“Really?” His eyebrow cocked, and his smile stole the air from her lungs. “You don’t like role play? I’ll have to change your mind on that.”
Yes, please! She blinked at him. “How about you play the stay-at-home husband? You can bake me some cookies, and when I’m done working, I’ll sweep you off your feet.”
He closed the distance between them until his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers. “That works for me too.”
“You drive me crazy,” she whispered.
“Oh, you have no idea just how crazy I could make you.” And then his lips were on hers.
The kiss was slow and sensual, stealing her sense of self-preservation with each delicious taste of him. She curled her fingers into his black tee and held on while her world spun out of control. This was what she remembered, what she dreamed about, what she longed for. When he slowly pulled away from her, her lips chased after his until she stood on tiptoe before him.
“Later, beautiful girl.” He swept her hair from her face. “That is a promise.”
And then he was gone, moving fast, blending into the night as he was swallowed up by the crowd. Leaving Elle, dazed and alone in the alley. With a trembling hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips. Who knew what trouble he was in, or when she’d see him again. And now, she didn’t even have her searches for him to keep her occupied until his return. If he returned this time. Because every instinct she had screamed to her that he was in way more trouble than he’d let on. Stubborn, infuriating man-of-mystery. Too damned macho to ask for help.
With a huff of irritation, she yanked her bag onto her shoulder, then stilled.
Her laptop!
He’d stolen her life.
Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the darkness where he’d vanished. How could he? This was the ultimate betrayal. One for which he would pay. As far as she was concerned, their tenuous deal was off. There was no way she’d stop searching for him now.
Invertary’s Unofficial Council Has a Plan
This story takes place just before Can’t Buy Me Love.
Dougal Jamieson, Invertary’s unofficial mayor (unofficial because nobody had turned up to vote at the last eight elections) banged his gavel on the lectern for silence.
He didn’t get it. Which came as no surprise. Town meetings were raucous at the best of times, but this one had attracted more attention than most—because the one and only point on their agenda had been penciled in as Deal with the Betty situation.
“Settle down,” he boomed through the microphone, making his voice reverberate around the Presbyterian church hall.
Only half the people paid any attention to him. The rest were too busy gossiping about the subject of the meeting, who sat in the front row with a sly grin on her craggy old face. As usual, she’d dressed in a shapeless tartan dress and the smell of hot Scotch pies wafted from her black handbag. It was a relief to see that she’d stopped dyeing her head blue. Her head, not her hair because there wasn’t enough of that left to dye. And, miracle of miracles, she actually had her teeth in for a change.
“I need silence,” he bellowed and, at last, the noise petered out to nothing. “About time,” he snapped at his fellow townsfolk. “Thank you for coming out on this cold night to attend our meeting. We”—he pointed at the council who sat in a row behind him, facing the crowd—“expect you to conduct yourselves in a civilized manner. There will be time for questions and comments later. After we’ve presented the issue to all of you. In the meantime, I’ll introduce the council.”
He turned to the people behind him. “Caroline McInnes, of course, needs no introduction, but I’ll give her one anyway. She’s married to Josh, lives in the castle, and runs everything. And I mean everything! She’s been running this town for years. And recently, she’s gone into business with Mitch Harris and is now managing the careers of some very talented musicians.” He paused for effect. “And Josh.”
As the crowd laughed and Josh complained loudly from the front row, Dougal moved on. “As you may be aware, both the principal of the high school and the minister of this church have retired. So we had two vacancies on the council. Reverend David Carlyle kindly filled one of them.” When the younger man smiled at the crowd and a few cheeky women wolf-whistled, he just shook his head. The poor man had only been in Invertary a few weeks and was already being hounded by every available woman in the Highlands, all of them agreeing he was far too pretty to be living alone in the manse.
Clearing his throat, Dougal moved on to the additional two council members—because they’d had to expand to fill the town’s growing needs. “This is Fiona Hendry, some of you might know her if you have kids in school. She’s the new head teacher at the high school.” And too brand new to dodge taking on the old principal’s place on the council.
“And last but not least, you all know Lachlan McBride. We thought his engineering expertise might come in handy.”
“And Lachlan thought he was only here to offer advice; he didn’t realize he’d been conscripted onto the council,” Lachlan drawled, making his three brothers at the back of the room laugh loudly and point at him.
“Aye, well, thanks for being here.” Dougal moved swiftly on, turning back to the lectern. Placing his hands either side, he leaned into the mic. “As you know, the town is expanding.”
“Mainly with Americans,” Matt Donaldson, the town’s only cop, called out. “It’s an invasion.”
“Hey.” His American wife, Jena, smacked him on the chest. “Any more of that and I’ll go back to the States. Then what would you do? The house still needs work, and you’re garbage at DIY.”
“You know I don’t mean you, Princess,” Matt said. “I was talking about Josh. He can go back any time.” He grinned over at the singer, who flipped him off.
“None of that,” Dougal snapped. “There are children present.
“Some of them yours,” Caroline, Josh’s wife, pointed out from behind Dougal, as their toddler sat at his side.
