carefully untucking her hair from under the chain.

  She reluctantly allowed herself to look over her shoulder at the television. Even if she’d been trying to watch something other than the weather, she wouldn’t have been able to ignore the red storm alert crawling across the bottom of the infomercial.

  Tara didn’t really need the weather service to interpret the radar image. As she’d worked her way from intern to reporter, she’d picked up a few things at the station. An over-confident young weatherman once offered her some private lessons on how to read various types of radar. She learned very little, but he learned that she had an excellent right hook. She had been his on-air substitute when he was healing from a badly blackened eye; he failed to realize that no meant no.

  She chewed her thumbnail as she studied the map on the television screen. One look at the massive storm spiraling toward Florida gave her all the information she needed. If she was going to make it out before the storm hit, she had to leave now. Yesterday would have been better.

  She cursed Chuck Owens under her breath. Not for the first time, she wondered if staying in Miller’s Grove was truly worth the cost of continuing to work for him. At one time, she thought she was next in line for an anchor position, but now she knew better.

  His insistence that his entire evening news team travel to Orlando every year for team building had become something of a joke. They were all from Miller’s Grove; they didn’t need a week out of town to learn any more about each other — the town gossips made sure of that. This year the news team had almost been successful in talking him into skipping the annual retreat, but that was before Josh arrived and joined the team. Obviously, the team needed to bond with the boss’s son.

  Tara had already had plenty of Josh time over the last six weeks. She didn’t need any additional bonding to further discover how much of a conceited jerk he was. Since joining the network’s nightly newscast, the few stories with any depth went to him. Before they left for their staff retreat, she’d been stuck doing a report on a cat’s seventeenth birthday, and that was the most interesting story she’d done in over a month.

  Turning back to the television, she focused on the spiral of white churning in the Atlantic Ocean. If Josh hadn’t arrived, she wouldn’t be here now. Most sane people prefer not to vacation with hurricanes on the way.

  As with prior years’ retreats, a hurricane came through in the midst of their trip — right on schedule. Third time was definitely not the charm in Hurricane Lizzie’s case. Clarence and Beth had been mild spring storms compared to Lizzie. At the moment, one of the largest hurricanes in this country’s history was bearing down on the news team. Chuck’s reluctance to change the timing or location of the annual retreat was beside the point now. He’d caught a flight home the night before — the station couldn’t be without its captain at the helm when Lizzie hit.

  When the convoy of SUVs from The Weather Channel had pulled into her hotel’s parking lot last night, Tara knew her chances of flying out of town had gone from slim to nonexistent. She’d frantically called the airline just before midnight, but the call center representative told her to try back in the morning. So, doubting she’d actually need it, she set her alarm for 4 A.M. and hoped for the best.

  Now, ten minutes before her alarm had been scheduled to wake her, she fought back a yawn as she tugged her bag off the bed and slid the worn strap onto her shoulder. The local news broke into the infomercial’s broadcast. Tara watched as a surprisingly young man paced in front of a weather map. He announced that Hurricane Lizzie had taken a surprising northern turn overnight. Instead of targeting the Port St. Lucie area as originally projected, the members of The Weather Channel delegation were right. Lizzie was now directly targeting Orlando.

  As the weatherman wiped sweat from his forehead, he stuttered a warning to those awake early enough to be watching. Tara reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television. “And for those of you who plan to leave our fine city today, I’d recommend an early start.”

  No one needed to tell her twice. She switched the television back off. Her plane was scheduled to leave just prior to noon, but she could already predict that nothing would be getting in or out of the airport by then. Taking one last glance around the room, she grabbed hold of her wheeled suitcase and flicked off the lights.

  • • •

  Bam!

  Bam!

  Bam!

 
“Lainey! I know you’re in there.” Tara rubbed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe of the hotel room adjacent to hers. “Answer your door.” The hotel’s hallway was dark, but she heard movement and voices behind most of the doors that she passed on the way to her co-worker’s room. Judging by the almost vacant parking lot last night, most of the tourists seemed to be taking the storm seriously and ending their vacations earlier than planned. But Tara knew from experience that most of them would be trading waiting out the storm in the comfort of their hotel room for a cramped space on the floor of the Orlando airport.

