She Drives Me Crazy (12 page)

God, wouldn't Ginger Devane, president of the Junior League in Manhattan, just rock in her Emil Leblanc's and fall flat onto her twice-lifted-by-the-hottest-doctor-on-Madison-Avenue butt if she heard about this one?

Not that Emma had ever much cared for the Junior League set. When she'd first moved to New York and had lived for a while on her trust fund, she'd dabbled in that lifestyle. It had quickly bored her. That's why she'd started exploring a bunch of different interests—cooking classes, archeology lectures, art appreciation. It had led her to fund the art show for the erotic artist.

But her fund-raiser and art show days quickly grew stale, too. Once she'd decided to work for her money, using her natural talent with numbers and her accounting degree to get in with an investment firm, Ginger and her cronies had turned up their collective noses at the stench of the blue collar they thought she'd embraced. That hadn't, of course, stopped them from asking for free investment advice on occasion.

Yes, her Junior League days had been long behind her even before she lost all her trust fund money—and her own hard-earned savings—when the company went bust.

Don't even go there
. She couldn't think about the troubled times then, not when she was facing quite a horrendous time now.

Arrested was bad. Arrested and penniless was too pathetic for words.

Another day like this and it was straight to Jerry Springer'ville for Emma Jean Frasier. Life in a trailer park with a next-door neighbor pregnant by her mother's ex-husband's son-in-law's brother. That was where she was headed. And, of course, there'd be a transvestite around somewhere.
The Jerry Springer Show
seemed to love trans-vestites.

Yep. One little penniless, jobless, futureless, jailed, former princess dressed in rags would fit right in.

She couldn't prevent a tiny hitch in her throat as her eyes grew hot. Having an urge to throw herself down on a flat surface and pitch a first-class fit or just bawl her eyes out, she willingly refrained. The cot in the cell was filthy and probably loaded with lice or worse. The floor looked the same. She remained standing, leaning against the bars to take some of the stress off her sprained ankle, which had begun to ache again.

"It's not bad enough to get arrested. But did I have to do it looking like this?" she muttered in disgust. "I slept in these clothes last night."

"Your Grandma Emmajean is likely rolling over in her grave," Claire added mournfully.

"If I had to be hauled off by the police and locked in this tiny cell, I ought to at least be dressed like I frankly don't give a damn. Not like I
belong
here!"

"I don't think the clothes are the main problem, sweetie," Claire said as she sat on the far outermost edge of the bunk, daring because- she, at least, was wearing pants. "The fat lip looks downright disreputable."

'That daughter of yours has some hard head."

"Not to mention your cheek is all red and swollen."

"And her mama's still got one heck of a punch."

The two of them stared at each other for a second then burst into laughter. The lip had been an accidental gift from Eve. The cheek from a wild swing by Claire.

The pain in her wrist, though, had been all hers. But ooh, remembering the way that foul-mouthed construction foreman had gone down for the count made it all worthwhile.

She couldn't believe that he'd pressed charges. She was the wronged party! She was the one whose property had been stolen and desecrated. Every minute she spent in this jail cell was another minute for those bastards to ruin another piece of the grove.

"I gotta go potty."

Emma and Claire exchanged one horrified look at the thought of little Eve using the facilities in the cell. Joyful might not have much of a criminal element. But those they did have obviously had never heard of things like keeping the seat down for a lady. Not to mention the fact that Chief Brady and his crew had apparently never heard of things like scrub brushes, 409 or even clean water.

Terrorist camps probably had cleaner facilities.

"We'll be out of here soon, honey, then Mama will take you to the potty. And we'll get you some ice cream with sprinkles."

Their jailer—a mile-mannered guy they'd gone to high school with—had offered to keep Eve out in the front of the station with him, but the little girl had refused to be separated from her mother. She'd relished the chance to inspect every square inch of the cell, asking an endless stream of questions about what people had to do—other than hitting bad men on construction sites—to get arrested.

By the end of Claire's explanation, Eve had been muttering under her breath about Courtney Foster. Courtney, Emma decided, had better never let Eve Deveaux catch her anywhere near the police station. Or in a dark alley.

Eve also took great delight in showing them how easily she could slip through the bars. Emma just wished Fred Willis, who she'd had homeroom with in senior year, had left the keys nearby. Escape would have been startlingly easy.

"But I have to go now, Mama. Why can't I use this potty?"

"Over my dead body!"

Emma didn't recognize the voice, but she recognized the tone. Worried Daddy.

"Tim. Thank heaven," Claire said. Though, to be honest, combined with her thankfulness, Emma detected a note of genuine trepidation in her friend's face.

Definitely the husband.

"I uh, guess you're wondering what's going on."

Claire sounded like Lucy greeting Ricky after he'd caught her doing something really stupid. Emma almost laughed, wondering if Tim was going to tell Claire she had some 'splaining to do when she realized that he wasn't alone. Seeing the person who'd accompanied Tim, her laughter died on her lips. Johnny.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, unable to help it.

