She Drives Me Crazy (14 page)

He'd sure noticed. The continued tightness in his shorts told him his brain had lost the battle with his groin when it came to Emma Jean. At least for now. She was about to realize that, too, unless he got the hell outta here.

He headed toward the door. "Go take a shower, Em. Get dressed. Have something to eat."

She mumbled something about her cane. But even knowing she was going to have a rough time getting around by herself didn't make him pause.

He had to get away. Lusting after a woman with a fat lip and a sprained ankle was bad. That the woman was Emma Jean made it a million times worse.

Their kiss that morning had proved they still shot incredible sparks off one another. Those kind of sparks had left his ass fried the last time she'd been around. He didn't know if any man was capable of being so badly burned twice in a lifetime. "I've gotta go."

"Johnny," she called as he reached for the knob.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing her watching, her eyes wide and curious over the bag of ice clutched to her lips.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "For everything."

He shrugged it off. "No problem. I left you the names and numbers of some lawyers. They're in the kitchen."

She thanked him again.

"Just try to stay out of trouble." He opened the door, but before leaving, he had to caution her about one more thing. "And stay away from the construction site." Seeing her frown, he quickly added, "At least until you get all the facts."

She sighed and her lip popped out a little more, probably from more than mere swelling.

"Em," he said, a warning tone in his voice, "I don't want to have to meet up with you in a jail cell again." She didn't respond, or even meet his eye. "Emma Jean…"

"I know, I know."

Her response didn't sound exactly enthusiastic. He stared at her until she met his eye. "Don't do it," he bit out.

He wasn't leaving until she agreed. She seemed to realize that because she finally sighed and mumbled, "I won't."

She'd said what he wanted. Somehow, though, he had the feeling Emma might have had her fingers crossed behind her back.

"I won't bail you out next time."

She smiled. "You didn't bail me out this time. The charges were dropped."

"You know what I mean."

Crossing her arms, she leaned back and frowned. "I've learned my lesson, Johnny. Cross my heart and hope to die, you will never see me sitting in a jail cell facing assault charges again."

She'd kept her word, at least. She hadn't assaulted anybody. Though she'd certainly felt like it when the stupid foreman had insisted the sheriff take her into custody for refusing to leave the construction site.

She'd gone out there, all reasonable-like, politely but firmly asking to see the building permits, or to talk to someone in charge. Anything to find out just who was behind this nightmare.

Instead, she'd immediately been ordered to get back into her car and leave.

She'd gotten back into her car, all right. But she hadn't left. She'd pulled it dead center in the middle of the site, blocking one dump truck and a half-dozen angry, sweaty construction workers trying to unload a tractor-trailer full of dry wall.

For a second there, she'd thought the foreman was going to order the dump truck driver to fill Emma's pretty little car with a few tons of dirt. She'd held her breath, resisting the urge to blink at his unexpected game of chicken by hitting the button to put the convertible top up.

He'd finally backed down, disappearing into his trailer.

The cops had shown up eight minutes later. Sheriff Brady had come out to the site to make the arrest and take her away. He'd been nice about it—the barrel-chested man had always been a nice old guy, except when anyone named Walker was around. But he'd also been stern. When Emma had tried to defend herself, insisting she was the wronged party, he'd merely shaken his head with pure pa-tronization, and told her she didn't know the facts.

Emma hated being told she was wrong. Particularly by a bluster}', laid-back old Southern man who thought he knew everything. One who had fathered Emma's high school arch-enemy.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to claim this doesn't count as breaking your promise?" a voice asked.

She looked up from where she sat perched on the very edge of the cot in the much-too-familiar jail cell. This time, she'd thought far enough ahead to wear long pants, which were going in the wash as soon as she got home.

"Because I didn't," she told Johnny. She'd been expecting him ever since Fred Willis had locked her in this place.

Stiffening her shoulders, she tried to keep her lips stiff, too. Not to mention her voice. She wasn't going to cry on Johnny's shoulder again. "I didn't break any promise. Besides which, it wasn't a real promise. I didn't pinky swear or anything."

Tsking, he shook his head. "You couldn't stay out of trouble for forty-eight hours?"

