Missy's Wish (The Lindstroms Book 2) Read online

  MISSY’S WISH

  The Lindstroms #2

  Katy Paige

  MISSY’S WISH

  Copyright © 2019 by Katharine Gilliam Regnery

  Sale of the electronic edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.

  Katharine Gilliam Regnery, publisher

  This book is a work of fiction. Most names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any references to real people or places are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Please visit my website at www.katyregnery.com

  Cover Designer: Marianne Nowicki

  Formatting: CookieLynn Publishing Services

  Second Edition: December 2019

  Missy’s Wish: a novella / by Katy Paige—2nd Ed.

  ISBN: 978-1-944810-52-8

  Contents

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM KATY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Danielle, who reads it every year.

  And for Danielle, with thanks.

  This story belongs to you two.

  xoxoxo

  Chapter 1

  Lucas Flynn looked up as Missy Branson stormed into the kitchen of the Blue Moon Raccoon Saloon holding an empty water pitcher, her sudden appearance accompanied by a chorus of raucous laughter from the dining area, only silenced when the kitchen door swung closed.

  Without stopping, she slammed the pitcher down on the metal counter under the heating lamps, then continued through the kitchen and out the back door.

  The Blue Moon, located in Gardiner, Montana, marketed itself as "The Best Chow North of Yellowstone."

  With the rudest customers.

  It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Lucas had seen this happen several times during the four months he’d been working here.

  Peeking through the order-up window, he saw three idiots in the corner, under the moose head strung with winking Christmas lights, sporting varying degrees of wet hair and clothes.

  A trio of assholes.

  The café’s two other waitresses, Starla and Rose, hovered over them with extra napkins, while Stu, the café’s owner, offered drinks on the house.

  Lucas rolled his eyes.

  God only knew what they’d said to her to deserve an impromptu shower. From what he’d observed, it took a lot—a ridiculous amount of mean-spirited teasing and outright abuse—to get a rise out of Missy.

  Since taking the job as short-order cook at Stu’s Blue Moon Raccoon Saloon after being paroled in September, Lucas had kept his head down and his opinions to himself. He wasn’t interested in getting into any trouble, and he certainly wasn’t aiming for any more time inside. But his lip curled as he wondered about the three guys. What had they said to upset Missy so much?

  He looked over to make sure Del, the head cook, had his back turned, then glanced down at the grill where their three burgers sizzled. Bringing the spatula close to his lips, he gathered a good bit of saliva on his tongue and quietly spat on it, then he rubbed each of the burgers with a little clear goop before flipping them.

  Flicking a glance toward the outside door, he wondered when Missy was coming back. It was cold and dark out and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Wasn’t wearing anything but that obscene joke of a waitress uniform.

  Lucas had overheard her ask Stu for a larger size at least twice, and the answer he gave her was pure crap; the dirty old bastard liked the way it strained over her chest, just like all the other jerkoff patrons who treated her like dirt.

  Makes me mad as hell.

  He was grateful that restaurant owners like Stu participated in the prison release program, giving jobs to guys like Lucas who’d done their time and come out with a good behavior record, but Stu himself was kind of a douche. Missy Branson didn’t deserve to be treated like garbage. There were plenty of people he’d met that did deserve it, but not her. And yeah, he got the picture. He knew her reputation wasn’t lily white. Heck, from what he could gather it was probably closer to a dark gray. But Lucas Flynn didn’t care if Missy had screwed half the town. It didn’t change the fact that she was one of the prettiest, nicest people he’d ever met.

  Lucas slid the extra-special hamburgers off the griddle and onto a trio of toasted buns. He added lettuce and tomato on the side, and three large handfuls of chips to the plates before ringing the call-bell for Rose. “Order up. Twelve.”

  After using the spatula to scrape the tidbits into the front bin, Lucas turned to Del. “Okay if I take my fifteen minutes now, boss?”

  “Been more’n three months, Flynn. Don’t gotta call me ‘boss.’”

  “Yes, sir.” He rubbed his forehead, giving the large Native American cook a lopsided smile. “Old habits…Del.”

  Del looked at the back door, then back at Lucas, raising one eyebrow.

  “Think with your head,” he cautioned, glancing at Lucas’s crotch meaningfully with big, brown, world-weary eyes.

  “Yes, bo—Del. Good advice.”

  Del shrugged, tilting his head toward the back door. “Have at it.”

  Lucas grabbed Missy’s jacket before slipping outside.

  ***

  Missy Branson was sure there was a tattoo on her forehead only visible to the nastiest, rudest men who passed through Gardiner, Montana, that read in blaring, neon ink: Available.

  Take, for instance, the guys over at table twelve tonight.

  “Hey, Missy!”

  It was the supercute guy who’d been a regular in her section recently. He was probably a winter hiker or a cross country skier, she thought, having noted the gear piled up behind his table. Many tourists came to Gardiner, Montana, in December to take advantage of the white winter landscape in Yellowstone—it was the best time of the year to see wildlife. Cutie and his friends had been in three times this week for supper, and he always offered her a bright smile and left her a good tip.

