She Drives Me Crazy (18 page)

Cora Dillon had been thinking about it all week, but she still hadn't come up with a solution to her problem. She'd stewed and prayed, she'd talked to Bob, knowing, of course, that he wasn't listening, so she didn't have to worry about him actually trying to tell her what to do.

She was fretting over her knowledge of Jimbo Boyd's latest shenanigans, and cursing her own ability to ferret things out. Sometimes it caused too much confusion.

Cora liked knowing things, liked sitting quietly in the diner listening to the conversations of the people behind her. Or at the hair salon, pretending her head was all the way up inside the dryer hood, but secretly hunkering down so she could pay attention to the stylists as they chatted back and forth.

It wasn't that she meant to
do
anything with the tidbits of knowledge she found out. She just liked to hold on to them, like sparkly pebbles she could hoard in her pocket and take out and giggle over when she was alone.

At least, usually. Sometimes, as in the case with the Fra-sier girl, the things she learned deserved to be told. And hadn't she been proved right? Look at what the truth had turned out to be—the girl hadn't only
sold
dirty pictures up north, she'd been
making
them! Clara'd heard the story from a very reliable source at her church prayer meeting Wednesday night.

But this Boyd information troubled her. Yes, indeedy, it troubled her mightily. Because though the daughter was a cheap bit of goods, Daneen Brady's mother had been one of Cora's closest friends. She couldn't imagine what Lila would think of her little girl having a desktop affair with Mayor Jimbo Boyd.

"I do appreciate you coming over at the last minute, Mrs. Dillon," she heard from behind her as she finished waxing the tiled foyer floor of the Boyd house. "Especially on a Friday."

Straightening, she put a hand to the small of her back and looked at Hannah Boyd, Jimbo's wife, who stood at the bottom of the stairs in the Boyd mansion. Well, not a mansion, but pretty dang big for this place where the average folks lived in 3/2 tract houses.

Hannah was all trim and tidy, dressed in a decent, respectable gray dress with a tasteful strand of pearls around her neck. Ladylike. That described Hannah Boyd. She fit in here all right, into this house her daddy had left to her.

Unlike her husband. The miserable cheater.

"Friday night's the same as any other," Cora replied. "With the kids gone, me'n Bob usually eat frozen TV dinners on Friday nights, anyway.

Hannah gave her a small smile that softened up her tight face a bit. The first lady had been a pretty girl when she was young, back before Jimbo'd gotten his beefy paws on her.

"How very sweet, Cora. I didn't mean to make you late for your date with your husband."

Cora merely shrugged. She hadn't been about to turn down the extra work when the first lady of Joyful had called in a tizzy earlier today. Seems her regular housekeeper had come down sick and there was a speck of dust on Hannah Boyd's dining room table. Or a smudge of a thumbprint on the mirror over her sofa. Heaven forbid Hannah not keep a perfect house.

Cora had a feeling one'a them shrink fellas would say it was because Hannah couldn't keep a perfect husband.

"The mayor and I are hosting a prayer breakfast in the morning, you know," Hannah said, folding her hands in front of her.

Cora pursed out her lips. She could imagine the kind of praying Jimbo'd been doing with Daneen at work today. She'd bet anything
he
hadn't been the one on his knees.

"Well, you're all ready then," Cora said as she gathered up the cleaning supplies.

As she prepared to leave, Hannah followed her into the kitchen, chatting about the weather and Cora's grandchildren. Not for the first time—not for the twentieth—Cora felt sorry for the woman. She wondered what Hannah would do if she heard about Jimbo's office wickedness.

She also wondered what Chief Brady would say about his little girl being part of it.

She wondered what Johnny Walker would do if he knew his brother's boy was around such sordid goings-on. And if his brother might come to town to do something about it.

She wondered what Daneen would have to say for herself.

She wondered what Jimbo might offer to try to get her to keep quiet.

And, most of all, she wondered which of them she was going to tell first.

At first he'd figured the knocking sound was just his heart banging against the walls of his chest. Or maybe his nuts cracking, wrung completely dry as he spent himself inside her.

But no. The sound came from the front door.

"Emma? Someone's here."

Her eyes flew open immediately. "Oh, my God."

"Shh," he replied, kissing the expression of panic off her lips. "We won't answer."

He didn't think he
could
answer. Or even move. Except, maybe, to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. It was about damn time he and Emma Jean made love in a bed.

He hadn't come over here expecting this…nothing like this. But it had happened. Ten years of wondering and waiting and hungering had reached this explosive climax, and he wasn't fool enough to question it.

Johnny didn't quite know what it meant, other than the fact that having had her once, he wouldn't rest until he had her again. Beyond that…who knew? But they were different people now. They weren't stupid teenagers acting on hormones and hurt feelings. No other people were involved.

The future seemed…well, not bright, but at least possible. Emma Jean was back in Joyful. She'd come home of her own free will. Maybe, he had to wonder, because she, too, had realized she had some unfinished business to attend to.