"I started trying to reach Jimbo Boyd on Saturday and have left a half-dozen messages, but he's not returning my calls." Emma stood and walked over to the cell door, favoring her bad ankle, which had, at least, improved enough so she didn't need a cane.

Johnny had kept his word and left it on her porch sometime Sunday night. But Emma had resisted the urge to bring it with her out to the grove today, figuring there was no point tempting fate. Or depriving the construction foreman of future children.

Not that the world wouldn't be better off without the progeny of foul-mouthed, foul-smelling, foul-tempered jerks like him.

Never taking his eyes off her, Johnny unlocked the cell. When the bars were swung out of the way, and they stood there, face-to-face, she tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes, wanting him to understand. There was one way to get her point across. "Would
you
have just let it go?"

He met her stare, his frown easing somewhat, and she knew the answer to her own question.
No
. In her position, Johnny would have done exactly the same thing.

"At least you didn't hit anybody this time," he offered, with one lip quirked up in a half smile.

"I told you I wouldn't assault anyone." She had to hand it to herself, she'd sounded downright pious that time.

Johnny, of course, saw right through it. "You knew what I meant, though. I warned you to stay away from the site, Emma. Now the foreman is talking about filing a restraining order. You'd be restricted from coming within a hundred feet of the property line."

Groaning, she swiped an angry hand through her hair. "They can restrict me from my own property?"

"According to the tax records, it's not your property."

His words stunned her for a moment. Judging by the sincerity—and the regret—on Johnny's face, he was entirely serious. "But I inherited it…along with the house."

"A company called MLH Enterprises is the recorded land owner and has been since April of last year. I looked it up this morning. I can get you a copy of the tax roll if you don't believe me."

April. The month Grandma Emmajean had died. She couldn't take it in. "That can't be. Grandma Emmajean's will…"

"Did you see the deed?"

Absently shaking her head, she admitted, "My parents took care of everything. Like I said, I was just out of the hospital, still in physical therapy. After probate, I invested all the cash, and left the property in the hands of Jimbo Boyd."

His jaw tightened, as if he didn't like being reminded of her accident. On rainy days, when her healed bones ached, she agreed with him. "Did your parents
tell
you the land was included in your inheritance?"

She had to admit it: no, they hadn't. But it had been a foregone conclusion. Her grandmother had always made it clear what she wanted. Emma's parents didn't have the need, or the ties to Joyful. Though her father had been born in Georgia, he'd become firmly ensconced in Mother's world and currently ran the London branch of her family's electronics company. He wasn't interested in coming back to Georgia and had always agreed that the home place should go to his daughter, who truly loved it.

A daughter who would fight for it. No matter what.

"I'm certain the will said I inherited
everything
."

"Even if it did…she might have already sold the land before changing her will."

"She didn't," Emma snapped. "I know it. You can believe me or not, but one way or another, I intend to prove it."

Interesting. He was avoiding the woman. Daneen had seen that kind of behavior before. Usually, though, Jimbo only avoided the stupid, brainless women he'd done then dumped whenever he and Daneen were on the outs.

There'd been more than a few of those over the years.

Jimbo worked fast, but he sure couldn't have worked fast enough to have done anything with Emma Jean. Not with her only having been in town a few days. And not with Jimbo having spent all of his sexual energy with Daneen right here in the office. So she wondered why he wasn't calling Emma Jean back.

"Is that something I can take care of?" she asked, after giving him the last message Monday evening.

He shook his head. "Nah, sweet pea, she's just being a northern pain in the ass. Always gotta have everything right now."

Hmm…sounded like some men she knew.

"I hear she caused a commotion out at the site of the club. Not once but twice."

Jimbo pushed his chair back from his desk, leaned back and laced his fingers together over his chest. "Did she now?"

Jimbo knew darn well she had. Daneen's father had been in here earlier telling him all about it. Daneen hadn't heard all their conversation through the closed office door, but she'd heard enough to know her daddy hadn't been happy with Emma Jean.

"I woulda paid money to see her tossed into jail," Daneen said with a grin.

"It was all a misunderstanding," Jimbo murmured, still watching her from across the desk. "But do me a favor, will you?"

She nodded.

"Keep an ear out. Let me know if you hear anything else about her, okay?"

