She Drives Me Crazy (32 page)

God, were there four worse words in the English language for a man to hear, when spoken by a woman he loved? Usually they preceded some horrible news, quite often followed by, "It's not you, it's me." Or, "I just need my space."

At least, so he'd heard. He wasn't entirely sure since he'd never been involved long enough with any one woman to actually be dumped by one.

"Wanna tell me what about?" he finally asked, keeping his voice slow and even. She shook her head, then ducked past him out of the bathroom.

He followed her to her room, watching as she disappeared into her closet and came back out wearing her short pink robe.

Her hair was twisted up in a towel, her face bare of makeup, her whole body moist, sweet and fragrant from her shower. And she was mouthwateringly beautiful.

If she told him they were finished before he ever got the chance to tell her he loved her, he was gonna die. "Emma Jean…"

"So what's the latest?" she asked, looking nervous, as if she didn't want to proceed to their real conversation any more than he did.

, He suddenly began to suspect why. New York had come calling again. He'd bet his last dollar on it. She was leaving.

"Johnny? Is anything new?"

He shook his head absently. "Not really. Just what I told you on the phone earlier. Daneen is taking Jack and moving down to Atlanta to live with her cousin for a while."

"She needs a new start," Emma said, a slight frown pulling at her brow. "And she certainly doesn't need her son hearing all the gossip flying around this place."

Emma walked by him, heading toward her dresser, probably to get some clothes. But Johnny couldn't wait any longer. He caught her arm, holding her still. "Tell me."

She looked down, staring at her pretty pink toenails, at the wall. At the bed. Then her face turned pinker than her nail polish and she looked away from the bed.

That was definitely one place where the two of them had no trouble communicating.

"What is it?"

She shrugged, resigned. "This is hard for me."

He could have let it remain hard, made her come up with the words to tell him she was going away, but he didn't want to see her hurting any longer than she had to. "I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

He nodded. "I expected it, Emma. I've been waiting for you to give me this kind of news almost since the day you arrived."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, gee, if I'd known it myself as soon as I'd arrived, it might have saved us both a lot of trouble."

Trouble. The weeks they'd spent together had been trouble? His heart took a hit. "So I guess that means you're not going to change your mind."

"Who can change their mind when their mind's not calling the shots?"

"I guess your wallet is," he admitted, knowing she had to look out for herself.

"Huh?"

Shaking his head, he drew in a deep breath, about to tread into very deep water. Where he'd never attempted to swim before.

She was worth it. What they had was worth it. What they
could
have was worth it most of all.

He wasn't about to ask her to stay. But he sure as hell wasn't going to sit back and watch her go. "I'm not a bad lawyer, you know."

She looked surprised by the change of topic.

"I mean, I've been sitting here with my thumb up my ass for eighteen months. Then, all of a sudden a real murder happens and wham, I remember I used to be pretty good at my job back in Atlanta."

"But did you like it?"

He shrugged, looking away. "I can like any job under the right circumstances."

"Those being?"

This time he didn't hesitate in meeting her stare and holding it. "That
you're
in the vicinity."

Her eyes widened in shock as she finally understood what he was getting at. "Johnny, you…"

"Shh," he said, holding his fingers up to her lips. "You don't have to decide anything now. But there's something between us, Em, there always has been. And if I have to follow you to some big northern city to make sure we give it a shot, then so be it."

"Oh, my God," she whispered, looking stunned. "Are you saying what I
think
you're saying?"

"You want me," he said, not letting her obvious dismay change his mind about being honest. "You admitted you've always wanted me. I want you, too."

This time, she was the one who put her hand to his mouth. "You're wrong," she said softly.

No. God, please no.

A part of him died. Just shriveled up and died inside.

"I didn't always
want
you, Johnny Walker."

He almost called her a liar, but before he could, she cut his legs right out from under him.

"I always loved you."

Loved.
Loved
?

She must have seen his disbelief. "I loved you. I was infatuated with you from that hot summer day when your truck broke down and I gave you a ride. I fell a little harder for you every time you were home from college, when I'd see you standing up for Nick or Virg, or working your butt off to help your mom."

That word, love, was still bouncing around inside his brain, making it hard to focus on the rest of her words.

Emma loved him? Had
always
loved him?

"And I lost my heart to you forever the minute I opened my front door and saw you standing there in that tux, holding those wildflowers you'd picked from Nelson's field."

Her beautiful amber eyes glittered with emotion. Her soft voice held no hint of doubt. And the way she cupped his cheek in her hand—as if reaching up to touch him for the first time—nearly brought him to his knees.

"I know you don't believe in it, don't believe yourself capable of truly loving anyone, or of making a real relationship work. But I love you enough to order you to try."

"Order?" he finally croaked out through a mouth as dry as dust.

"Yeah. I
order
you to give yourself a chance to love me, Johnny Walker. If you don't, I'll…I'll never give you another piece of pie again as long as you live." Though her voice held a note of teasing, her eyes narrowed as she threatened, "And I'll make sure you aren't capable of shar-ing pie with any
other
woman for the rest of your life, either."

Unable to help it, he let out a bark of laughter. Grabbing her, he hoisted her up until they were nose to nose. Then he kissed her, tasted, for the first time in his life, the sweetness of a mouth that had just said, "I love you."

This time the words they communicated in their kiss were deeper. More meaningful. He told her with his lips what he hadn't yet put into words.
I
love you, Emma Jean
.