  Bam!

  Bam!

  “Come on. Wake up!” Tara fidgeted in the hallway and twisted her hair into a passable messy bun. “I’ll stop knocking when you answer the door.”

  “Gimme a sec.” Tara’s fist hovered near the door as she heard the sliding chain lock shift and the door creaked open an inch. Lainey’s bloodshot eyes attempted to open as she blearily stared at Tara. “It’s not even five yet.”

  “Closer to four, actually,” Tara corrected.

  Lainey shook her head. She tugged a black spaghetti strap from her nightgown higher on her shoulder. “That makes it even worse. Why are you here so early?”

  “You’re sure you want to stay?” Tara jiggled the zipper on her messenger bag. She needed to leave — now. Lainey wasn’t even dressed yet. If she waited for her friend, she might not make it out before the storm at all.

  Lainey’s lips curled into a grin. “Of course I’m sure. This storm’s a reporter’s dream. I can’t believe you’re leaving it behind. Chuck actually gave me the story. This could be my big break. No more camera girl for me!” Lainey’s chocolate-brown eyes were aflame with excitement. “If we were at home, you’d be fighting me for the chance to cover it. Admit it. You know I’m right.”

  Tara bit down on her lip and shook her head. “You’re more than welcome to the storm.” She looked at her friend with concern. “And I really can’t talk you into coming back with me?”

  “Lainey?” A sleep-laden male voice called out from the depths of the room.

  “Just a minute.” Lainey turned and glanced back at the interior of the room. She blushed at the expression on Tara’s face — that explained the black silk. “Look. Trevor and I are going to be just fine.” Lainey reached out and patted Tara’s shoulder. “I know how you feel about storms. I promise we’ll be careful. Tonight when you’re back at the station, you can give me that judgy little smile before you introduce my story.” Lainey laughed and mimicked Tara’s signature annoyed glare. “Now I’m going back to bed. I’ve gotta rest up for later. Good luck catching an early flight.”

  “That’s the plan.” Tara backed away from the door and waved as her friend disappeared from view.

  • • •

  Apparently, that was what every other traveler to the Happiest Place on Earth seemed to be attempting as well. The mood in the airport was decidedly not happy as Tara found herself surrounded by tense parents pulling screaming toddlers through the ticket lines. As she wound through the queue, she had to hope that no one in front of her was trying to get to Atlanta.

  A visibly weary ticket agent waived in Tara’s direction. The woman’s rumpled white shirt hinted that she’d been behind the counter for hours already, and the circles under her eyes all but confirmed it. The woman gave a half-wave as she motioned for Tara to move forward. “How can I help you?”

  Tara put on her most earnest newscaster smile before approaching the counter. “Good morning.” She glanced to her right. Why couldn’t she have gotten the twenty-something year old guy? At least she could have flirted with him. One look at the gray-haired woman beckoning her forward, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to charm her way onto a flight. Tara took the time to read the woman’s name badge. “Laura, I was hoping I could change my ticket for an earlier flight.”

  Laura didn’t even attempt to stifle her laughter. “You and everyone else in the airport. Some of them have been on standby since yesterday. Don’t you watch the news?” She motioned to the mass of people lining the walls in the glass-walled secure area behind the ticket counters.

  Tara felt her cheeks redden as she fought back a heated response. The travelers behind her were murmuring with impatience at the amount of time she was spending at the counter, but she couldn’t let their glares dissuade her from her attempt. She gripped the curved edge of the countertop. “Please, this trip wasn’t my idea. If I didn’t come, I’d lose my job.” Tara fumbled with the boarding pass in her hand. “Don’t you have anything going out this morning? I’ll fly anywhere.” She wasn’t faking the rising panic in her voice.

  Laura’s expression softened. Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath. She reached for the boarding pass and studied it for a moment. “Miss Sullivan, if I put you on any other flight, you’d be traveling standby. And I can assure you, that’s a very long list on all of our flights today. This flight,” she shook the boarding pass, “is for this morning. It could still make it out.” A gust of wind sailed over the building and the lights flickered as if it were taunting Tara in reply. Both women knew how likely that scenario was.