“Sorry, baby.” Josh batted his eyelashes at her, making everyone laugh.
“Anyway, as I was saying.” Keeping the town meetings on track was a herculean task. “The town is growing. Not a lot, but enough to make us think about the future. If we’re going to keep the young people here and not lose their skills and enthusiasm to the big cities, then we need to generate more employment opportunities for them.”
“Aye, aye,” someone shouted.
“Couldn’t agree more,” someone added.
He held up his hands for silence. “With that in mind, a few of us have come up with some ideas for attracting business and investment to Invertary.” He glanced at Betty, who looked more evil with every word he said. “I want to buy the empty building and carpark next to the Scottie Dog and build a conference center, which should attract people to the area. Someone else wants to set up a summer camp for kids, but the facilities could be used year-round for retreats. Magenta plans to come back at some point and open a caving business to take tourists into the old mine. We need more accommodation for all the looky-loos that turn up hoping to get a glimpse of Josh’s ugly mug. We want to make the fishing competition and the lingerie fashion show regular events. Not to mention, expand our Christmas market. And there are a few other things in the works that we don’t have time to talk about here.”
He took a deep breath and eyed Betty. “I’m sure you’ll all agree that’s a lot of fine plans. Plans that will expand the town without ruining everything good about it. We just have one wee problem.”
The loud cackle from the front row set his teeth on edge.
“It would seem,” he said, “that a good portion of the properties we need to buy to make these business ideas a reality belong to Betty McLeod.”
Betty let out a whoop as a ripple of shock ran around the room. Dougal well understood the reaction. He’d been stunned too when his lawyers had finally managed to dig through all the paperwork hiding the ownership of the mysterious trust that owned half of Invertary.
“Quieten down,” he said into the microphone.
Margaret Campbell, owner of the local craft shop and leader of Knit or Die, shot to her feet. One look at her, and it was clear where her ex-model daughter, Kirsty, got her fine looks from. She was a gorgeous woman, and she was also enraged.
“How is this possible?” she said. “She ran a knicker emporium for about a million years. Where did she get the money to buy up Invertary? Are you sure this isn’t one of her sick pranks? That she didn’t just pay someone to fake ownership? Does she really own anything at all?”
“I’m sure,” Dougal said. “Because we double-checked everything.” He motioned to Lake, owner of Benson Security. “Your son-in-law investigated the whole thing for the council.”
Lake, who sat beside Betty, gave his mother-in-law a sympathetic nod. “It’s true. She really does own half the town.”
And Betty cackled some more. Having the time of her life, as usual. How Lake Benson and Jodie Miller-Harris could stand being around the woman for any length of time was a mystery to everyone who lived in Invertary. The only explanation anyone had come up with that made any sense was that they were both English and, therefore, didn’t know any better.
“How did you do it?” Margaret demanded of Betty. “Who did you steal from?”
“Nobody.” The old woman grinned. “I’m just smarter than everybody in this room, and more besides.” And then she was laughing again.
“As you can probably guess,” Dougal said as he glared at Betty. “The problem isn’t that Betty owns half of the town, it’s that she won’t sell to the rest of us.”
The outrage was loud, and Betty seemed to feed off it, preening as though she were center stage at the Oscars. As everyone watched, she launched herself off her chair and waddled to the podium.
“Out of my way,” she told Dougal with a shove.
Dougal stepped aside while he prayed for the strength not to murder the woman in front of him. She reached for the microphone and angled it down so she could speak into it.
“It’s true,” she said. “I own all the empty real estate in this town and some of the stuff you lot pay rent on.”
“Holy crap,” someone shouted. “I need to check my rental agreement. What’s the name of the trust that manages the properties for her?”
“Tartan Terror Inc.,” Betty announced.
A wail went up from another part of the room. “I’ve been paying my bakery’s rent to Satan,” Morag McKay cried.
At that, Betty laughed hard. “Aye, and it’s going to go up an’ all. You’re skimping on the meat in your pies, and I’ve had enough of it.”
More outraged shouting broke out around the room.
“How can she be wealthy and dress in tartan rubbish bags?” Jean demanded.
“Why has she waited this long to tell us she owns the place?” Shona shouted.
“Because,” Betty said through the sound system, “unlike the rest of you, I know how to play the long game. I knew that one day, you were going to wise up to the potential of our wee town, and I would be there to cash in on it. It’s amazing what selling knickers will net you. While you were buying fancy dresses to woo the likes of this idiot here”—she cocked a thumb at Dougal, who turned red at the memory of his short dalliance with Jean—“I was buying property when it was dirt cheap, because nobody else wanted it.” Her grin was pure evil. “Well, look who wants it now.” And then she started laughing again.
“Lake,” Dougal called to one of the only people in the room who could corral Betty.
With a shake of his head, the Englishman dragged a chair over beside the lectern and put Betty on it. He stood beside her, his feet apart and his arms folded, while Dougal returned to the mic. It was unclear whether Lake’s stance was an attempt to protect Betty from the angry mob or to protect everyone else from Betty.
