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At seventeen, being alone in a small car with the object of her most torrid virgin fantasies had ranked pretty high on Emma’s danger meter. Considering the tense, aware atmosphere between them now, she suspected things hadn’t changed much.
Not even thinking about it, Emma moved her hand to her face as she stared out the window. Another memory filled her mind…of the teasing kiss Johnny had given her that day to thank her for the ride. It had been on her cheek, but not high up, not chaste and friendly. Not at all. He’d kissed her close to her mouth, as if wanting to taste the tiny dimple in her cheek. Then he’d shifted to brush his lips against the corner of hers. Even more amazing, he’d stolen a wicked taste of her lip gloss with a heart-stopping flick of his tongue.
Right before he’d gotten out of the car, that sexy hunk who’d already had her shaking in her seat had moved his mouth to her ear, nibbling on the lobe as he whispered, “I have such a thing for ankle bracelets.” Reaching down, he’d caressed her calf, then stolen her anklet right off her leg. She hadn’t even had the strength to protest as he’d put it in his pocket.
His wicked expression had told her he’d taken it as a souvenir.
The pounding in her heart had said, let him.
That had been the last time she’d been alone with Johnny for a while. Because the next time she saw him—when he was home from college for Thanksgiving weekend—she’d been wearing another guy’s jacket. So she could never tell him that from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, she’d fallen headfirst into the most intense infatuation of her life. She couldn’t have owned up to her many erotic dreams after their one, much-too-brief kiss.
No. Those were not exactly the kinds of things a girl could tell her boyfriend’s older brother. Especially not one as rebellious—and hot—as Johnny Walker. Because she would never have been able to tell what he might do with such information.
Or how she might react to it.
He interrupted her musings. “Tell me more about this car accident you had.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, “it wasn’t that serious.”
“You never could lie worth a damn.”
Smiling, she elaborated. “I got T-boned by an uninsured, unlicensed driver. It took a while, but I’m fully recovered. Though I don’t know if my insurance company is.”
“I figured it had to have been bad, Emma Jean, because I know even a bald head wouldn’t have stopped you from being here if you could.”
“Just Emma,” she murmured, surprised by the concern lacing his tone. Not to mention his certainty that she would have been in Joyful if she’d been able. She’d figured other people would notice her absence at the funeral and make some negative assumptions. Not Johnny.
His unexpected confidence in her was a strong reminder of one thing she’d tried to forget in her years away from this place. Though he hadn’t known her long, Johnny Walker had known her better than anyone else. She’d spilled her most secret heart to him in the few short hours they’d shared together.
The acknowledgement almost hurt, making her flinch.
He glanced over. “You okay? In pain? Emma?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We’re almost to the house. If you want to give me your keys, I’ll get somebody to bring your car over later.”
Keys. The keys! She looked at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, Johnny, I forgot. I don’t have keys to the house. I have to go by and pick them up from the Realtor.”
He stiffened.
“I really hate to be such a bother.”
“It’s not a bother,” he insisted. “But, knowing there’s only one realty office in town, can I assume you mean Jimbo Boyd’s place?”
At her nod, she heard him give an audible sigh. Then he looked at his watch. “It’s twenty till six.” He lowered his voice, almost as if speaking to himself. “The office should be closed by now. I’m sure she’s…the secretary’s…left.”
She shrugged. “Probably. But I told Mr. Boyd I’d be getting in around dinnertime. He said he’d be working late on some paperwork and that I should just knock if the front door was locked.”
The tenseness in his shoulders appeared to ease a bit. “Okay, no problem,” he said with a nod as he pulled over to turn the SUV around. “Let’s go to Mr. Boyd’s office.”
THOUGH SHE’D RAISED her voice and refused to budge out of the way, Daneen Walker had finally realized that nothing short of the miraculous landing of a spaceship in the middle of the street—or possibly a blue-light special on support hose—was going to prevent Cora Dillon from barreling into the Boyd Realty office. The woman was as relentless about her money as she was about her gossiping, and she wanted to get paid now.
She didn’t see a spaceship, and the closest K-Mart was miles away, but Daneen got a miracle, anyway. The rumble of an engine pulling up along the front curb made Cora take a step back and turn around so Daneen could come all the way outside.
“Isn’t that Johnny?” Cora asked. She moved one work-worn hand up to shield her eyes from the late-afternoon sun shining directly onto the front of the building.