When they pulled apart, he let Emma slide down his body to stand on her own. Her eyes were wide, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as she waited. Waited for a response

There was only one he could give her.

He took a step back, seeing her sudden frown, but needing room to reach into his back pocket. Withdrawing his wallet, he opened it and reached inside for something very familiar. Very precious.

In a small plastic sleeve, which was made to hold a wallet-sized photograph, was a tiny, delicate, thin strip of gold. He heard her gasp as he drew it out, letting the cool metal slide over his fingertips. Then he lifted it higher.

So she could see the butterfly.

"Oh, my God, that's my anklet."

"It hung on my bedpost in my dorm for a long time," he admitted hoarsely. "But ever since prom night, it's been in my wallet. I've carried it with me every day for the past ten years."

She knew, then. Of course she did, judging by the shaking of her lips and the brightness of her eyes. But Johnny gave her the gift of the words, anyway. Just as she'd done for him. "I love you, Emma Jean Frasier. I've loved you, and
only
you, for as long as I can remember."

The moisture in her eyes turned into full-fledged tears, though her beautiful face was practically alight from the huge smile on her lips.

"Hallmark, huh?" he asked with a gentle laugh as he touched one teardrop with the tip of his finger.

"Yeah," she whispered.

Then there was nothing left to say. She twined her fingers in his, the ankle bracelet winding between both their hands, creating a large ring of gold. Then she kissed him again, like she needed him to breathe.

Which was just what he needed from her.

Her kiss to breathe. Her laughter to melt. Her smile to exist. Her love to survive.

Their long, sweet embrace eventually moved to her bed, where they continued to kiss, slowly, languorously, as the late-afternoon sun slid through the half-open blinds over her bedroom window. That sunlight cast lines of shadow and light across her body as he drew her silky robe off, kissing her, all over, as if for the first time.

But before he removed his own clothes to make love to her, truly, in every sense of the word this time, she frowned.

"What is it?"

"Did you really have your heart set on going with me to New York?"

"I'm not letting you get away again, Em."

She nodded, thinking about it. "Can I reserve the right to take you up on that in the future?"

Not sure what she was getting at, and wanting very much to get back to the much more interesting task of getting naked with her, he nodded absently. "Sure."

"Good."

Getting naked was definitely more interesting. But he'd only gotten as far as his shirt, which he tossed to the floor, when he had to ask, "Why do you need to reserve judgment?"

She shrugged, moving her cool hands all over his chest, as if testing the curves and contours of his body. He nearly shuddered under the power of her soft, delicate touch, completely forgetting what he'd just asked her.

"Well, your mother would kill me if I up and moved to New York with you right now," she finally whispered, her words riding her tiny little pants of arousal.

"My mother can visit me anywhere I go," he mumbled, not wanting to think of anyone else,
especially
not his mother, when Emma was doing such remarkable things with her hands. Her lips.

Oh, God
, he silently moaned,
her amazingly sweet mouth
.

Emma chuckled, then moved down his body, using that mouth to unfasten his pants, then reaching to tug them down and out of her way.

She. climbed on top of him, looking down with heavy-lidded, desire-filled eyes. Her wet hair tangled around her face, and he put his hands in it, delicately caressing her scalp, thinking, as he always did when he tangled his fingers in her soft, bright hair, how much he wanted to get down on his knees and thank God that she'd survived her accident.

"I didn't mean she'd kill me for taking
you
away," she admitted as she stretched and curved like a cat, sliding her body over his, tempting him with her heat and her softness. "I meant, she'd be upset if her business partner bailed on her."

"Business…"

"Later," she whispered, leaning down and nibbling on the corner of his mouth. Then tilting her hips, doing crazy,
insane
things to him until he forgot who and where he was.

"I'll tell you all about it later," she said, licking at his lips. "Right now, I want you to tell me you love me, over and over again, while you're making love to me."

And Johnny was only too happy to oblige.

Emmajean's Pecan Grove opened the following September.

The very first customers—members of Sylvie Stottle-myer's bridge club—decided after sampling some amazing homemade desserts to hold their annual Christmas party in one of the diner's private party rooms. They booked it, stuffed a bit more pie between their cheeks, then left to spread the word that Emmajean's was divine.

When not ordering Emmajean's Famous Pecan Pie, or Minnie's Perfect Peach, the diner's patrons happily consumed the delicious home-cooked meals whipped up by the two cooks: Minnie and Jane Walker. The guys from the machine parts factory north of town took a particular liking to the mighty fine meat loaf.

Which they told to whoever would listen.

The rumors circulated and floated through the autumn air, fast and varied, like leaves caught in a strong wind. They landed here, were passed along there, then took off again, carried on until they'd covered most every square foot of Joyful.

Yessir, before long, every soul in the county knew Emmajean's Pecan Grove was a bona fide hit.

As an investor, Jane had a lot at stake in making sure the regular folks kept coming back, and that strangers get-ting off the highway remembered to stop on their return trip. So she worked hard to make every meal as good as many a home-cooked one, and
better
than some.

With even more at stake—as a full-fledged partner—Mona Harding kept the business side of things running smoothly. She also, the male populace was pleased to note, did the hiring.

Meaning the waitresses at Emmajean's Pecan Grove were all young, perky and buxom.

As for the co-owner, well, the granddaughter of the diner's namesake didn't have much to do with the day-today operations of the diner. No, she was much too busy running her thriving financial consulting business out of one of the upstairs offices.

Not to mention planning her wedding to the
formerly
most eligible bachelor of Joyful, Georgia.