“Settle down,” Dougal called, but no one listened. He banged his gavel several times as he shouted, “I said, settle down!”
There was reluctant settling.
“Okay, so here’s the thing. Betty has said she’s open to negotiation over the properties in her portfolio.” And didn’t that sentence just stick in the throat? “Unfortunately, being Betty, she doesn’t only want to negotiate with the prospective buyers. She wants to negotiate with the whole town. Apparently, there are a few things she’d like to happen before she considers selling. Things she needs to…” He gave her a look of disgust before forming air quotes around what he had to say next, “put her in the mood.”
The loud groans were very much heartfelt by everyone in the room.
“I made a list,” Betty announced, before digging into her handbag.
She came out with a piece of paper covered in tomato sauce stains. At least, Dougal hoped they were sauce and not the blood of some other poor sucker she’d tortured to death with her sense of humor.
“Microphone,” she snapped at Dougal, as though he were her servant.
For a second, his head felt like it might explode, then he remembered she had him over a barrel if he wanted to build his conference center, and he was pretty sure steam came out of his ears.
Lake cocked an eyebrow at Dougal, took the mic, and gave it to Betty. “Don’t let her get to you,” he said. “She loves it.”
Betty ignored them both, too busy focusing on her list. “Number one,” she said, her voice reverberating around the room and making people cringe. “I want to be called Empress Betty by everyone in town.” There were loud groans. “I considered Queen Betty, but that sounds like a drag act, and England already has a Queen Betty.”
“This is hell,” Josh said to anyone who would listen.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Number two,” Betty carried on like she wasn’t aware of the chaos she was causing with every word out of her mouth. “I want free pies for life from Morag’s bakery.”
Morag shot to her feet, followed closely by her two cronies, who belonged to her morality society. “I am not giving you free anything.” As she spoke, she stretched out an arm and pointed at Betty. What that was supposed to achieve, Dougal didn’t know.
Betty’s answering smile was sly. “If you don’t, your rent might double, and there will be a lot of cheesed off people who can’t talk me into selling to them.”
“This is an outrage,” Morag shouted.
Again, someone who wasn’t wrong.
“I will never give you free pies,” Morag declared.
Caroline cleared her throat and, as if she’d waved a magic wand, there was instant silence. How did she do that?
“May I suggest that we take the cost of Betty’s ‘free’ pies from council funds? Seeing as everyone in town will benefit from this arrangement.”
There was a murmur of approval, and Morag nodded before sitting back down in a huff.
“Still free for me,” Betty taunted her nemesis.
Morag’s two friends placed restraining hands on her as Betty blithely carried on.
“Number Three. I want a job dyeing hair at the spa.”
That caused laughter. It was well known around town that she’d been angling for that job since Jodie opened the place. It was why she’d taken to dyeing her head blue. As a sort of audition for the role.
“Not going to happen,” Jodie said from where she sat next to her husband, Mitch, in the front row.
“Even if the town is goin’ tae suffer because you say no?”
Jodie pinned Betty with a stare. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”
The room held its collective breath as the two women stared each other down. Dougal’s money was on Jodie. She was the only person he’d ever met who’d made Betty back off. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.
“Then I want to work reception and book in all the beauty appointments,” Betty said, making people gasp with the shock of seeing her cave.
“No,” Jodie said.
“Then I want to wax off Dougal’s beard.” Betty grinned at hi
m as he gasped, his hands automatically going to his beard as if to protect it.
Jodie stared at him, apparently considering the demand.
“Over my dead body,” he said.
“That would work for me,” Betty answered.
“Move on from the spa,” Jodie told her. “Nothing on your list that’s even vaguely related to my business is going to happen.”
People in the room looked like they might pass out at the shock of Jodie’s words. Getting Betty to sell would mean a lot of new opportunities for the folk in town. And watching them fall at the first hurdle was hard.
To everyone’s shock, Betty just shrugged. “It was worth a try. You make a fine apprentice, lassie.”
Jodie rolled her eyes. “Get on with it. Some of us have better things to do with our time than pander to your ego.”
“All of us,” Josh amended. “Not some. It’s definitely all of us.”
“Number Four,” Betty said loudly, but Lake was reading over her shoulder and put out a hand to stop her.
“Don’t even think about it. I will lock you up in chains before I give you a gun,” he said.
She frowned at him but moved on. “Number five.” Her smile put the fear of God into half the room. “I want to see Grunt’s willy piercing.”
When there was no outraged protest, it became clear that Grunt and his wife, Claire, were not at the meeting.
“Consider it done,” Dougal lied merrily. He’d deal with the fallout later, because there was no way the mountain-sized American would let Betty near his privates.
“I’m holding you to that.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Get on with it,” he told her. “How many more items are on your list?”
“Hold yer horses,” she said. “I’m getting there.” She took a slow, deep breath as her eyes glinted in his direction. “Number six,” she said at last. “I want the first of July to be a public holiday in my name—Betty Day.”
A Little Something Extra: Short Stories from the Invertary and Benson Security World Page 14