Daneen nodded, recognizing the SUV. Her heart sank and her stomach tightened. As if Cora wasn’t bad enough, now she had to try to act naturally in front of Johnny? This was bad. Johnny Walker knew her better than just about anyone. He usually saw through her lies whenever she tried to tell one. He had that prosecutor thing down pat, as Daneen had learned more than once in the years since she’d been related to the man.
She should’ve hung up on Jimbo as soon as she’d heard his voice last night. Or never answered the phone to begin with, since she had caller ID. Then she might not have been such a pushover this afternoon and wouldn’t have been caught unaware by the biggest busybody in town…and by Johnny.
Since Cora was no more able to turn her eyes away from the hunkiest, most talked-about man in Joyful than any other female, Daneen took advantage of her distraction and risked a quick button-check of her blouse and skirt. All clear.
“Who’s that with him?” Cora continued.
Daneen hadn’t even noticed the other occupant of the car. Like Cora, she shielded her eyes, tightening her jaw as she spied a woman’s blond head inside the vehicle. “I have no idea.”
Then Johnny was out of the car, walking around to the passenger’s side. He looked up and saw them, but instead of returning Daneen’s friendly wave, he froze, as if surprised to see her. Why he’d be surprised to see her standing outside her own place of employment, she couldn’t say.
Nor could Daneen say much of anything else when the other door of his SUV opened and a long, slim female leg slid out. The day suddenly seemed to get a little cloudier, and the mouthful of air she’d just inhaled turned stale in her lungs.
Daneen tensed, watching Johnny square up those big, broad shoulders of his, then help the woman out. They exchanged a few words as he easily lifted her down.
The blonde leaned into him, hobbling a bit as they approached the front of the building. Daneen rolled her eyes…typical woman’s trick, she’d used it herself. A twisted ankle was a good way to get chest to chest with any hunky male with a hero complex. Straight Vixen-101 stuff.
The question remained—who was the blond-haired bimbo trying women’s tricks on Johnny Walker, the man Daneen had grown used to thinking of as her personal property?
IF JOHNNY hadn’t already gotten out of the truck by the time he spotted Daneen standing outside Jimbo’s office, he would have come up with some lame excuse and driven away. The last thing he wanted was to bring the two women face-to-face within the first hour of Emma Jean’s arrival back in town.
Too late now. Emma wanted her key, and Daneen would be even more angry if she realized they’d tried to avoid her. Nor would Emma consider staying in the truck. She wanted to speak to Mr. Boyd and no twisted ankle was going to stop her. Besides, she insisted she was already feeling better—an outright lie if he’d ever heard one, given the way her lips trembled and her eyes teared up when she tried to stand up unaided.
“’Evening,” Johnny said with a nod as they approached the front door. Emma was leaning into his side, his arm supporting her around her waist as comfortable and easy as could be. Only a cardiologist would have been able to tell his heart was beating hard enough to bust out of his chest. He told himself it was merely the thought of having to deal with Emma and Daneen together. But somewhere, deep inside his gut, he knew it was more likely because of the way Emma felt pressed against his side.
Just about perfect.
“Mrs. Dillon,” he said, easily recognizing the dour-faced woman standing beside Daneen.
Cora Dillon had once worked as a lunch lady at the Joyful Primary School and now did cleaning work wherever she could get it. He half expected her to rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon, the way she would way back in second grade when he’d try to sneak an extra piece of fruit from the lunch line. “Reduced price lunch for poor folks means one apple, Mr. Walker,” she’d say, loud enough for every kid in the cafeteria to hear. “And no cookie!”
That pretty much summed up his childhood. One apple and no cookie. Some steely-eyed adult like Mrs. Dillon always seemed to be around to make sure no trashy Walker kid tried to snitch anything more than his charitable due.
He half wished the old woman would get charged with jaywalking, or lifting a piece of candy out of the Brach’s sampler display at the grocery store without paying for it.
There was one case he’d sure as hell prosecute.
Mrs. Dillon gave what for her probably passed as a friendly smile. “Mr. Walker,” she said in greeting.
Johnny kept his hands well out of spoon range, just in case, even though he knew she couldn’t very well rap the knuckles of the county prosecutor. Particularly not when one of her own rowdy grandsons was a recent beneficiary of Johnny’s goodwill toward the high-spirited youth of Joyful.
“Nice to see you, ma’am,” he replied, every bit as evenly.
Then the woman turned her attention on Emma Jean, studying her like someone might study a particularly difficult crossword puzzle or riddle.
“This is Emma Jean Frasier. I’m sure you knew her grandmother,” he explained.
“It’s just Emma,” his companion murmured under her breath.
