Hometown Troublemaker Read online

  Hometown Troublemaker

  Brighton Walsh

  Copyright © 2019 by Brighton Walsh

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  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Edited by Lisa Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC

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  Cover Art © Brighton Walsh

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  Hometown Troublemaker is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

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  Digital ISBN: 978-0-9971258-7-0

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9971258-8-7

  Aurora "Rory" Haven's life is in shambles. Her ex-husband's living with the woman he cheated with, her oldest daughter blames her for the divorce, and she's broke. To make ends meet, she partners with the too-young, way too hot local contractor she has absolutely no business fantasizing about.

  Nash King is working overtime so he can take over the family business. He doesn't need the distraction of his best friend's sister, but the hot-as-hell, pearl-clutching divorcée barrels her way into his everyday life. He's managed to ignore his attraction to her for a decade. What's another couple months?

  The summer heat and forced proximity has tempers flaring…and their chemistry sizzling. But Havenbrook's gossip mill is churning full-force, and the last thing Rory needs is everyone speculating over her crush on a man eight years her junior. Except crushing doesn't have anything on what's really going on...

  What would happen if the townspeople found out paint wasn't the only thing being stripped?

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  For my readers—thank you for sticking with me.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Pact with a Heartbreaker Excerpt

  Other Titles By Brighton Walsh

  Have you read London Hale?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Rory Haven was constantly reminded how far she’d fallen from the pedestal Havenbrook had placed her upon, and today would be the worst reminder of all. Her hometown on the Fourth of July meant festivities. Festivities meant crowds. Crowds meant busybodies. And busybodies meant pointed fingers and hushed conversations, all directed squarely at her.

  It might have been weeks since her divorce had been finalized—not to mention more than six months since she’d filed—but the gossip mill in Havenbrook never stopped churning. At least, it didn’t until something juicier came along, and it’d take a lot to get juicier than her shitstorm of a life. Having her husband of more than a decade cheat on her with two dozen women had been bad enough. Having him do so with her best friend—former best friend—was just the cherry on that shit sundae.

  A knock sounded at the door to Rory’s office, and she glanced up.

  Willow, one of her younger sisters and fellow town hall worker bee, poked her head around the corner. “Hey, you. Thought I was the only one workin’ on the Fourth.”

  Will was the Event Coordinator—among other things—for Havenbrook, which meant everything happening in the Square today was all her doing. It also meant she’d been running herself ragged for the past six weeks and wouldn’t get a break for another couple of hours.

  Rory held up a note scribbled in their daddy’s handwriting. “What the mayor wants, the mayor gets.”

  Will’s eyebrows lifted. “And he wants right now?”

  “He does indeed.” She dropped her voice an octave to imitate their father and said, “With as much as I’m payin’ you, you can run in there real quick and get this appointment set. Let ’em know the mayor wants it done.”

  That was her daddy. Always throwing around his status and money, even with his own daughters. Like she could forget she hadn’t gotten this job based solely on her qualifications—being a stay-at-home mom was a damn hard job, but it didn’t come with a whole lot of references—but instead, because of him. Or the fact that she made more money job-sharing and working only three days a week than many of the full-time employees who’d been there for years. Something she knew not only because she’d had to make sure he signed all paperwork denoting any raises, but because he brought it up every chance he got.

  “Does he realize it’s the Fourth, and no one’s open?”

  Rory dropped her voice again. “‘Everyone’s open for the Havens.’”

  “Sounds like Daddy.” Will rolled her eyes. “Hey, thanks again for helpin’ me decorate the Square for the parade. You always have the best ideas.”

  While decorating the center of town hadn’t been Rory’s most fulfilling work—that award went to her star project, The Willow Tree, Havenbrook’s first and only bar—it still allowed her to use that creative part of her brain that was currently in starvation mode most of the time.

  She’d helped redecorate a few of Havenbrook’s residents’ homes, but it wasn’t something she could do full time. Not when she had two little girls counting on her and a brand-new mortgage to pay. She’d do anything for her daughters, including working a soul-sucking job while putting her dreams on hold. And she refused to use the child support she received from Sean for anything other than her daughters’ expenses. He would forever be in her life because of their girls, but she’d be damned if she’d see his face when she looked around at her new place.

  “Well, I certainly couldn’t leave you with only Mac to help.”

  Mackenna, the second youngest of the four Haven girls, wasn’t what you’d call domestic. Or creatively inclined. Or helpful.

