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She Drives Me Crazy
Leslie Kelly
When she was good, she was very, very good…When Emma Frasier returns home to Joyful, Georgia, she's greeted with the kinds of winks and lusty grins one might offer…an adult film star?But when she was bad…Thanks to small-town gossip and citizens who clearly need to get a life, Joyful's residents think Emma Jean is the "famous star" building a strip club in town. And that her barely concealed…uh, attributes are the ones gracing the new interstate billboard.She was better.As if being taken for a blue movie queen isn't rattling enough, there's Johnny Walker, the local bad boy turned good–a man who tempts Emma to be just as wild and wicked as Joyful thinks she is.
The reviews are rolling in for Leslie Kelly…
“Sexy, funny and little outrageous, Leslie Kelly is a must read!”
—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips
“Leslie Kelly is a rising star of romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Ms. Kelly never fails to deliver a captivating story.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Leslie Kelly writes with a matchless combination of sexiness and sassiness that makes every story a keeper.”
—Romance Junkies
“Leslie Kelly is a master of amusing contemporary romance!”
—Word Weaving
“You can always count on Leslie Kelly to keep readers laughing and entertained with dazzling characters and passionate romance.”
—The Romance Reader’s Connection
“Leslie Kelly has the magnificent ability to create marvelous storylines with truly memorable characters.”
—Writers Unlimited
“Leslie Kelly writes hot, steamy stories with lots of humor and tons of romance thrown in.”
—Romance and Friends
On Killing Time…
“Delightful and entertaining from the first page to the last. I highly recommend Leslie Kelly’s Killing Time.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Sassy, flirty and oh so sexy, Killing Time makes for great summer reading.”
—Round Table Reviews
“A fun, sexy and unique story.”
—A Romance Review
“Kelly tells a high-energy story and delivers a satisfying read.”
—All About Romance
“Intrigue, passion, excitement and more are a given with Killing Time.”
—In the Library Reviews
“Leslie Kelly has written another amazing story.”
—Romance Junkies
“Leslie Kelly’s latest…is a deliciously madcap adventure filled with the sexy and the zany!”
—Romantic Times
“When you pick up Killing Time, and I strongly recommend that you do, make sure you have plenty of time to read because you will not want to put it down!”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
She Drives Me Crazy
Leslie Kelly
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With sincere thanks to my agent, Ethan Ellenberg. Ethan, without your encouragement and support, this would never have been possible.
And to Bruce. You make it all worthwhile.
Thanks for making me truly believe in what I write.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“JOHNNY, YOU GOTTA SEE THIS. There’s a giant set of hooties hangin’ over exit 23.”
County prosecutor Johnny Walker, named for his father’s favorite brand of fire in a bottle, barely looked up as he continued to pump gas into the tank of his SUV. It was too early in the morning to try to decipher Lester’s sexobabble.
Coming from anyone else, the pronouncement might have raised Johnny’s curiosity. But this was Lester, owner of one of the only two gas stations in Joyful, Georgia. Lester might not remember his nickname from high school, but Johnny—and most of the female population—still mentally referred to him as Lester the Lecher.
“Here you go, Les.” Johnny tugged a twenty out of his pocket and extended it toward the other man.
Lester paid no attention. He continued to stare skyward. A tinge of curiosity finally made Johnny turn around. Following Lester’s stare, he beheld what had so captivated the man.
The letch was right. A big giant set of hooties…er, woman’s breasts…was clearly visible on a billboard by the highway exit. “I’ll be damned,” Johnny muttered, not believing his eyes. He couldn’t help adding, “Nice rack.”
Now, wouldn’t that give the residents of this nasty town something to gossip about when they woke up this morning? Yessir, the townsfolk of this warm, syrupy burg—as falsely sweet as a sugarcoated lemon drop—would glance out the window while munching their corn flakes and behold a pair of snow-capped mountains standing over the interstate. Because from here, the white tassels barely covering the five-foot-in-diameter nipples did indeed resemble snow.
Lester continued to pay silent, drooling homage to the fleshy hills glistening in the morning sun. Finally, he whispered, “Whaddaya suppose it’s for?”
Johnny shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? Sex sells. It could be advertising anything from toothpaste to Viagra.”