Whatever the reason, they were both responsible adults. Free to make their own choices. That she'd chosen Joyful… and him…said a lot about the way Emma had changed. She wasn't the spoiled teenage kid anymore, hiding out from her parents, biding time until she could get away and be on her own.

Which made him suddenly feel very positive.

He didn't have much opportunity to feel positive, however, because a moment later, he heard the knocking again. Apparently the person at the door didn't much care if they answered or not. Before he could even think to suggest they get more comfortable—like, at least letting him take his pants all the way off—he heard the click of the knob as it started to turn.

He hadn't locked the door.

Someone was about to get quite a sight. His bare ass, with her legs wrapped around him.

Johnny leaped to his feet, yanking his pants up with one hand and grabbing for Emma with the other. He hauled her to her feet, feeling like a kid about to get caught making out by his parents.

"Go," he ordered, pushing her toward the hall as he got his pants in place and yanked at the zipper. That could've been dangerous considering his cock still felt like it was ready to explode. He had the feeling if they hadn't been interrupted he could have started right back up again, without ever leaving Emma's sweet, tight body.

"Em, I know you're here, I have to see you," he heard a voice from behind him.

He swung around just in time to see the front door open and Claire Deveaux enter the house, accompanied by her daughter.

Claire's pretty face was puffy, her eyes suspiciously bright. But the redness in her cheeks, he'd have to say, came
after
she realized what she'd walked in on. Her eyes grew to saucer proportions and her jaw dropped open.

"Oh, my goodness," she whispered, drawing a shaking hand to her mouth.

Yeah. That about summed it up. Him shirtless, Emma's torn dress on the floor, her bra hanging from the arm of the couch and her panties God only knew where. The room smelling like hot sweaty bodies and sex.

Nope. There wasn't much chance she was gonna mistake this for anything but wild monkey sex in the living room.

"I'm so sorry," Claire whispered, immediately backing toward the door. "I didn't think…"

"Give Emma a minute, okay?" he bit out, turning his attention to Eve, who was looking around the room with curiosity.

If the kid found Emma's panties, he was gonna croak.

"No, no, just tell her I stopped by." Then Claire sucked her lower lip in. "Uh, tell her I'll come back later."

"Mama, are you gonna get our suitcases out of the car soon? I want my Dora the Explorer doll."

Suitcases. Holy shit, suitcases? And that teary look on her face?

Uh-oh. This was a marital crisis. He'd seen it enough to know. As much as he wanted to usher Claire out, making sure she took her wide-eyed, inquisitive daughter with her, he knew he couldn't.

Bending over, he grabbed his shirt off the floor and yanked it on. "Emma will be right back. Don't go anywhere," he ordered the other woman.

Claire didn't look ready to argue. She just continued to stare around the room, wide-eyed, particularly when her attention turned toward Emma's torn dress.

"Uh…"

"I'll be right back," he snapped, grabbing for the dress and the bra as he headed for the doorway. He only hoped Emma'd had the presence of mind to shove her underwear under the cushions of the sofa because he didn't see them.

"Who was it?" Emma asked as soon as he found her standing at the top of the staircase, wearing a pink robe.

Her embarrassed expression couldn't entirely hide her amusement. "Tell me we didn't get busted by somebody peddling religion."

He grinned. "Nah, though maybe it would've helped that you were crying out to the lord for mercy."

She lifted one lofty brow. "I think that was
you
."

"No, I was the one singing hallelujahs for window air conditioners and Georgia summers."

The smile slowly faded from her face and she shook her head in bemusement. "Oh, Johnny, what on earth have we done?"

He quirked a brow. "You want the technical term?"

"You want a black eye?" She ran a hand through her mass of curls, sending them tumbling all around, just begging to be touched and played with again.

"We beat the heat," he finally admitted. "And answered some questions that'd been floating around out there for the past ten years."

Like could it really have been as incredible as he remembered? Could she possibly have been that sweet, that tight, that good?

Yeah. Yeah. And ohhhh yeah.

Emma was shaking her head. "I never intended…this doesn't mean…"

His jaw stiffened. "It is what it is, Emma Jean. To hell with intentions or regrets."

"I don't regret it," she replied, her admission surprising him. He'd have figured she'd sooner slip and fall in the Joyful Grocery Store again than be so honest. "But hooking up with you again sure wasn't what I had in mind when I came here to hide out."

Her words took him by surprise. "Hide out?"

She tugged her robe tighter around herself and looked toward the floor. "No, I'm just kidding."

Sensing she was close to coming clean about why she'd really come to Joyful, and why she planned to stay, he took her chin and lifted her face. When they were eye to eye, he ordered, "Tell me."

With a heavy sigh, she admitted, "I lost my job. My life savings. My best friend. Everything. I'm destitute and broke and unhirable. So I came to Joyful to…I don't know…wait out the storm?"

