In Emmylou's Hands

Last night in the dark, Sol had missed the photographs that covered the wall to the right of the private suite’s door. He stopped now to look, his eyes drawn to a grouping of EmmyLou at different ages, decked out in over-the-top frills—sashes crossing her torso, declaring her Fairest of the Fair.

A beauty queen. No wonder she’s so self-absorbed.

He guessed her to be around sixteen in the last one. Beautiful—but not as beautiful as she’d looked when he’d picked up the key at her house.

The memory of that humiliation propelled him out of the room with a quick call over his shoulder. “Fifteen minutes.”

A disgusted sigh followed by a shuffling sound told him Joe Wayne was on the move at last.

Sol returned to the kitchen, where he had the beginnings of a couple of Monte Cristo sandwiches lying on the cutting board. He heated the butter in the skillet as he whisked the eggs and milk together, then dipped the sandwiches and let them brown slowly.

He’d just flipped them to the other side—smiling at the perfection of the golden color—when Joe Wayne made his appearance...obviously clean, but still wearing the same damn dirty clothes.

Sol wrinkled his nose. “Don’t you have something else you can put on?”

Joe Wayne ran a hand through his wet hair and tucked it behind his ears. “Nope. Everything in there—” he threw a thumb over his shoulder “—is dirty. All my clean stuff’s in the compartment of my motorcycle.”

Shock rolled through Sol. “You left your motorcycle behind?”

Joe Wayne rubbed the back of his neck. “Had to. It was a near-death experience. I was hoping—” he drifted toward the sliding glass door, looking out on the beach “—that maybe you and me could figure out some way to get it back.”

Sol lifted the sandwich with the spatula to check its progress as he shook his head. “Sorry. You’re on your own.”

“Come on, man.” The sound was as close to a man-whine as Sol had ever heard. “Ramona’s husband’ll kill me if I get anywhere near that house. He’s probably already done something horrible to Patsy—that’s my cycle.”

“And what makes you think anyone else would be safe?”

“I thought...” Joe Wayne shrugged, cutting his eyes in Sol’s direction and downward. “Maybe he wouldn’t do nothing to a guy with a fake leg.”

“Use the cripple to garner some pity, huh?” Sol tossed the plastic bowl into the sink, sloshing the remainder of its egg-and-milk contents up the sides.

“If gardenin’ pity’ll get Patsy back...hell yeah.”

“Hell no.” Sol found the plates in the cabinet and took two down. “Get us each a bottle of water.” He used the spatula to point at his companion. “Only water.”

EmmyLou’s brother did as he was told, slinking to the refrigerator like a whipped puppy, as Sol plated the sandwiches and cut each one in half, adding a dollop of strawberry jam for dipping.

“Let’s eat on the deck,” he suggested. “I can’t stand it in here with...” He paused. “This fresh air and sunshine is too nice to miss.”

Joe Wayne followed him out, and they settled into the chairs at the table. His companion wolfed a fourth of his sandwich down without saying a word, but grunting often with approval.

“What do you call this? Some kind of fancy French toast?” Strawberry jam oozed out the side of Joe Wayne’s mouth.

“Use your napkin.” Sol scooted one across the table. “And it’s a Monte Cristo.”

Joe Wayne snorted with his mouth full, sending crumbs onto his plate and the surrounding area. “Like those funny British movie guys? Dad used to love their stuff. Thought they were hilarious.”

“That’s Monty Python. This is Monte Cristo—as in the Count of...”

Joe Wayne shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

Sol took another bite to block the sarcasm poised on his lips.

“Gonna be hard for me to leave—” Joe Wayne shook his head and gave a regretful sigh “—till I get Patsy back. But once I do, her and me’ll hit the road quicker’n a frog on a june bug.”

“Forget it. You’re on your own.”

Joe Wayne took another giant bite. “Have it your way. But seeing as how you and I are going to be hanging out together for a while longer, why don’t you tell me what really happened to your leg?”

“I don’t talk about my leg,” Sol responded.

“Well, maybe you should. Might make you less of a turd.”

* * *

“HELLO?”

That was not Joe Wayne’s voice on the other end of her brother’s cell phone.

“Sol?” Emmy crossed her fingers and hoped not as she tossed her luggage onto the hotel bed.

“Who is this?” The threatening edge sharpened, going beyond the aggravation of Sol’s normal tone with her. This was...mean.