"I suppose the language is appropriate, given your current address, but maybe you should watch it in front of the kid."

Emma winced at the rebuke. Then winced again at the realization that her first lover was standing there, watching her, when she looked like the poster girl for Blondes Gone Bad.

"Hello, Johnny," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Fancy running into you here."

"Oh, I love spending my Saturdays at the police station. After all, it's my job."

His job. Oh, good lord, his job. As prosecutor. "Those charges are bogus."

Claire, who'd been talking to her husband as he held their daughter protectively in his arms, nodded. "Entirely bogus."

"Yep. Bogus," Eve echoed with a vehement nod.

Claire's husband's frown deepened. "Johnny, what do I have to do to get Claire out of here?"

"Go right now," Johnny murmured, not even hesitating. "I'll get the story from Ms. Frasier here." He gave her a look that said
she
was the one who had a lot of 'splaining to do. "I know where to find you if I need to talk to Claire."

Then Claire and her family left, but not before her friend gave Emma a weak little nod of encouragement.

Once they were gone, Johnny met her stare, shaking his head and tsking under his breath. She'd swear a sparkle of amusement shone in those wicked blue eyes of his. If he laughed at her, she was gonna launch at him. She was already in jail. What else could they do to her if she assaulted the D.A.?

"Sit down."

She pointed to the cot. "Not on that thing I'm not."

Johnny followed her stare and frowned. "You're right. Let's get out of here."

Hope rose in her chest.

"We can use the sheriff's office."

Okay, so he wasn't just letting her go as he had Claire. Funny, she'd have expected him to assume Claire was the one who'd caused all the fuss, given the other woman's, umh, renowned temper. But he hadn't. He'd zeroed in on Emma. Correctly so. She wished she knew how. "I don't suppose you could just let me go home?"

He shook his head. "Come on."

But Johnny seemed to have forgotten her ankle, which was positively screaming because she'd been standing in the cell for so long. They'd confiscated her cane.
Deadly weapon my ass
.

He turned to leave, expecting her to follow. She could, if she wanted to hop after him like a deranged, one-legged Easter bunny. But her dignity, already in shreds, couldn't handle it. So she stayed still.

"Am I going to have to have Deputy Willis come in here with handcuffs to move you?" Then he lowered his voice. "Or do you expect to be carried out of here like some high-flung princess too good for your surroundings?"

The disgusted tone got to her. Got to her like nothing else had since the minute she'd been handcuffed and stuck in the back of a squad car with a sputtering Claire and a chattery Eve.

She tried to stick out her chin and blinked quickly. She'd sooner shave her head bald again than let Johnny Walker see her in tears. Those she'd save for later.

"It so happens," she replied, wishing her voice sounded lofty, as she'd intended it to, rather than quivery with emotion choking her throat, "that the officer confiscated my cane. I am not able to walk very well, in case you've forgotten."

The sudden flash of remorse on his face told her he
had
forgotten. He instantly dropped his gaze to her bandaged ankle.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Then he strode over and slid an arm around her waist. "Lean into me."

Lean into him. Into his strong, hard body that had once made her feel cherished and adored. How tempting the thought was, in more ways than he could possibly know.

She hadn't had anyone to lean on in a long time. Not through the loss of her job, her apartment, her home or her savings. No one to help her deal with coming back to Joyful, not to mention what had happened since she'd arrived. She'd been alone. Completely alone, relying on false bravado and her hot pink wardrobe to get her through the nightmare of the past few weeks.

Since she still wore the ratty shorts and T-shirt she'd slept in last night, the clothing column of support was gone. And after the horrible episode at the pecan grove, her bravado was just about shot, too.

Which was why she went all girly and sniffled.

"Em…"

"If you could bring a chair in here, maybe we could sit down and talk," she mumbled, wanting him gone so she could pull herself together. But even as she said it, she knew she didn't want him to go. She didn't want him to leave her alone here in this smelly place with its stained, graffiti-covered walls and fuzzy ceiling where heaven only knew what was growing.

Not now. Not when she'd had a few moments to sink against all that male heat and strength and feel safe for the first time in longer than she could remember.

He was tall and hard and wonderfully warm against her. Johnny's clothes were slightly damp, a sheen of sweat evident on the dark hair at his temple. He wore shorts and gym shoes, and a sleeveless muscle T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and displayed his thick arms. Very thick arms. Lordy, he did
not
look like the kind of man who worked behind a desk all day. He made the pale, suit-wearing brokers she'd been working with in New York seem like prepubescent boys.

Johnny had obviously changed clothes and done some serious physical activity after he'd left her house this morning, judging by the glisten on his muscles and the way his clothes clung to his body.
All
of his body.

Her mouth went dry thinking of the
all
part.