His jaw dropped open. He had not expected this. Em-ma'd been raised with not only a silver spoon in her mouth but an entire tea service at the ready. How she could have reached such a state truly baffled him.

She seemed to see his disbelief. "It's true." Then she turned her face, curling her cheek into his fingers. "But today, now…well, let's say I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. I'd been feeling lonely and lost and afraid." She gave him a saucy smile. "Not to mention
hot
."

Her suggestive comment didn't have the effect she'd probably been going for. Emma's sexy teasing couldn't refill the part of him that had suddenly been sucked empty by what she'd admitted. By what it meant.

She was down and out. She needed a savior, someone to make her feel better, someone to lean on.

Same old story. Once again, he'd played the hero for Emma Jean Frasier. No, this time he hadn't given her flowers and an arm to lean on while walking into the prom. Instead, he'd given her a mind-blowing fuck to help her forget her troubles for a while.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and pulled his hand away from her.

She didn't seem to notice his distraction, because she sounded very casual when she asked, "So who
was
at the door, Johnny?"

He finally remembered why he'd come looking for her. Just the sight of her in her silky pink robe had made him forget they were no longer alone in the house. And her confession about what she was really doing here had made him forget everything except how empty and furious and used he'd felt the last time he'd been stupid enough to get involved with Emma Jean.

She hadn't wanted him back then, she'd wanted Nick. And this time, she hadn't wanted him, either. She'd wanted a hard body to comfort her.

If this were a normal situation, he'd probably have figured what the hell and taken her to bed again as many times as she needed until she felt better. But not with her.

He couldn't do this again. She'd torn him up when he'd been a young, stupid kid. He couldn't imagine the damage she could do now that he was a grown man.

No more.

"It was Claire," he finally responded, keeping his voice even and his breaths steady. "She's, uh, still downstairs. I think she's in trouble and she needs a friend."

Thank God for Claire. No way could he stay here and not let Emma Jean know exactly what was going on in his head. Which would do nothing but leave them snapping and shouting at each other as they had on prom night.

He was older and wiser now. He didn't need to fight with Emma Jean. He just needed to get away from her.

Emma knew things had to be bad with Claire because for the rest of Friday night, and all morning Saturday, her friend never asked for the dirt on what she'd interrupted between Emma and Johnny. That would have been easy to answer: the most incredible sex of her life. Or, at least, the afterglow of the most incredible sex of her life.

She was still slightly stunned by it. By the suddenness and the intensity. Like a wicked summer thunderstorm, what they'd shared had been shocking and powerful and then suddenly gone.

Gone
. She sensed Johnny had been gone even before he'd left the house the previous night.
Something
had certainly been gone—his warmth? The lazy-sweet look in his eyes that said he wanted to take her to bed and never get up?

Something.

He'd been almost tense. Not cold, but somehow, as crazy as it seemed, reserved. Ridiculous given the intimacies they'd shared in her living room, but it was true. Something had made him grow distant.

It's for the best.

She'd been repeating those words in her brain all morning. Getting involved with Johnny would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. She was in town for one reason—to wait out the firestorm and controversy until she could get another job and go back to her real life in New York.

Not to stay. Not to turn into a small-town girl involved with the local stud. No matter how good that stud was in bed. Or on the floor. Or any flippin' place.

Johnny had chosen Joyful. He'd gotten out once, had tried living in a big city, with a good job, far away from the stigma of being one of "those Walkers." But he'd come back. His choice said a lot about where his head was and what he wanted out of his life.

They were on two different roads, going in two different directions. They'd both been caught in the same summer storm, that was all. It
had
to be all.

She just had to stop the whispers in her brain that kept reminding her it was the stormy season.

"So, you're sure you want to go to this reunion?" Claire asked from the doorway.

Emma looked up from her bed, where she sat painting her toenails a screaming fuchsia, and nodded. "Yes. I'm sure. It's about time this town realizes I'm not hiding because of what happened on prom night. And you're coming, too."

Claire entered the room and sat down on the bed. Reaching into Emma's giant cosmetics case, she sorted through the nail polish and selected a bloodred shade.

"Umh, honey, that shade is
so
not you," Emma said.

"Why not? I'm through being safe and sweet."

Emma couldn't help it. She snorted. "You? Safe and sweet?"

Claire simply glared. "I
am
."

"If you say so."

Emma still couldn't believe the reason Claire and Eve had shown up on her doorstep. Claire's husband, Tim, had apparently gone all caveman on her because Claire had decided to go back to work. He sure didn't sound like the loving husband Claire had spoken of.

"I still can't believe you walked out," Emma murmured.

"What was I supposed to do when he practically accused me of being a lousy mother?"

"I'm sure he didn't say such a thing."

"He didn't have to," Claire replied with what looked and sounded like a harrumph. Emma couldn't be sure, since she'd never actually witnessed one, but that disgruntled, groaning, frowning thing Claire had just done probably qualified.