“It’s EmmyLou,” she said.

“Well, when you get ahold of your friend, tell him...”

Oh good Lord. This wasn’t Sol, either.

“...that if he ever comes sniffing around my wife again—”

The husband!

Emmy ended the call.

The guy still had Joey’s phone. Not a good sign. Where was her brother?

Her thumb scrolled through her recent calls and pressed the number from early that morning.

“Hello, EmmyLou.” Definitely Sol. Her toes curled at the sound no matter how hard she tried to stop them.

“Hi, Sol. I was trying to reach Joey, and—”

“Hey, sis.”

So Joey was still alive. That neither the husband nor Sol had killed him after last night’s fiasco was a pleasant surprise. Her brother might not have fared so well if she’d been the one staying at the beach house. But if he thought that friendly tone would get him out of a lecture, he had another think coming.

“Don’t you ‘hey, sis’ me. Acting like everything’s all hunky-dory after making an ass of yourself in front of my friend last night. What in the cornbread hell did you think you were doing? And with a married woman? Shame on you, Joe Wayne Fuller.”

“So y’all are friends. The way Sol acts, I wasn’t sure. ’Course, it was a little weird that he had your phone number so readily available last night. And here you are, calling him again.”

“Don’t go trying to shift the attention away from your stupid-assedness. Just tell me you got out of Sol’s way as soon as you grabbed some clothes last night, and right now you’re there simply because you stopped by to apologize.”

The dead silence on the other end crawled up her spine and confirmed what she already knew.

“Joey, please tell me you did not...”

“I was too drunk to go anywhere last night. I passed out on the bed.”

“But you left first thing this morning, right?” Bentley whined in exasperation, eager for his walk.

“Noooot exactly.”

“You are not still staying there!” She took out her frustration on the luggage zipper, jerking open the compartment holding the dog’s gear, and took his water bowl to the bathroom sink to fill it.

“I got nowhere to go and no way to get there ’cept on foot. Patsy’s in Ramona’s yard, and I’m sure that pit bull husband of hers is laying in wait to bite me in the ass. Sol refuses to help me get her back—”

“Oh good Lord, do not drag Sol into this. I drove all night to get down here, and I’m checked into a hotel. Give me a few minutes to walk Bentley, and I’ll be by to pick you up. We’ll go get Patsy.”

“Forget that bullshit. You shouldn’t’ve come, ’cause you’re not going over there with me.”

“Oh hell no!” Sol’s voice, in its typical aggravated mode. “Give me that phone.” There was a shuffling sound of the phone being passed, and then Sol’s growl came over the line. “EmmyLou, this is Sol. Are you in Gulf Shores?”

“Yes, I am.” She lifted her chin defiantly to the reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I came to help Joey.”

“That’s completely uncalled for.” He was all Mr. Take Control. And while her head wanted to tell him to mind his own business, everything below her neckline tingled appreciatively. But his sigh was pure aggravation, reminding her who she was speaking with. “All I need is another Fuller down here...” Emmy stiffened at his use of her real last name. What had Joey told him? “...needing me to take care of her during my relaxing time at the beach.”

The last phrase was drenched in sarcasm, and she couldn’t let the cut-down pass without a comeback. “As I recall, taking care of my needs wasn’t one of your strong suits, Mr. Beecher.” A total lie—Sol had been fabulous in bed. But he’d never called her back, so he’d get no accolades.

“Aw shit.” Oh good Lord, Sol had handed the phone back to Joey. “See, I knew something had went on between you two. Don’t tell me no more, ’cause I don’t want to have to lay him out. I might need his help.”

Emmy’s reflection rolled its eyes. “No need to protect my honor, Joey. I’ll be there to pick you up in a few minutes. Just do me a favor, and please don’t tell Sol my history. I’m EmmyLou Creighton to everybody in Taylor’s Grove. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Your secrets are safe with me, sis.”

EmmyLou dropped into the desk chair with a groan, defeated. Joey could be totally clueless sometimes, bless his heart.

She was so screwed.

* * *

“AND ON THAT, I’m going to hang up. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Joe Wayne recognized his sister’s tone—the one that meant she had no confidence in what he’d told her, which was laughable considering it was her lack of confidence in herself that had spoiled everything. They could be making millions by now... He took a deep breath and let it go.