  She stepped away from table ten, turning to face him, offering him a flirtatious smile. “Who, me?”

  “Your name is Missy, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well…can I get your number?” he asked, leaning forward with a bright smile.

  The man beside Cutie stared at the table snickering quietly, but Tess locked her blue eyes on the Cutie. Did he like her? Maybe he did, she thought, her heart thundering with hope. He always sat in her section. And he wasn’t local, so he didn’t know her reputation.

  Maybe she’d give him her number and Cutie would come back tomorrow night and take her out for dinner. Maybe they’d talk all night long and find out how much they had in common. He’d see what a good person she was, and—

  “Earth to Missy!”

  She giggled softly. “Sorry.”

  “So, what is it? Your number?”

  “Oh! Sure,” she said, taking the pencil from behind her ear

  She wrote down the digits on an empty check and handed it to him.

  Cutie spread it out on the table, then opened another piece of paper he’d hidden in his hand and compared the two numbers. They were identical.

  “Hot damn!” said his friend, chortling.

  Cutie looked up at her, a wide grin spreading across his face, and Missy took an involuntary step away from him. It was a mean grin. She knew it well. She’d seen it a million times
before.

  He pointed to the paper he’d unfolded. “Got this one off the bathroom wall. Said to call “Easy Missy” for a good time. Just wanted to be sure I got the right number.”

  “Slut,” muttered his friend, pretending to cough.

  Slut.

  Missy’s cheeks had burned, and her body felt tingly from a sudden burst of adrenaline. She had two choices: she could cry, or she could get mad.

  Without another thought, she’d yanked the full pitcher of icy water off the tray, drew back her arm and let loose, drenching all three men and yelling “Cool off!” before bee-lining through the kitchen to the loading dock.

  Goodness gracious, but men could be cruel.

  What would it be like to be treated—just for once—like a nice girl instead of a dirty joke?

  Drying her eyes with the backs of her hands, she turned when she heard the kitchen door open behind her, catching sight of Lucas Flynn before looking away.

  Great. Alone in the dark with an ex-con.

  She quickly chastised herself. That wasn’t fair. Some men were monsters, true, but Lucas Flynn had been nothing but polite to her since starting at the Blue Moon a few months back. He didn’t deserve her unkind thoughts. Lord knew how she felt when unkindness was directed at her, and it sure happened often enough.

  “Heya,” she murmured, making outward amends for her internal meanness.

  He hung back, smelling of hamburgers and hot dogs and the warm grill inside.

  “I, uh, brought your jacket,” he said softly.

  She furrowed her brows, turning to face him. Because of the cold, she knew the tips of her breasts would be visible against her too-small uniform. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, reaching out with one hand for her jacket.

  Instead of handing it to her, Lucas stepped closer, opening it up and encircling her shoulders, placing it gingerly around her. He tugged at the collar gently, pulling it snug around her neck and ears before stepping back.

  Missy stood speechless, touched beyond words for two simple reasons.

  The first? He hadn’t asked for anything in return. Not a kiss, not a touch, not a favor.

  And the second? His eyes hadn’t slid lower than her chin the entire time he wrapped her jacket around her. Not once. Not for an instant.

  She looked at his face, not for the first time but maybe for the first time this close up. He had brown eyes, warm and dark, with a fringe of dark eyelashes. His cheekbones were high, his cheeks angular hollows. His olive-toned skin wasn’t smooth and perfect, but his lips were. They were bowed and full, and Missy stared at them for a moment, biting her own bottom lip before lifting her eyes to his nose.

  His poor nose.

  Missy winced. Her second stepfather, a mean drunk prone to fights, had a nose like that. She was fairly certain that Lucas’s nose had been broken more than once.

  “Ugly,” he whispered, turning away.

  “N-no,” she said, turning to him as he rested his elbows on the iron railing, staring out at the darkness. She wasn’t a small woman, but next to him, beside his tall, lean body, Missy felt small, and she liked that.

  “I know what I look like, Miss Branson.”

  Miss Branson. Miss Branson? If he didn’t stop being so nice to her, she’d start crying again. Or she’d have to kiss him.

  “Huh,” she murmured, putting her arms through her jacket and zipping it up before propping her elbows on the metal bar beside his. “Haven’t said a word to me in four months and now here you are, all…‘Miss Branson’ with me.”

  He stared up at the sky, running a finger back and forth across his lower lip, which pulled Missy’s eyes like a magnet. Her tongue darted out and she wet her lips.

  “Lots of stars here,” he said.

  She turned her attention to them. “I guess. Never really look at them.”

  “Thought you might be out here wishing on a star,” he said, and she could almost feel him blush beside her as he shifted his weight awkwardly. “Stupid thing to say.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s just…I don’t wish on stars.”

  “I thought all women did that stuff.”

  “Not me.”

  “Why not? You don’t believe in wishes?”

  Looking out across the Yellowstone River, she saw some twinkling Christmas lights in the distance. In shades of red and blue, orange and green, they blinked cheerfully in the darkness. Festive and hopeful, but so very far away.

