Goody Two Shoes (Invertary Book 2) by janet elizabeth henderson Page A

nature to lie. Before she could stop herself, she dialled the local police station.
    “Caroline, is that you?” Agnes barked into her ear.
    Blast. Caroline had planned to do this anonymously. She forgot the police station would have caller ID.
    “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes it is. You need to send a police car to the castle. I thought I saw someone breaking in. You had better call Josh McInnes too. I know he has problems with troublesome fans.”
    She had lied to the police. She never lied. And she’d lied to the police. She was going straight to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. And never, ever get a chance to roll the dice and break free.
    “We’ll get right on it.” There was a pause. “Why did you wait until you got home to call?”
    “You know I don’t have a mobile phone, Agnes.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
    “Right. I forgot. Thanks for calling.”
    A moment later, she heard Josh’s phone ring downstairs and dashed back into the bathroom. As feet pounded up the stairs, she refastened her bra and tucked her shirt back into her skirt. She was patting her cheeks with a towel as Josh appeared in the doorway.
    “Sorry, baby, I have to go. There’s been a break-in at the castle. It’s probably nothing, but I should be there.”
    “Of course. You go on. We can talk another time.”
    Josh wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her hard on the lips. “We’re okay, yeah?”
    “Of course. Now go.” She dazzled him with her best fake smile. He didn’t seem to notice it wasn’t real. He turned and ran down the stairs. The best sound Caroline had heard all day was the slam of her front door behind him.
    Caroline dragged herself through to the bedroom and fell on her back on the bed. Her hands covered her face as she let out a long, mournful groan. Forget jail.
    Her lying backside was going straight to hell.
     
    “You don’t need to sleep on the couch.” Helen eyed the king-sized bed. “We can make this work for the next few weeks.”
    “I’m taking the couch.” Andrew nodded to the tiny two-seater sofa by the window.
    Helen felt her throat tighten. Did he hate her so much that he’d rather sleep upright than share a bed with her again?
    “I’m sure we can manage in the bed.”
    “I’ll find another room if you don’t want me on the couch.”
    “Mitch said the other rooms were full of junk.”
    He grunted. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She felt tension wind its way up her spine to her neck. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from talking. Years of asking questions and getting no reply had taught her that it was pointless. But she felt angry. Angrier than she had in years. She turned to her husband, the stranger she’d married. He was standing inside the doorway, looking at the bed as though it would bite him. His hands were wedged deep into those awful tartan pants of his, and he was hunched over as though he was trying not to be there at all.
    Something inside Helen snapped, and she opened her mouth. “What does that mean?” His eyebrows shot up. “What did that grunt mean? I don’t speak grunting. I speak American. You need to translate. Does it mean you’re sleeping in the bed or not?”
    He took a slight step back towards the door. She was pretty sure he wasn’t even aware that he’d done it. Subconsciously, the man was retreating. Running. As he usually did. She put her hands on the hips of her yellow flowered sundress, the one that clashed with her hair, and waited.
    “Well?”
    He shuffled on the spot. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to share the bed.”
    The look he gave her was unfathomable. Helen felt bile bite at the back of her throat. After thirty-five years, he couldn’t even share a bed with her for one more month.
    “Fine. Take the couch.” She stomped towards him and picked up his bag, which was beside the bed. “But you’re not taking this one.” She swung her arm and launched the bag out of the