Her words were lost under Daneen’s surprised gasp, which Cora Dillon echoed. Daneen’s reaction he could have predicted. Mrs. Dillon, though, was probably annoyed at being caught not knowing the name, marital status and credit history of a new arrival to Joyful. Maybe Cora was losing her touch—she wasn’t often caught unaware when it came to gossip-worthy newcomers.
“Hello, Daneen,” Emma said when neither of the other women made any effort to speak. Johnny had to wonder how she hid her tension beneath that smooth, cultured voice. Her whole body was tight enough to snap in half.
Little wonder. Daneen had, after all, stolen Emma’s man away once upon a time.
“Emma Jean,” Daneen whispered, sounding the tiniest bit unsure of herself. Very unusual for this particular woman, who hardly ever let anyone see her weaknesses.
A variety of expressions crossed Daneen’s face, ranging from dismay, to dislike, and perhaps even a bit of embarrassment. With reason, of course, as they all well knew.
But Daneen quickly did her thing, tossing her head and ignoring whatever guilt she might still be feeling about what had happened back in high school. “Well, I had no idea you were coming back to Joyful.” Daneen’s tone sounded forced as she straightened her shoulders in a failed attempt at indifference.
“Never can tell where one of us bad pennies is going to turn up,” Emma said with a too-bright laugh. “How…nice…it is to see you, too.”
That sounded about as sincere as a televangelist asking for forgiveness for screwing over his flock, but Johnny figured Emma Jean had a right to be spiteful. Daneen had done her dirty, all right. In front of the whole town, to boot.
“Johnny, wherever did you find her?” Daneen asked. “I didn’t even know you two were…acquainted.”
He frowned slightly at the blatant lie. There was no way Daneen hadn’t heard about prom night, even though she hadn’t been there to witness it firsthand. She’d run off, leaving Joyful in a tizzy that same day. Still, she’d come back soon enough afterward to hear the story. It had been whispered over and over, just like all the other scandalous tidbits of local folklore.
The prom night interlude between rebel Johnny Walker and golden girl Emma Jean Frasier was probably repeated almost as often as the tale of how Joyful had gotten its name. Frankly, Johnny had always found the name story a lot more interesting. Reportedly two hundred or so years ago, one of the town’s founders had stopped at the tiny two-road crossing and pronounced, “This place is about as joyful as a fi’ty cent whore with a toothache.” And Joyful had been christened.
How could a couple of teenagers caught bare-ass naked at the gazebo by most of the members of the senior class of Joyful High compare with that?
Unfortunately, he appeared to be the only person in Joyful who believed it couldn’t.
“Emma and I ran into each other at the grocery store,” he finally said. “She needed some help. I’m going to drop her off at her grandmother’s place, but we need the key.”
Cora, who they’d nearly forgotten about, reached into her pocket and dug out a small key ring. “Here you go,” she murmured, still staring with avid interest at Emma. “I cleaned it up for you this morning. I was dropping the key back off to Mr. Boyd.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Dillon,” Emma said, sounding as refined and genteel as her late grandmother, who’d been every inch a lady. Had Emma sounded as dignified when asking him to make love to her? He couldn’t really remember.
Liar. He remembered everything about that night. And no, she hadn’t sounded proper and refined at all. She’d sounded sweet and hungry. Enticing, alluring and innocent. A lot more innocent than he’d ever expected, to his utter shock.
Which made it difficult, if not downright impossible, to believe the rumors that she’d been off making dirty movies since she’d left here ten years ago. He hadn’t had time to wrap his mind around the whole gossipy rumor, but his first instinct was to suspect the Joyful grapevine had this particular story totally screwed up, particularly given the way she’d joked about porn movies during their drive.
“I haven’t been inside the house in a very long time and I do appreciate your efforts,” Emma continued.
Mrs. Dillon looked as if she didn’t know whether to take Emma’s words as a compliment or not, so she just grunted and turned toward the door. “I’ll wait for Mr. Boyd inside,” she told Daneen, who still appeared too shocked to protest. Then Cora entered the building, leaving the three of them alone.
“So, why are you back, Emma Jean?” Daneen asked. “I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Emma, apparently not as easily cowed, or, at least, as polite, as she’d been in high school, raised a brow. “Funny. Seems to me you were the one who skipped out of town first, Daneen. Speaking of which, how is Nick?”
Nick. Nick Walker. His younger brother, and once upon a time the object of affection of a number of teenage girls in the township of Joyful, Georgia. He’d have to include Emma Jean Frasier and Daneen Brady in that list.