  “They don’t come true,” she murmured, turning around to lean her back against the railing and face the grimy kitchen door.

  “What’d those guys say to you?”

  She shrugged, pushing her blond curls out of her face. She used the rubber band on her wrist to secure them into a perky ponytail. Didn’t he know who she was? Didn’t he know the things people said about her? To her?

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Three soaked guys eating my spit in their burgers says it mattered to you.”

  “Spit?” Her hands froze in her hair, a surprised smile spreading across her face as he turned around to face her, his brown eyes catching hers in the dim light. “Did you spit—?”

  “It was three to one. Nothing I hate more than a rigged fight.” He stared at her, leaning back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, yeah. Except one thing. I don’t like men who bully women. Ain’t so fond of that either.”

  “What were you in jail for?” she blurted out.

  Damn it, Missy! She had no right to ask him that.

  “Sorry,” she added, offering him a small, sheepish smile.

  “I cracked open the skull of a man who was bullying a woman.”

  Missy held his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. She didn’t know what to say; she just knew she couldn’t look away.

  “You…you did?”

  “Yep.” He uncrossed his arms, moving his white apron aside to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Can I ask you something?”

  Here we go, she thought. He’s going to ask me something disgusting. He’s going to kick me in the teeth with mean words that hurt more than he could ever kn—

  “Will you go out to dinner with me on Monday night, Missy?” he asked.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Wait. What?”

  “I’m asking you out on a date.”

  “Why?” she murmured, feeling her brows knit in confusion.

  “Because I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “You don’t have to take me to dinner to get to know me better,” she said softly, dropping his eyes.

  “But that’s the way I’d like to do it,” he said. “What do you say?”

  “Are you…for real?”

  “Yes, Miss Branson, I am,” he said, holding out his hand, palm up.

  She looked at his hand then back up at his face. She’d kissed many men in her life. So many men, she couldn’t possibly even guess at how many. But she’d never wanted to kiss a man as desperately as she wanted to kiss Lucas Flynn.

  “C-Call me Missy,” she whispered, placing her hand in his.

  She watched him lift it to his mouth and brush his lips softly against her cold skin. It sent a deluge of shivers up her arm and down her back, making her tingle with pleasure before turning her insides hot. A small, breathy sound escaped her throat as she stared at the dark brown, wavy hair on the back of his head.

  Finally, after the prettiest little eternity she’d ever known, he released her hand and turned, reaching for the kitchen door.

  “Make a wish on a star before you come in,” he said softly, without facing her. “It’s Christmastime. Who knows? It might come true.”

  Then, he slipped inside, leaving her hot and alone under the starry sky.

  Chapter 2

  Lucas hadn’t made enough money to buy a car yet, so he trudged the two miles home to the room he rented.

  It was in the basement of an older couple’s house, and when he’d filled out his application to rent it, he’d considered lyin
g, assuming that no one would want a jailbird living so close. But his conscience had won out and he’d ended up telling the truth.

  Surprisingly, it hadn’t mattered to the Andersons. In fact, they’d lost a son to drugs, and he’d done a little time inside, like Lucas. Mrs. Anderson said Lucas had an honest face, and as long as he got his rent in on time, they were happy to give him a chance.

  He was grateful to them for their kindness, and for the cookies he’d sometimes find on his doorstep, or the occasional invitation to join them for dinner. He raked the leaves off their lawn without being asked and shoveled their walkway after every snowfall. He couldn’t bear to see their 80-year-old bodies doing the work that one 30-year-old man could handle twice as fast.

  Arriving home, he unlocked the outside door to his basement room, wondering what the heck had gotten into him tonight: spitting on those burgers, chasing after Missy, and asking her out on a date. Though he’d noticed Missy right away, he’d done such a good job keeping his distance from her these past few months.

  On his first day at the Blue Moon she’d looked him up and down and grinned, but he’d been careful to break eye contact immediately. He’d read the interest in her glance, and as much as he wanted to explore it, especially after a stretch in prison, he knew it wasn’t a good idea. So, he’d kept his distance, never looking for her, never making eye contact, never being available. He needed to concentrate on holding down the job and exhibiting good sense in the workplace. Couldn’t risk his re-entry by messing around with a pretty waitress.

  But now? Four months later? Something had shifted. For better or for worse, getting to know Missy was more important now than it was then.

  He took a cold beer out of his mini-fridge, threw the bottle cap in the little garbage can under the sink, and took a long gulp, remembering the conversation with her on the loading dock. He hadn’t meant to tell her about his sister Jody and her abusive ex-boyfriend Roy, recipient of said cracked skull. He’d just wanted Missy to know that he didn’t like bullies.

  Lucas didn’t like thinking about Jody, especially what had happened to her while he was inside. Aw, he knew if wasn’t likely he’d have been able to help her, even if he’d been around. Still, it ate at him. Some days it made him almost crazy. It made him want to save someone, anyone, to make up for letting down his sister.