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In Emmylou's Hands
Pamela Hearon
Will his secret be safe?Sol Beecher returned home from serving in Afghanistan a changed man. Closed off, he hasn’t opened up to anyone in years, and he certainly has no intention of doing so with EmmyLou Creighton. She, however, seems determined to get under his skin…and into his bed. Any other man would be thrilled to have the enticing EmmyLou pursue them, but a relationship with her means exposing his prosthetic leg. Thrown together at every turn, keeping the truth from her becomes increasingly harder—as does hiding his attraction. How can Sol trust his biggest vulnerability with someone who’s obviously hiding her own secrets behind that alluring smile?
Will his secret be safe?
Sol Beecher returned home from serving in Afghanistan a changed man. Closed off, he hasn’t opened up to anyone in years, and he certainly has no intention of doing so with EmmyLou Creighton. She, however, seems determined to get under his skin…and into his bed. Any other man would be thrilled to have the enticing EmmyLou pursue him, but a relationship with her means exposing his prosthetic leg. They’re thrown together at every turn, and keeping the truth from her becomes increasingly harder—as does hiding his attraction. How can Sol trust his biggest vulnerability with someone who’s obviously hiding her own secrets behind that alluring smile?
“Here I sit, not an arm’s length away, all but begging you to kiss me, and you want to argue about it.”
“I’m not arguing about it. I just can’t imagine that you’re being sincere.” Sol pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes. “I don’t want to be toyed with, EmmyLou.”
He threw the truck into Drive and pulled back onto the road, fuming. The heat and their silence made the air in the truck hard to breathe. He turned onto her lane, then brought the truck to a stop in her driveway and cut the engine. Without a word, he got out, determined to walk her to the door so she couldn’t throw not being a gentleman in his face.
But she was already out before he closed his door. She came around and met him at the front. “You’re right. I do toy with guys sometimes. It’s called flirting.” She stepped against him and slid her arms around his waist. And then her lips were pressing his, warm and inviting.
The jolt he felt was strong enough to shake the dust off his libido. Without a thought or a consideration, he held her to him and answered her mouth with the fervor it demanded.
Being toyed with might not be so bad…
Dear Reader (#ulink_3e320e18-9974-55c5-ab3f-6df603ead9e8),
When I first introduced EmmyLou Creighton as Maggie Russell’s best friend in My Way Back to You, the question started showing up, time after time: When will EmmyLou get her own story?
For those of you who’ve met her, it might seem strange that a character as flamboyant and “out there” as EmmyLou would be reticent about sharing anything. But we all have our public side and our private side, and EmmyLou is no different. It took some time to earn her trust to the point that she was willing to open up because EmmyLou isn’t just another pretty face—she has a deeper side…a crippling secret that many who read this will readily identify with.
Of course, EmmyLou’s hero had to be her equal in every way, which included her depth and level of intrigue. Sol Beecher—once Taylor’s Grove’s most eligible bachelor but now its most mysterious recluse—was the perfect one to coax Emmy’s secrets out of her and perhaps even share his own.
Have I caught your attention? I hope so! And I hope you enjoy EmmyLou and Sol’s story—In EmmyLou’s Hands.
Until next time,
Pamela
In EmmyLou’s Hands
Pamela Hearon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
PAMELA HEARON grew up in Paducah, Kentucky, a place that infuses its inhabitants with Southern values and hospitality. Here she finds inspiration for her quirky characters, her stories’ backdrops and her narrative voice. Pamela was a 2013 RITA® Award finalist and a MAGGIE® Award finalist for her first Harlequin Superromance story, Out of the Depths. The Summer Place was a 2014 National Readers’ Choice Award finalist. Visit Pamela at pamelahearon.com (http://www.pamelahearon.com), and on Facebook and Twitter.
To Camden, Taj and Quincy.
If you read this many, many years from now, perhaps you’ll smile and feel that you know Gigi a little better.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_7d592b40-ff37-5909-afbb-9cbff1c511d7)
It takes so many people to bring a book from its inception to the printed page, and I’d like to take this time to say thank you to a few.
Thank you to my editor, Karen Reid, for teaching me so much about romance writing. I’ve worked with you on six books now. Each has been pure pleasure.
Thank you to my agent, Jennifer Weltz of The Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency. You are quite simply The Best.
Thank you to my critique partners at WriteRomance—Maggie Van Well, Angela Campbell and Sandra Jones.
Thank you to my family for your encouragement, your understanding of my time commitments and your love.
And thank you to my husband, Dick, whose hands forever hold my heart.
Contents
COVER (#u68087b0a-8850-5212-b6d4-8ef4691b7e46)
BACK COVER TEXT (#u75cda90f-592c-5656-915c-6fc2c0fcb846)
INTRODUCTION (#ud76e84d2-c09b-5e06-82b4-fb8b0339d675)
Dear Reader (#ulink_37d98c87-2dfb-5571-977e-a8ca76a136a0)
TITLE PAGE (#ua16adad6-0431-5519-8202-0f492841d0c3)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u3b660190-18d3-5362-aef3-662c79cd7f39)
DEDICATION (#u54e333b2-f2cb-580f-a511-036ea3ba14ab)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_acc6f008-c461-526c-b026-07abdbe8b1e0)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cbe858a9-83c2-5b38-9687-e0de511c1ddf)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a894892c-dbc9-50e2-b75b-e5396a69cfc0)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_46d1c96b-7165-5352-9291-07fb922e0c4a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_88b2eeb6-80e2-5278-9b95-1a830e93e4bf)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_25a76139-7c19-5890-9ea8-40ec1dcc37b3)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_dd6ab5cd-b764-5291-a1aa-b73273c37189)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ab94f7fb-7ae2-51b5-a6b1-ceba9bb38881)
“MY FAMILY HAS a beach house in Gulf Shores, Alabama.”