  “I stopped askin’ her for help years ago. It would’ve been Finn out there with me.” Even mentioning her boyfriend’s name had Will’s face going all schmoopy. It made Rory a little nauseated, to be honest. He wasn’t even there, and she had half a mind to tell Will to get a room.

  “In that case, I should be thankin’ you, ’cause I’d hate to see what that man would’ve come up with.” Just recalling his suggestions for the bar had her recoiling. He might be one of the owners, but that didn’t make him right.

  Will laughed and hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “You wanna head out with me? The parade’s startin’ in an hour or so.”

  And be out in the open among all the whispers and stares for the whole damn thing? Not a chance in hell. The parade started the festivities. Then they had the potluck, the carnival, the pie-eating contest, the baseball game—which she had to attend, no matter what—and the fireworks as the grand fi
nale. Yeah, she’d definitely be avoiding that for as long as humanly possible. Make sure her mask was good and secure before she ventured into the crowd.

  “You go on ahead,” she said. “I’m gettin’ the girls from Sean’s momma a little later, and I have a few things I need to do before then.” Never mind that those things were mostly made up specifically to keep her out of the Square until the last possible minute.

  “If you’re sure…” Will didn’t even try hiding the concern on her face.

  Rory was so sick of seeing that look. She got it from Mac and Will, from her momma, from every damn person she passed at the grocery store or walking down the street. She appreciated the gesture, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hate every second of it. Was she a mess? Absolutely. Was she set to crumble with the slightest jostling? Not even a little.

  It’d take a hell of a lot more than a shitty ex-husband and an even shittier ex-best friend to crack Rory Haven.

  “I’m sure,” Rory said, pasting on her smile. “I’ll see y’all out there in a bit.”

  Will nodded, offered her a wave, and left. When she was out of sight, Rory exhaled, her smile slipping, and closed her eyes. She didn’t know when it had become so damn exhausting to wear that mask she’d perfected years ago, but she found it grated on her now. Had her nerves frazzled and frayed more than she’d care to admit. But she needed to suck it up and prepare for what was to come, because there was nothing but hours of it in her future.

  The thought had dread pooling inside her. Of course, she’d been out and about since news of her divorce had spread, but this was the first major town event after it’d been finalized. She wasn’t looking forward to being the spectacle of Havenbrook today, and she had no doubt she would be. She couldn’t avoid it, though. Eventually, she’d have to show up.

  She glanced at her watch. She still had a few hours to kill, and she knew just how to do it. If she was going to maintain that facade for hours, she needed a little spark to fuel her fire. Needed to take some time to stoke her creative side—the one that was just for her—and then she’d be able to make it through. She’d be able to play momma and daughter and sister and scorned woman just fine.

  Town hall faced the Square, and Rory glanced out her office window to find people already milling about, settling in with lawn chairs to ensure prime seating for the parade. If she left out the front, she’d have to start this whole Poor Rory thing a lot sooner than she was prepared for.

  So she did the only thing she could—she stood from her desk, hooked her purse over her shoulder, and avoided every stare as she strolled straight out the back door without a second thought.

  Nothing kept Nash King from an honest day’s work—not even the Fourth of July. Never mind that it was his favorite holiday, or that Havenbrook on the Fourth was a sight to behold. When duty called, he answered.

  Today alone, he’d fixed a screen door that’d come off its hinges, replaced a rotted front porch step, and repaired a window thanks to the impromptu summer storm that’d cropped up a couple nights ago. In this economy—not to mention the fact that he hoped someday soon to buy out his old man and take over King Construction—he couldn’t be picky about who he took on as clients…even if those jobs happened to be on the Fourth.

  He glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his beat-up truck and swore under his breath. If he had any hope of making it to the field for the annual baseball game before Finn Thomas—team challenger to the Havens for the second year—had Nash’s balls in a sling, he needed to haul ass.

  Nash’s cell rang, and he glanced over at the caller ID. Speak of the devil… It wasn’t Finn, but his twin was a close second.

  “Yeah, Drew,” Nash answered, setting his phone to speaker.

  “Hey, man. I need a favor. Well, Finn needs a favor, but as usual, he’s sent me to do his dirty work.”

  Nash laughed. “Whatcha need?”

  “I can’t find Rory anywhere, and she’s not answering her phone. You know she’s gotta be here for this. You have any idea where she’s at?”

  “You sure she’s not out there bossin’ everyone around?”

  Drew snorted. “I thought y’all would’ve gotten over this rivalry shit after workin’ together on the bar for so long.”