The confident, secure Emma would have pulled away, never admitting for a second—even to herself—how nice it was to lean against Johnny. But that Emma was long gone. She'd bailed the minute the cuffs had snapped shut on her wrists at the construction site. Or maybe a few weeks ago when she'd found out she'd been duped, robbed and used by her former employer.

"Are you crying?"

She shook her head. "It hurts a little," she whispered, which was true, though it wasn't the reason for the hot moisture in her eyes. In truth, it was her life making her misty-eyed. Her life which, right now, basically sucked eggs.

She heaved in a breath, trying to force the fear and hurt and anger and insecurity away. But she couldn't quite manage it.

"Aww, hell, Em," he whispered, turning so he faced her. He tilted her chin up with the tip of one finger. Emma tugged her lower lip into her mouth, not wanting him to see how it quivered.

But it didn't matter. Judging by the moisture on her cheeks—and the look of tenderness on his face—she hadn't succeeded in hiding her tears.

Without another word, Johnny hauled her into his arms, hugging her close.

And Emma began to bawl.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, she's fine. It was an…adventure."

Tim frowned. "An adventure a four-year-old doesn't need."

Well, maybe not a four-year-old. But Claire hadn't minded having it. She hadn't had so much fun in years.

Certainly not with Tim, who, though he was still the man she loved with all her heart, had settled almost too firmly into his role of family man. Somewhere along the way, he seemed to have lost the spark of irrepressible spirit that had so drawn her to him in the first place.

"We'll talk about this at home," he said as he buckled Eve into her booster seat. He shut the door, blowing their daughter one more kiss, then turned to Claire.

She wanted to fall into his arms, to suck up his strength, to get some of the sweet comfort he'd given to Eve. But he wasn't offering it.

"I don't want Eve around that woman anymore."

Claire's jaw dropped open. "Emma Jean?"

"Is that her real name?"

"Of course. I've known her for years, she's my friend."

Tim just shook his head, looking disapproving. Cold. Unlike himself. "Maybe she was in the past. But her profession makes her someone I don't want Eve—or
you
—associating with."

Claire nearly snorted, knowing Tim had heard and believed the ridiculous porn star rumors. "Emma is not who everyone is saying she is."

Her husband didn't look convinced. "Whatever the case, she's trouble. Back in town one day and she gets you arrested."

"No, that obnoxious pig of a construction foreman got me arrested because he's a jerk and he yelled at Eve."

Tim's eyes widened. "He
yelled
at her?"

Claire nodded. Sure enough, mention Eve and Tim would get defensive and irate. Once upon a time, he'd been protective of her. God, that sounded terrible, as if she was somehow jealous of her own little girl, whom she adored. She wasn't jealous…she just wondered why her husband hadn't learned yet that there was enough love for all of them to share.

Since Eve had been born, the little girl had been number one, leaving her mother often feeling very much second-best. Claire had fallen into a routine, telling herself it was right he should put their child ahead of everything else, including their marriage, their alone time.

Their sex life.

Which probably explained her recent love affair with Snickers bars. She'd been getting most of her fulfillment from chocolate these days.

Now, though, she sensed she wasn't going to be satisfied with the status quo. Emma Jean's return had sparked something in her. It had reminded her of the girl she'd once been. A pretty girl. A girl with ambition. A girl who could flirt and laugh, who had drive and spark. More than just Tim's wife, and Eve's mama. She wanted to be Claire again.

Tim seemed to see something come to life in her eyes because as he walked around the car to get into the driver's seat, he kept giving her questioning, sidelong glances. When he got in, he immediately turned to glance at Eve, who sat in the back seat, muttering under her breath.

"What'd you say, honey bun?"

"I said I wish Aunt Emma had bonked her cane on that nasty man's head instead of knocking it against his leg."

Claire bit her lips to keep from laughing.

Tim flushed red, then went on to say hitting anybody with a cane was a bad idea. "Ms. Frasier shouldn't have even been there, and she definitely shouldn't have brought you and your mama out to a construction site."

"Mama drove."

Claire couldn't hide the little snort this time, earning a glare from her husband.

"In any case, you and Mama aren't going to get in any more trouble because of Ms. Frasier," Tim said, giving Claire a steely-eyed stare that she barely recognized as her husband's. "You won't be seeing her again."

After he'd finished and turned his attention toward driving them home, Claire frowned and crossed her arms. Tim had gotten used to having a nice, quiet housewife who always aimed to please. The one who subdued the wild, rebellious part of herself that had gotten her into trouble in her younger years.

It might be time to reintroduce him to that girl…the one he'd
married
, whether he wanted to acknowledge her or not. Claire only hoped she could find her after all this time of being wife and mommy.

Somehow, today seemed like a good start.

Smiling to herself, she turned around and gave her daughter a conspiratorial look. Her precocious little girl grinned, knowing exactly what was going on in her mother's mind.

No way were they going to stay away from Emma Jean Frasier. No way at all.