“See you in a few,” he answered. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“She’ll be here in a half hour.” He handed Sol the phone and turned his attention back to his sandwich. Or that’s what he pretended to do. In reality, he studied the man sitting across from him.

So something had happened between Sol and EmmyLou. Something neither of them wanted to admit to. Well, the guy was a bit of a strange bird—but likable in spite of that hard-ass bullshit he put on. Like right then. He was sitting there, chewing his sandwich all slow, staring out at the Gulf like the sight had his total concentration. But Joe Wayne had seen his reaction when he heard EmmyLou was here. Something deep-rooted surfaced for an instant...something akin to fear. And he perked up when the topic of her secret hit his ears, although he played it cool like he hadn’t really taken it in.

“Rocket-propelled grenade blew it off in Afghanistan.” Sol’s voice was low and even, like he was talking about that pelican he could see standing at the water’s edge.

But the impact of the statement caused Joe Wayne’s throat to close around the bite he’d just taken. He chugged half the bottle of water to wash it down. “I’m sorry, man.”

Sol closed his eyes as if the words hurt him, and Joe Wayne saw the muscle in his jaw twitch as he opened them again. “You don’t need to be sorry. You had nothing to do with it. I hate it when people are sorry.”

“I mean I’m sorry for your loss,” Joe Wayne explained.

“It’s a leg. Save your mourning for people.”

Joe Wayne understood his point, but he figured the best way of showing it was to not say anything.

He must’ve figured right, because Sol went on. “Nobody in Taylor’s Grove knows I lost my leg. They think I caught a bullet and just have a bad limp.”

“That’s a helluva thing to keep quiet about.”

“Can’t stand for people to be sorry for me—the way you were just now. I stayed in Texas the first year and went to physical therapy to get used to the prosthesis. After that, it was easy to wear long pants and keep it hidden. And I don’t ever talk about it.”

“Which is why you didn’t want EmmyLou coming down here.”

Sol looked at him directly, and the side of his mouth rose in a partial smile. “Your sister’s mouth is in constant motion.”

Joe Wayne laughed. “A common Fuller family trait.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Sol gave a disgruntled sigh. “And now that she’s coming over here, I’ll have to get back into my jeans.”

“How long’s it been...since you lost it?”

“Eight years. During my second tour of duty.”

Joe Wayne held his water bottle up in a salute. “I appreciate your sacrifice, man.”

Sol shook his head. “Half a leg’s a small a thing compared to what others gave.”

Joe Wayne drank to him anyway and then took another bite with the understanding that the subject was closed. He liked this guy. He had an honorable air about him. “What happened between you and EmmyLou?”

“None of your business,” came the answering growl.

Yep, honorable...with a heaping helping of ornery on the side.

CHAPTER FIVE

PARKING UP THE street in a black pickup truck with a pair of binoculars trained on Ramona’s house was not the smartest reconnaissance plan Sol had ever been part of, but the Fullers had collectively vetoed his suggestion to get the police involved. So the next best option seemed to be to watch the house for Ramona’s husband or both of them to leave and to hope for an unlocked door or window, which Joe Wayne seemed to think was likely.

Looking around the run-down neighborhood, Sol couldn’t imagine such a scenario. This was a far cry from neat and tidy Taylor’s Grove and his own house, which he’d bet had never been locked since the day his grandparents moved in. But it confirmed that his decision to follow Joe Wayne and EmmyLou had been the right move, despite her protests that she didn’t need his protection.

Damn stubborn woman.

Joe Wayne came into view, slinking around the side of the house, head darting back and forth, guilty as sin and looking every inch the part. He sprinted to the edge of the driveway and up the street toward EmmyLou’s car. Sol hurried from the truck to hear his report.

“She’s in the backyard.”

A break—finally! “Did you arrange to get your keys?”

Joe Wayne shook his head. “Not Ramona. Patsy. She’s around back. And I seen the legs of my jeans laying out by the garbage, too. My guess is Ramona made herself a pair of shorts to get rid of the evidence.” He caught his breath on a wistful sigh. “I heard her husband tell her they was out of baloney and somebody was gonna have to go get some. Maybe it’ll be him. And maybe it’ll be soon.”

The temperature was creeping up to the point of being uncomfortable, and Sol was itching to get back to the beach house and the breeze off the Gulf...and the prospect of solitude once EmmyLou and her brother were out of his hair.