  One would think, but no. If anything, those months of working side by side with Rory had only fanned the flames licking inside him. Flames he’d been trying to put out for too damn long.

  “She with her sisters?” he asked.

  “Nope, and I can’t exactly grill ’em on why she’s not here.”

  “Town hall? Her house? Parents’ place?”

  “Nope, nope, and nope.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “You’re not helpin’ me, man.”

  He laughed. “I’m not a fucking psychic. Gimme a minute.”

  Havenbrook wasn’t exactly a metropolis where someone could hide in plain sight. It shouldn’t have been this hard to find someone…unless they didn’t want to be found. And as long as he’d known Rory, she’d always stepped straight into the limelight. Had reveled in it, in fact.

  Of course, she hadn’t always been on the receiving end of the town’s whispers about her recent divorce, so maybe hiding out was exactly what she was doing…

  That thought pinged something in his mind. He’d just finished up a remodel for one of the oldest and stubbornest of Havenbrook’s residents. Miss Norma might’ve been ninety-five, but she was bound and determined to stay in her house until the bitter end—and do so with a brand-new kitchen. All that was left on the remodel were the finishing details, which meant he’d had a partner in the form of snooty, pretentious, overbearing, bossy…and hot-as-hell Aurora Haven for the past too-long-to-count.

  “I’ve got one place I can check.” Nash made a U-turn and headed in the direction of Miss Norma’s house. “Let me see what I find, and I’ll call you back. You better not let ’em start without me. I don’t wanna miss the fireworks, and you know I’m not talkin’ about the ones in the sky.”

  Drew laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re our ace in the hole on the team. Can’t win without you.”

  Nash snorted and hung up, not bothering to say goodbye. It only took a minute to drive the couple blocks to Miss Norma’s place. Sure enough, Rory’s car was parked right out front. He sent off a quick text to Drew as he got out of his truck, letting him know he’d found Rory and would send her on her way as soon as he could.

  He climbed the porch steps, pushed through the unlocked front door like he’d been doing every day for the past month, and stepped over the threshold. Music played softly somewhere inside, so he followed the sound straight into the kitchen—and stopped short, his mouth going dry.

  Jesus, did the universe hate him?

  That was the only logical explanation. Because if God loved him, there was no way the big guy upstairs would force Nash through this agony day in and day out. And it was agony. Pure, deep, and unrelenting.

  Across the room, the one and only Rory Haven shook her fine ass while teetering high up on a wobbly ladder. She wore fitted, bright-red pants that cupped her backside perfectly and ended at her shapely calves—something too fancy, considering the paintbrush she held. Humming along with the ancient radio on the counter, she rocked her hips to the beat of an old country song, and Nash tried to talk down his cock, which had leaped to life as soon as he’d laid eyes on her.

  She was…stunning. There really wasn’t another word for her, because God knew she’d stunned his ass over and over again—had been stunning him for years. She’d pulled her long, dark hair up in some kind of fancy ponytail, the ends curled and bouncing along the exposed skin of her back as she danced. Her sleeveless, white tank-style blouse was tucked into her indecently tight pants. Only Princess Rory would think it okay to wear a white—and what appeared to be silk—blouse while doing some touch-up painting.

  The song ended and another started right up, Rory’s hips not missing a beat. There was no denying it—she was he
aven and hell all rolled up into one perfectly petite package. A perfectly petite package he’d love to have wrapped around him until they both collapsed from pleasure. And then maybe once more after that just for the hell of it…

  Nash leaned against the doorframe separating the kitchen from the living area, his hand tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “You should try performin’ that in the Square tonight.”

  Rory screeched, arms flailing as she teetered on the already wobbly ladder. Nash didn’t stop to think as he lunged, hoping to catch her before she fell off the six-foot ladder and straight onto that perfect, heart-shaped ass.

  But Rory, being Rory, caught herself. One hand gripping the top of the ladder and the other pressing against her chest, she twisted in his direction, her eyes narrowed and lips pinched in a nasty scowl. “Nash King, what do you think you’re doin’? You can’t just creep into kitchens and scare the livin’ daylights out of people!”

  Fuck, he wished he didn’t get half hard every time she yelled at him, because God knew she did it every damn day. If there was one thing that got Rory riled up, it was when he simply smiled in response to one of her tirades. And because he was a masochist, he did exactly that. He’d had a lot of practice riling her up, and he’d gotten good at it.