Daneen assumed he meant anything
other
than the porn star story, which was garbage and she knew it. So she nodded, then turned to leave his office. But as she returned to her desk, she had to wonder why Jimbo cared so much. Which also made her wonder about who else seemed to care too much about Emma Jean's presence in town.

Johnny.

She still hadn't been able to get a minute alone with him since Friday. She'd seen him Sunday, at his mama's place, when she'd taken Jack out for a visit. But she hadn't had a chance to grill him on Emma.

She wanted to know why the other woman had come back. How long she planned to stay. If there was anything Daneen could do to make her hurry back out of town.

And just how Johnny felt about it.

Daneen wanted things to get back to normal, with her being the only local woman Johnny gave the time of day to. She knew it was only because they were family, but that was better than being ignored, like the rest of the female population in Joyful.

Johnny could have had any woman he wanted. Rumors said he wanted a
lot
of women. From down in Bradenton. Or up in Lawton. Not in Joyful, though. Never.

She'd long since given up on thinking she'd ever actually get him. Johnny had made it pretty clear years ago that even their friendship would disappear if she didn't back off. It'd been hard to do, considering he was darn near the sexiest man she'd ever seen. But she'd done it, knowing she'd never be able to hold on to him. And she'd certainly never be able to get him to marry her. The chance of that was even lower than the chance she'd ever been able to get a commitment out of Jimbo.

Because Johnny was a loner. He'd never fall in love, never settle down, never commit to one woman. He didn't believe in any of it. His parents' marriage had done something to him and he seemed content to be alone during the day.

As for the nights? Well, they were another story. But as long as she didn't have to hear about who in town he was spending them with, Daneen found it in herself not to mind so much that it wasn't her.

As much as she wanted to deal only with the pecan grove, Emma realized by Tuesday morning that a job was going to have to come first. She didn't have a penny to spare to hire a lawyer, not yet anyway. And until she could reach her parents—who were traveling somewhere in Spain this week—she couldn't get a copy of her grandmother's will or find out where the rest of the paperwork was. So there didn't seem to be much she could do, except risk arrest.

Which was getting a little tiresome.

However Emma fully intended to show up at Jimbo Boyd's office if he didn't call her back soon. She'd plant herself on his doorstep and get some answers. The one reason she hadn't was that, honestly, she hated the thought of seeing Daneen. She couldn't handle the other woman yet. Her nerves were stretched too thin. The way she was going, Daneen would set her off and she'd end up in jail again. Or a blubbering, sobbing mess. At this point, she couldn't say which was worse.

If Johnny was around, the blubbering part probably would be the way it ended up. With her luck, she'd wind up in his arms again, which was about as tempting—and as bad for her—as a Krispy Kreme doughnut was to a woman on Atkins. She'd been held by him practically from the minute she'd arrived back in town Friday after-noon. When she'd fallen, when she'd cried. When they'd kissed.

Oh, God, when they'd kissed.

Just a kiss, it was just a kiss.

And the Golden Gate was just a bridge.

Enough. She couldn't think about him anymore, couldn't speculate on the things she'd learned—that he was single, eligible, sought after and could get it up five times a night.

Darn you, Claire!

She couldn't allow herself to admit that he'd been truly nice to her, in spite of his teasing, when she'd expected the opposite. Couldn't acknowledge that all those crazy things he'd made her feel when she was young and foolish were ten times more potent now that she was older and experienced.

She was immune to him, she really was. At least, she would be, as long as she stayed away from him.
Forever
.

Dressing carefully in a brightly colored sundress she'd picked up at Bergdorf Goodman earlier in the spring, Emma set out early Tuesday on her job hunt. Luckily, she had at least one pair of low-heeled sandals, since she didn't want to end up back in Ace bandages. She wore a bright yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck, needing the confidence of something hanging down the back of her neck, like her hair used to.

The dress was cute. The scarf was bright. Her makeup was carefully applied. And she was no longer limping. But even wearing all her feminine armor and looking healthy and in control, she confronted some really strange reactions in town.

"You're her, ain't ya?" This came from a young man tinkering under the hood of an old Ford Fairlane in the downtown parking lot where Emma parked her car.

"Her?"

"You're
the one
."