“Nah, it wouldn’t work,” Les said with a snicker. “One look at that and a man’d realize he don’t need Viagra.”
Personally, Johnny hadn’t needed to be titillated by pinups, magazine centerfolds or Victoria’s Secret catalogues in oh, about forever. Nope, it had been the real thing or nothing since he was fourteen and a girl named Cherry Hilliard had lived up to every one of those “on top of Cherry Hill” jokes he’d heard whispered about her in the locker room.
Darn shame Cherry had found religion and married Reverend Smith. Cherry Smith just didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
“One way to find out.” Lester reached for the passenger side door handle of Johnny’s SUV. “Let’s go check ’er out.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to drive down to Bradenton for a meeting. Besides, you have another customer,” Johnny said as he watched Fred Willis, a local deputy who Johnny had gone to high school with, turn his squad car into the station.
Fred had apparently noticed the breasts, too. He was paying no attention to his driving, and almost clipped Johnny’s back fender as he pulled up a few inches from the pump. His ancient, dingy tan squad car gave a rusty belch as it shook, rattled and rolled to a stop. “You see that?” he yelled from the window.
“You bet…let’s go!” Lester dashed around to Fred’s passenger door and hopped in. The two drove off, not sparing Johnny a second glance.
That wasn’t too surprising, since Johnny couldn’t fairly call himself one of Fred Willis’s favorite people. Particularly because Johnny got such satisfaction in setting free the poor bumbling criminals Fred and his boss, Sheriff Brady, managed to round up in this relatively crime-free area.
Give him a real crime or criminal, and he might give a damn about doing his job. But, hell, here in Joyful? The jail cell doors might just as well stand open for all the effort Johnny took to keep their occasional occupants inside them. Course, that was probably more effort than Sheriff Brady made to ensure the innocent folks who had the misfortune of being from the wrong side of town were kept out.
In Joyful, the justice system was equally balanced. If you were rich and arrogant and committed a crime, the police took care of you. If you were poor and trashy…Johnny Walker did.
Still holding the twenty, Johnny walked into Lester’s grimy office and left it on the counter near the register. He gingerly picked up a half-squashed plastic water bottle and set it on top of the bill, so it wouldn’t blow away in the warm summer breeze already wafting through the open door.
Looking around, he grimaced in distaste. Hopefully no one else would come to the station and enter the office looking for Lester. The magazine photos plastered across the back of the door would probably make Virginia Davenport, president of the Daughters of the Confederacy, drop dead of sheer outrage.
And with his luck, the sheriff would call it murder and want Johnny to prosecute.
“Hooties over Joyful,” he mused aloud as he again glanced at the billboard and got into his car. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
As he drove out of town, Johnny was struck by the strong feeling that something interesting was about to happen.
He couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
CHAPTER ONE
“EMMA JEAN FRASIER’S coming back to Joyful.”
Cora Dillon wondered if the years of sleeping beside her husband Bob, who sawed logs louder than any lumberjack, had finally taken their toll. Her hearing, without doubt, had just failed her. She stared at fancy-pants Jimbo Boyd, whose round face was filled with self-importance. She didn’t know why, considering what a rotter he’d been as a boy. And leopards didn’t change their spots. Not in Joyful, Georgia, anyway.
“Emmajean Frasier,” Cora said, drawing out the name.
Jimbo nodded, then reached into his desk. He pulled out a bunch of keys stuck on a ring shaped like the hood ornament on the namby-pamby car he was so proud of. “I need you to get the house aired and cleaned today. And I want it done right.”
Cora straightened and narrowed her eyes. Imagine, snot-nosed, dirty-pants Jimbo Boyd telling her how to clean a house! Hadn’t she worked as a cleaning woman for him and half the town for the past ten years? Something was definitely wrong with him. Maybe the glue he used on his shoeshine-black toupee, which looked about as real as the one worn by that Captain Kirk on the TV, had seeped through his skin and affected his brain.
“Emmajean Frasier’s coming back to Joyful. Now there’s a trick I’d like to see,” Cora replied with stoic calm, “considering she’s been dead more’n a year.”
“Dead?” Jimbo began to sputter. “No, no, Cora. I don’t mean Emmajean…I mean Emma Jean…the granddaughter.”
“Granddaughter?”