  “Thank you for your help.” Tara took her ticket from the woman’s hand and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She paused to adjust her overnight bag’s strap. As she began walking again, she caught sight of a large bank of televisions in the sports bar at the end of the terminal. She’d flown in and out of Orlando enough times to know that each television should be tuned to whatever game was on or a replay of the best one from the night before.

  Not today.

  Each television might be showing a different station, but there really was no need. No matter the network, a single image was on all twenty screens — the viewers transfixed by the mass of swirling red clouds taking almost direct aim at them. In an attempt to outdo each other, reporters had donned slickers and stood in the wind on Daytona Beach, ushering in Lizzie. Tara shook her head as she caught snatches of their reports.

  “A storm to rival Katrina … ”

  “Hurricane of the century … ”

  “Force of nature descending on the tourist capital of the world … ”

  Families clustered more tightly around the monitors — more than one parent’s eyes widened in fear at the warnings of impending disaster as they held their hands over their child’s ears. The first band of wind and rain buffeted the oversized windows just as the lights blinked again, as if emphasizing the reporters’ frenzied warnings. Tara shook her head. Freaking people out was just a tool of the trade. Surely the storm wasn’t going to be that bad, but she didn’t want to be in town to find out.

  • • •

  Tara’s gray eyes clouded as she stared at the overhead monitor in frustration. One by one, the departures changed from merely delayed to vivid red letters spelling canceled. Five flights still appeared to be on schedule. Tara sighed in relief as the flight to Atlanta showed to be leaving in just over an hour.

  “They really shouldn’t taunt us like that.” The smooth, cocky voice came from behind her right shoulder. In an airport this crowded, how had Josh Owens even found her?

  Despite her best attempt at remaining cool, she felt herself bristle. She turned around to face him, but found herself staring at the back of his gray t-shirt. “Taunt us?”

  “Still showing some as delayed.” Josh rocked back on his heels and thrust his hands into his pockets, accentuating his well-developed biceps. She shook her head. She was annoyed with him, since he was the reason she was stuck in the airport in the first place. She refused to become one of the women at the station who melted in his presence. He glanced over his shoulder, catching her staring at his arms. His eyes glinted with amusement, but he said nothing. Instead, he motioned toward the oversized glass window with the flick of a finger. “We just have to look outside to know the flights aren’t going to make it
out.”

  Even amid this chaos, he still looked like he was ready for a photo shoot, which was likely one of the reasons he’d been one of the network’s most popular reporters. His coal black hair was styled in its traditional look of impeccably coiffed with a hint of I just had sex mystique. With Hollywood-appropriate amounts of black stubble along his jaw, Josh gave no sign of being tired or rushed this morning.

  His electric blue eyes stared at her, waiting for a reply. Not for the first time, Tara found herself caught off-guard without an appropriately snarky reply.

  “The Atlanta flight’s still scheduled to leave on time.” Not exactly the witty retort she’d hoped for, but she was still clinging to whatever tiny thread of hope she could muster. Tara frowned at the wall-to-wall windows. The sky seemed to darken by the minute, changing from spent charcoal to velvety blackness. Another wave of red lettering filled the screen. She held out hope as long as the flight to Atlanta continued to show 11:44 A.M.

  “Keeping the faith. That’s what I like about you.” Josh stifled a grin as he patted Tara’s shoulder. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Good luck with that.”

  A camera snapped in the distance. Josh looked past Tara in the direction of a group of teenage girls. More than one traveler stopped in their tracks as they realized the Josh Owens was in the airport. He smiled and waved at the cluster of adoring fans. He oozed Southern charm through his pores, as he had the capacity to sound seductive even while delivering news about national tragedy. Ratings rose thirty percent his first year behind the big desk. Tara fought against her instant reaction to roll her eyes as one of the teens feigned passing out in his presence.

  A flash came from the opposite direction. Great. A photographer must have recognized him too. Now their picture would probably grace the front of a tabloid next week. Not the best morning for Tara to have decided to skip wearing makeup.

  Removing his hand before she had the opportunity to brush it away, a flash of annoyance crossed Josh’s face as he put his sunglasses on. “Sorry about that.” He half-bowed to her as he backed away and disappeared into the crowd pressed around the monitors. “Don’t go anywhere.”