The one. Right. The one who'd been arrested for assaulting a local construction worker. Who'd had a screaming match with him. Who'd landed in jail looking like a homeless drunk picked up on the street during a late-night episode of
Cops
. The one who'd delayed an entire work crew with her bright red convertible yesterday morning.

Yeah, she was the one all right.

"Can I have your autograph?" someone else asked.

Emma stared past the mechanic toward a second young man sweeping the sidewalk in front of a pawnshop. His broom managed only to swirl up some dust and tree pollen on this hot June day, but his earnest expression said he wasn't going to give up his job. Nor give up talking to her.

"I saw her first," the first guy said. "I get an autograph."

"I'm nobody famous," Emma murmured, trying to step around the broom, and the pathetically small pile of dust the second man's efforts had garnered.

He didn't budge. "Sure you are." Then he looked around, as if to avoid being overheard, and lowered his voice. "Are you just, you know, in…in-congenital?"

"
Excuse
me?"

"It's incognito, dipshit," the first guy said with a snort. Then he turned to Emma. "And you don't have to be in disguise. Because I think it's too late. Everybody knows."

Everybody? Great. The whole town knew she had a record. She wondered how prospective employers would look on felons in the workplace. "Look, it wasn't a big deal. You don't know the whole story. I didn't do anything illegal and I'm sure the whole fuss will die down soon."

The broom-holder didn't look dissuaded. In fact, his gaze was downright worshipful. "I think it's a big deal. Things like this don't happen very often in Joyful."

"He got what was coming to him. He deserved it."

Four eyes widened. The men asked in unison, "Deserved it?"

Emma nodded. "That foreman was begging for it."

"Begging…"

"He needed to be laid low. I happened to be the one to bring him down."

This time the sweeper dropped his broom, and the other guy his jaw. "
Laid
…low…" one of them whispered.

"Brought down flat," Emma added, wondering if the young men were on the slow side.

"He was flat?"

She nodded.

"On his back?" the other asked.

She nodded again.

They glanced at each other. "In
public
?"

"Yes, in public. Are you two hard of hearing or something?"

One whistled as the other slammed down the hood of his car.

"I gotta get me a camera."

"I gotta get me a pen."

"I gotta get my brother on the phone."

Emma clenched her jaw, really annoyed at the fuss these two were making. It didn't say much for how the rest of her day was going to go. "I barely touched him," she muttered.

"Who?"

"The foreman. I mean, I sort of ended up on top of him, but that was only because I lost my balance."

Wide-eyed? Now the two young men wore almost car-toon expressions of shock, with eyes bugging out of their sockets. Emma's explanation about how she'd flattened a construction worker was making things worse instead of better.

"Was this here, in town?" the sweeper asked in a whisper.

She nodded. "Yes, but honestly, there was no harm done. He was fine. I expect he's used to rough-and-tumble experiences in his job."

Mechanic boy jerked upright. "So do I. I'm rough. I tumble."

Sweeper elbowed him away. "I'm rougher. I can take anything. Right here on the hard concrete, or anywhere else. Tumble away."

Okay, she hadn't left home. She was still in bed, asleep, dreaming she'd fallen down Alice's rabbit hole and was having a conversation with Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber.

"Land on
me"
the sweeper ordered. "I'm soft."

"She don't want
soft
, ya moron." The greasy mechanic gave her a salacious smile. "Do ya, sweetheart?"

Oh, lord, now she got it. They were
hitting
on her, not accusing her of being a criminal. They were trying to pick her up. Emma had just been so focused on the ridiculous arrest thing and how it would affect her job search that she hadn't been paying proper attention. "Thanks anyway, guys, I've got business to do today."

"Can I watch?" the mechanic said. "I won't say nothin', I'll just, uh, you know, be there."

Mercy, things must be boring in Joyful if amorous young men got their kicks out of watching women job-hunt.

"Why don't you go home to your wife?" the one who'd been sweeping said, his face growing red.

"Why don't you go home to your mama?" he got in return.

Ahh, such a proud display of Joyful's male population. They looked ready to start bitch-slapping one another at any minute.

The two men's voices escalated as they focused their attention strictly on each other. One called the other a soft-kneed, whipped sissy boy, which inspired the sweeper to step off the curb, swinging his broom in a threatening manner. Emma almost warned him about the broom swinging—given her recent experience with the cane—but refrained, since their distraction helped her escape.