Daneen Brady—now Walker. His former sister-in-law.
“Emma, maybe we should leave now,” Johnny said, trying to turn her back toward the car. The last thing he wanted was to get Daneen started on the subject of his brother.
Too late.
“Probably burning in hell, for all I care,” Daneen said, her voice hard, as it always was when Nick’s name came up. “Wherever he is, he’s certainly not here, so if Nick’s the reason you came back to Joyful, you might just as well turn around and go back up north.” Her tone turned sugary sweet, though her green eyes remained cool and assessing. “Gracious, it’s been ten years, Emma Jean. Haven’t you gotten over Nick yet?”
Yep. Daneen was sharpening up her claws. When she got around to remembering the rumors of what had happened between him and Emma Jean on prom night, they’d become even more cutting. Though there had never been any romantic involvement between him and his ex-sister-in-law—and never would be—she did seem to think her family status gave her the right to tell him how to run his life. The only reason he gave her a tiny bit of leeway on that was because she was, truly, family. Once a Walker, always a Walker, no matter how much Daneen hated to claim the name.
“Let’s go, Emma.”
Emma wouldn’t be moved. Instead, smiling as she tapped the tips of her perfectly manicured pink nails on her collarbone, she stared at Daneen. “Oh, you sweet thing, to be worried about me,” she said, lacing her voice with a sugary hint of Southern cordiality. “But, no, Nick was only a boy. A sweet, innocent teenage crush. Obviously our relationship wasn’t anything like yours—since you were the one he had to run away with and marry so your daddy wouldn’t kill him and all.”
Johnny lowered his head so his ex-sister-in-law wouldn’t see his grin. Not too many women could pull off that perfect blend of sweetness and cutting sarcasm. Emma’s grandmother had had it down to an art form. Emma had apparently learned one or two things during her time in the South.
He had no idea where she could have learned anything about the adult film business.
As steam almost began rolling out of Daneen’s ears, Emma gave a little smile and leaned heavier against Johnny’s side. “I am really hurting now. You will help me back to the car, won’t you? I’ll speak to Mr. Boyd tomorrow.” She gave him a wide-eyed, limpid look which, he supposed, probably appeared helpless and intimate to Daneen, as Emma had likely intended.
For an instant, he was tempted to let her fall on her ass again, leaving her lying on the ground outside Boyd Realty. She deserved it. Damned if he was going to let Emma Jean Frasier use him to salve her ego or bolster her pride one more time. Been there, done that. Pick another sucker, lady. Once in a lifetime was enough for anyone.
But there was something else in those golden-brown eyes of hers, something beyond flirtation or teasing. Her lashes flickered as she blinked rapidly, appearing on the verge of tears.
She seemed tired and hurting. In pain, both emotionally and physically. His heart twisted in his chest at the sleepless circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin accentuated by a light dusting of freckles.
“Please, Johnny?” she whispered, this time not sounding cajoling but instead nearly desperate.
He sighed. Just like old times. The town had always known him as a rebel, but those closest to him had always realized he was a soft touch, always stupid and sappy enough to step in and take care of people who needed help. Which she did.
Besides which, to his eternal consternation, he never could resist Emma Jean Frasier when she said please.
EMMA DIDN’T MEAN to use Johnny out of spite by asking him to help her to the truck. In fact, when she saw his hesitation, she regretted having to rely on him at all. But she did. She needed to get away and he was the only one who could help her do it.
“What’s the matter with her?” Daneen asked, sounding falsely solicitous. “Shouldn’t she come inside and sit for a while?”
Before Emma could nix that idea, Johnny hurried to thank Daneen and refuse her offer. He went on to briefly tell the other woman what had happened at the store.
Emma barely listened, wondering why she’d let Daneen get to her. Heavens, she was no longer the new kid in school being baited by the most popular girl, like she’d been during her senior year at Joyful High.
God, it seemed another lifetime. Who cared what had happened back then? Teenage dramas had nothing on Emma’s adult life. High school certainly hadn’t prepared her for men like her former boss, Wes Sharpton. Or for women like her former best friend in accounting, Lydia Bailey.
She idly wondered if Wes and Lydia were enjoying their South American honeymoon. And if the last remnants of the money they’d embezzled from the firm—which had put dozens of people out of work and landed them in the middle of an SEC investigation—was all spent yet.
Their money couldn’t have disappeared any faster than Emma’s life savings. Since her last few paychecks had bounced, and her mutual fund investments with the firm had become worthless, her balances had hit zero dollars and zero cents before she and the rest of the staff even knew what had happened.