No sooner were the words out of EmmyLou Creighton’s mouth than she knew she’d spoken too soon. Of course, that was nothing new—her mouth had a tendency to stay several strides ahead of her brain most of the time. Grabbing her phone in one hand, she held up a finger on the other to put the conversation with her two friends on hold while she texted her mom.
Beach house taken June 23-30?
No, came the reply.
Pencil me in.
Seriously?
I’ll explain later.
She tossed her phone down and drummed the table with her long fingernails to signal that speech could once again commence.
Bree Barlow and Audrey Dublin looked at each other and shrugged, oblivious to the amazing feat EmmyLou had just accomplished.
“Don’t you see?” She directed her comment toward Audrey. “You can use a week at the beach house as the grand prize.”
Audrey’s gray eyes, which had been pinched with worry two minutes ago, widened. “For the raffle? Oh, Emmy! You can do it just like that?” She snapped her fingers.
Emmy laughed and snapped hers in answer. “Just like that.”
Even Bree, who was enjoying her first girls’ night out since the birth of her second child, came out of her exhausted lethargy to gasp her approval. “That would be such a fabulous prize! Taylor’s Grove has never had anything like that.”
“Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky, never had anything like me.”
“Are you sure about this? I mean, a text and it’s done?”
Emmy laughed at the skepticism in Audrey’s voice. “It’s done, sugar. Trust me. Everybody in the family gets a week in the summer if we want it, but we have to claim the week, which I just did. We also get weeks during the rest of the year if it’s not rented, but it almost always is.”
Their server showed up with another tray of drinks. “Guy at the bar sent these over.”
“Again?” Bree groaned at the third bottle of sparkling water set in front of her. “Would you please tell him to save his money and just send her a beer?” She indicated Emmy with a nod, and then wagged a finger between her and Audrey. “I’m nursing and she’s a newlywed, so we’re off the market.”
The server grinned. “Different guy. But I’ll tell the next one.” She replaced the empties in front of Audrey and Emmy with full bottles.
Emmy’s glance drifted down the bar until she found the young man looking expectantly their way. “Kind of cute, but way too young. Twenty-five, maybe. Still wet behind the ears.” She raised her beer bottle with a nod of gratitude but broke eye contact immediately.
Having done this for far more years than she liked to acknowledge, Emmy was the go-to expert on all the subtleties of pickups. At thirty-five, although everyone guessed her to be eight to ten years younger, she could fill a book about turnoffs, turn-ons, tune-ins, tune-outs and tone-downs.
Years of experience, however, had brought her no Mr. Right—no one to settle down with and have the family she wanted so badly. She hadn’t lost hope, even though her close friends were now happily married with kids.
“I’d think you would like younger guys, Emmy.” Audrey took a sip of her rum and Coke. “More stamina.”
“Jackrabbits.” Emmy shivered in mock disdain. “My preferences lean toward the ones who are...slower, you know? Not like those giant tortoises that take forever. Have you ever seen those shows on the National Geographic Channel? About the huge ones that live on the Galápagos Islands? My God, you know she just wants to turn around to him and say, ‘Will you get on with it?’” She placed her hands on the table and pushed slowly out of her chair, opening her mouth and dragging out a grunt before plopping back in her chair and repeating the action.
Bree and Audrey giggled at her imitation.
“I’m looking for one of those cute turtles that plods along all efficient-like at a nice steady pace but starts to scurry when he hits the beach. And once he plunges in, he just paddles along with that smooth stroke until the tide goes down.” She fluttered her eyelids and gave a dreamy smile. “Mmm!”
Her friends exchanged knowing glances and nodded in agreement. “Mmm!”
“Hey, wait a minute. What’s wrong with this picture?” Emmy slapped the table with her palm. “Here I am, offering my family’s beach house to raise funds for a school I never attended in a town I’ve only lived in for a couple of years, but said town’s not taking care of my needs in return. Y’all snatched up the last two good turtles Taylor’s Grove may ever hatch.”
“True, we got the best ones,” Audrey agreed. She shook a finger in Emmy’s direction. “But Sol Beecher’s still available...and he’s your closest neighbor.”
The name caused Emmy’s teeth to clench. “Yeah. Thank God that translates as a quarter mile away.” She snorted. “Try raffling off that snapping turtle and see how much you get for him. I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for a night with him.” She doubted the present company was aware she’d had a night with Taylor’s Grove’s most eligible bachelor fourteen years ago, shortly after she and her friend Maggie Wells had started the hair salon in Paducah, Kentucky—just outside of Taylor’s Grove.
Maggie, a Taylor’s Grove native, had introduced Emmy to her friend—handsome and oh-so-sexy Sol Beecher. Three dates in, they’d ended up in bed, and he’d never called again. She could still feel the sting if she thought about it...which she didn’t.
But Audrey’s and Bree’s husbands, Mark and Kale, were Sol’s best friends. And Kale and his dad had just purchased the local marina from Sol at a hefty price if word on the street was correct. Emmy could sense a lecture coming on from Bree about her teasing of Sol.
Bree squinted as if trying to remember something difficult to recall. “He’s different than he used to be in high school. He was Mr. Popular then. Outgoing...fun. Of course, he chased anything that wore a skirt.”
“Until it came off...um... I’ll bet.” Emmy covered her slip of the tongue.
“Something happened in Afghanistan.” Audrey stared into her drink as if the answer could be found there. “He came home with that limp—”