They didn't even notice as she hurriedly ducked into the closest store—a dress shop. Hiding behind a rack of clothes near the front window, she peeked outside, noting the exact moment they realized she'd vanished. They both looked around, frowned, then started to yell at each other again.

"Bizarre," she whispered, wondering if there was a dearth of women in Joyful. Sure, she was cute and she got her share of male attention, but she had never inspired brawling on a public street. The closest she'd come to driving a man crazy with lust lately was when she'd told a Manhattan businessman that one of her investments had garnered a thirty percent return. It hadn't been her body he'd lusted for, just her brain. And her portfolio.

Correction, her
former
portfolio.

"You're her, aren'tcha?"

Oh, God, no. The news of her arrest must have been shouted from the pulpits of local churches yesterday. Giving her attention to the woman who had spoken, Emma said, "Good morning."

The woman—girl, really, she appeared to be a teen-ager—gave her a big toothy grin. "Mornin'. Don't pay any attention to them," she said, nodding out the window. "Tony'd never cheat on his wife, fr'fear she'd cut off his dick while he slept."

Emma raised a brow.

" 'Cause, you know, that's what she tried to do when she caught him tinkering with Suellen Gantry's
tailpipe
when he was supposed to be working on her transmission."

So, Mr. Mechanic was named Tony. And he might very well have only a partial penis. She tucked the information away for future reference.

"And Bobby, well, he wouldn't know what to do with a girl if one landed in his lap. Naked." She lowered her voice. "I should know. He started looking mighty good after I'd helped empty a pony keg of beer at a grad night party last year." She gave a rueful shake of her head. "Me, naked on his lap and he passes out. Can you believe it?"

Emma didn't know whether to laugh or merely drop her jaw as this teenage girl with puffed up blond hair, big blue eyes and freckles rattled on like they were long-lost friends.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Here it comes.

"Uh, if you must," Emma replied slowly, hoping the girl could pick up on the unspoken "no" in her voice.

"How'd you get your start?"

Obviously subtle nuances in voice and speech were lost on the Joyful crowd. "Start?"

"You know…"

Emma rolled her eyes. "On my life of wickedness?"

The other girl didn't notice her sarcasm. She nodded so hard her hair flopped into her eyes and she had to reach up to sweep it away. "Yeah, how'd you know you were, you know, doing the right thing? That you could handle it?"

Emma sensed the girl would be bored stiff if she started telling stories about picnics in the grove, and summer vacations, and her grandmother's pecan pie. So she went straight for the good stuff, the
important
stuff, trying to impress on the girl how important it was to stand up for what you believed in.

"I'm not one to take things lying down."

The girls eyes widened. "You like it standing up? Lying down's no good?"

Letting out an unladylike snort, Emma shook her head. "Only if you want to get screwed."

When the girl's mouth dropped open, Emma nibbled her lip. "Sorry. What I mean is, a woman's got to be in control."

The girl nodded. "Yeah. In control." Then she cocked her head. "Uh, how?"

"Well, by being in the driver's seat. In charge."

"Like, on top, you mean?"

"Exactly. On top of things at all times," Emma replied.

The girl didn't look too enthused. "I'm not much good on top. I tire out. And things tend to jiggle around too much."

Emma almost laughed at the girl's unusual description. But it made sense. She sometimes got weary and her own emotions often "jiggled around" when she fought too hard for something she believed in. That didn't make it any less important to keep trying. "You just have to try harder. I've always believed in coming out swinging."

"You were a
swinger
?"

"Not literally. What I mean is, when I see something I want, I go after it. I'm not afraid and I can go head to head with anybody."

At least, the Emma she
used
to be was like that. Lately, she seemed to be more the blubbery, sad-sack, arrested type. But not anymore, dammit. Emma Jean Frasier had steel in her spine.

She'd been a hard-hitting New York financier for the past three years and it was about darn time she started acting like it again. Broke, jobless, arrested—so what? She was alive and healthy and she had her grandmother's beautiful house. That was a lot better off than some people had it.

She began to feel better than she had in days.

"So, you, uh, like going head to head," the girl was saying, looking shocked. "With
anybody
? Is that how you decided what you were going to do? Because you liked the, uh, head stuff?"