“I have an idea.” EmmyLou’s breathless exclamation raised his body temperature—and his disgruntled attitude—even more. “Let’s call your phone, and when they answer, we’ll pretend you’re an undercover CIA agent.” The brown of her eyes deepened with excitement, sending Sol’s memory soaring back to the night they spent together, which, in turn, reminded him how far he’d dropped on her scale of desirability. “We’ll say there’s a bomb planted on the cycle and they need to move it to the road with the keys and the phone, and we’ll come by and pick it up.”

Sol mustered his most condescending snort. “That may be the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard.”

“That so?” If the convertible top had been up on EmmyLou’s car, she might’ve ripped it in her hasty exit from the driver’s seat. “I don’t hear you coming up with anything better. I drove all night to get here, and I’m going to have to do it again tonight to get home for work tomorrow. I’m ready to go back to my hotel room and get some sleep, but instead, we’re standing around, roasting in this heat all afternoon, waiting for an event that might not happen.” She slammed the door and leaned back on it, crossing her arms in a pose that was somehow beguiling in its belligerence.

“If you’d stayed home, you wouldn’t be having to deal with this.” Sol shifted his eyes to Joe Wayne. “Look, I’ll just go to the door, and when she answers, I’ll ask for the keys and your phone.”

The male half of the Fullers squinted a wary eye. “What if he answers?”

Sol shrugged. “I’ll ask to speak to Ramona.”

“And he’ll throttle you on the spot.” Joe Wayne’s shrug mocked his own. “No questions asked.”

EmmyLou didn’t say anything, only glared at Sol as she stomped around to the trunk of her car and got out a bag, slinging it across her shoulder.

“What’s in there?” he asked.

“Hair tools and makeup. I’ll tell Ramona she’s won a makeover. When I get her alone, I’ll tell her who I am and get the keys and the phone.”

Joe Wayne’s face broke into a pleased grin. “That just might work.”

“No!” Sol exclaimed. Didn’t the woman have any sense of danger? “You’re not going in there.”

“Watch me.”

She walked fast. Sol had to break into his awkward jog to catch up with her. When he did, she turned a scowl in his direction. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone. I’m your assistant. Perry.”

“My assistant is Demitri.” Her scowl morphed into a smirk. “And he’d never let his hair look like that.”

“Today he does.” Sol couldn’t recall if he’d combed his hair this morning...or yesterday. It was one of those things that didn’t seem too important anymore.

The conversation stopped as they stepped onto the front stoop. EmmyLou rapped on the door as Sol let out a sharp breath.

* * *

THE WOMAN WHO answered the door had obviously been a real looker at one time, but her features had settled into a premature hardness that aged her maybe a decade, if Emmy was any judge...and she usually was. The husband hovered a few feet in the background, looking even meaner than he’d sounded over the phone.

“Hi there.” Emmy gave a warm smile and extended her hand. “Ramona?”

The woman didn’t return the smile or take her hand. Instead she scanned Emmy from head to toe and back. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Chloe Cramer from the Beauty Bar Salon, and this is my assistant, Demitri. Ramona’s name was drawn as the winner of a surprise makeover from our salon. Is she here?”

“A makeover? No shit?” Ramona’s smile softened her face and gave a glimmer of the pretty girl she used to be. “I’m Ramona. Come on in.”

Emmy shot Sol a triumphant grin. This was going to work. She stepped inside with him close at her elbow. Lifting her chin confidently, she covered the distance to the giant man in the Save The Squirrels, Eat More Possum T-shirt, whose tattoo-covered arm muscles bulged as he crossed them over his broad chest. “And you must be the lucky guy in this pretty woman’s life.”

“Naw, I’m her husband,” he snarled.

Emmy wasn’t sure if he’d meant that as a joke, but she kept her smile fixed. She hadn’t realized Ramona had moved to stand beside her, and she gave a startled jump when the woman’s hand squeezed her arm.

“Are you going to do it here? Right now? I never won nothing before. This is the best thing that ever happened to me!” The woman actually squealed with delight.

“I...uh. Well, actually, we usually try to do it when the husband isn’t home, so the final look is a surprise for him, as well.” Emmy’s mouth was moving so fast, she just let it go and prayed what she said sounded plausible. “If we can move somewhere more private and work out the details, we’ll figure out a better time for us to come back.”

“How long you need?” The husband threw a menacing look Sol’s direction that caused Emmy to shudder. “I don’t like leaving my wife with a strange man in the house any longer than I have to.”

Augh! She should’ve anticipated that Sol’s hotness would be a liability. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about Demitri. Does he, love?” She forced a giggle and patted Sol’s chest before turning back to the brute. “He’s head-over-heels in love with his husband, and they make absolutely the most adorable couple you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, making the grin he turned on Sol more threatening. “Yeah. I figured as much.” His eyes darted to Emmy. “So, how long you need?”

“An hour,” she said.

“And a half,” Sol added, his voice sounding an octave lower than usual. “We don’t want to have to rush.”

“I’m going for a beer.” The husband brushed past them, deliberately bumping hard into Sol, who stumbled against Emmy but quickly righted himself.

“Pick up some baloney while you’re out,” Ramona called before the door slammed, and then the questions bubbled out of her. “Are you gonna do color? And cut it? I’ve been thinking about going shorter. And will you do makeup, too?”

Emmy waited until she heard the vehicle start up outside, then held up her hand for Ramona to stop. “Ramona, I’m sorry. I’m actually Joe Wayne Fuller’s sister, and I’m here to get his phone and the keys to his motorcycle.”

Ramona pulled back, her face hardening into the old crone again. “You mean there ain’t no makeover? You lied about all this just to get the stuff from me?”

“Well, yeah.” Emmy shot a help me look at Sol, but he just smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I hate to do it, but we couldn’t think of any other way to get to you without making your husband suspicious.”

Ramona jerked her phone out of her back pocket. “I oughta call him back here right now and let him whip both your asses. Get out of here before I decide to do just that.”

“But Joey needs his phone and his keys.” If the woman had any affection for her brother, maybe this technique would work.

Ramona stomped her foot. “And I need a damn makeover.”

“Come on.” Sol pulled Emmy’s arm, but she stood firm.

“No.” She shook her head with a sigh, accepting what she had to do. “I am really a stylist with my own salon, so if a makeover is what it’s going to take, you’ll get a makeover.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out the box of color she’d picked up for a client yesterday. “The only color I have in my bag is Red Hot Red.”

“That’ll suit me just fine...probably.” Ramona grinned. “Make me happy, and you’ll get what you came for.”

* * *

SOL BREATHED IN a gulp of the afternoon heat, thankful to be leaving the place with all of his teeth intact. It had been touch and go for a while, but Emmy’s plan had worked.

She held up the keys and phone, flashing them in the sunlight. Joey let out a whoop and came running from the cover of the bushes.

“You did it!” He grabbed his sister in a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“You know I’m here for you, sugar.” She swatted his backside. “Now go get Patsy. Husband’s due back any minute.”

“Whooeee, yeah! I’m coming for you, Patsy! Daddy’s here.” Joe Wayne darted around the corner of the house as Sol and Emmy headed back toward their cars at the end of the street.

She cast Sol a sidelong glance. “Gonna admit you were wrong? My idea turned out to be a winner.”

“I admit I was wrong.” Sol stopped and, covering his heart with his hand, gave a slight bow. “You’re a wizard. That woman looked like a different person by the time you got finished.”

EmmyLou raised her hands in front of her and flashed him a wicked smile. “Some people say I’ve got magic in these hands.”

His groin clenched with need at her comment, but before he could respond verbally, Joe Wayne tore out of Ramona’s backyard on Patsy, giving a war whoop and a thumbs-up as he passed.

Sol decided to let Emmy’s last comment go unchallenged and changed the subject. “So, did this flash of genius really come to you here? Do you always travel with your tools?” He pointed to the bag slung over her shoulder.

“I keep this one in my trunk because I go to homeless shelters and nursing homes pretty often. Sometimes the school there in town.”

Her kindness touched him, but the warm glow immediately turned to an irritated flare as he realized he seemed to be the only person in the world not on the receiving end of it. She was always bent on knocking him down, no matter the situation. “Playing me as a gay guy to those people was a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

Her laugh held no remorse. “He believed it, didn’t he?” They reached her car and popped the trunk, slinging her bag into it. “And now I’ll be on my way.”

Looking closely at her face, Sol could see the tired lines around her eyes. “You’re not heading home right now, are you? You’re in no shape to drive.”