She Drives Me Crazy

by Leslie Kelly

  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.

  CLAIRE WATCHED her husband hug Eve yet again as he stood next to the rear passenger door of Claire’s car, which had been towed to a nearby lot by the police. He cuddled their daughter close, being the concerned, loving father he always was. He wasn’t, however, acting much like the concerned, loving husband.

  “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.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOHNNY HAD INTENDED to get Emma out of the dirty jail cell as soon as possible, and bring her into the sheriff’s office to get to the bottom of the whole ridiculous assault charge. But no sooner had he disentangled them from their completely unexpected embrace than they’d been interrupted by Deputy Fred.

  The charges had
been dropped. The construction foreman out at the Joyful Interludes site had decided the whole thing had been a misunderstanding, after all. And that the cane incident had been a complete accident. Meaning Emma was free to go.

  Emma hadn’t looked relieved when she found out she wasn’t facing charges. In fact, she’d barely seemed to hear Willis, who’d entered from the front of the jail only a few seconds after Johnny had released Emma so she could wipe away her tears.

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she’d been a little…distracted. They’d both been slightly uncomfortable after their unexpected closeness, with him rubbing her back, whispering softly against her hair, and her clinging to him like he’d rescued her from a burning building.

  If someone had asked him twenty-four hours ago if he’d even consider holding Emma Jean Frasier in his arms so she could cry her eyes out, he’d have replied that he’d rather eat one of Virg’s mayonnaise-and-onion hot dogs.

  But the embrace had happened. She’d been in need, and his arms had opened to her before his brain had given it any conscious thought.

  She’d felt good. Too good, dammit. Sweet and curvy and vulnerable and soft. And he’d started to fall again, into the crazy place he always went when Emma Jean was close enough to touch, to taste, to smell.

  It’d taken the moisture of her tears on his neck to remind him they weren’t sharing the kind of embrace they’d experienced in her kitchen this morning. Yeah, there’d been attraction. As always. But also kindness, a sweetness he hadn’t wanted to explore with anyone in a long, long time. If ever.

  Her. Why is it always her?

  Maybe it wasn’t. Em had reminded him of an abandoned puppy. Johnny had a long track record of being the stand-up guy who helped out anybody in need. He’d have done the same for any woman who looked like Emma had and would be feeling exactly the same way about it.

  Made sense. But deep in his own mind, he called himself a liar.

  In spite of being out of the jail, Emma still looked dejected. Exhausted. Not to mention completely awful. “You know you have a fat lip?” he asked as he drove her back to her place. He hadn’t bothered asking if she needed the ride. He’d just led her to his SUV as soon as they’d left the jail.

  She nodded.

  “Want to explain it?”

  “The foreman bent over to yell at Eve for trying to kick him. I saw Claire winding up to swing, so I grabbed Eve to get her out of the way. Her head kind of bumped against my mouth.”

  Tsking, he shook his head. “Claire took a swing?”

  “Yes, but I deflected it.”

  “With your cheek?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  That explained the redness, which he’d wanted to kiss away earlier when she was crying in his arms.

  He shook off the thought. Those kind of impulses needed to get the hell out of his head.

  “Where did ‘the foreman getting whacked with a cane’ come in?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Between my cheek and my lip and a squirming four-year-old, I lost my balance. The cane really was an accident.” Then, with heat in her voice, she added, “If I’d wanted to hit that awful man, I wouldn’t have aimed for one of his legs, I’d have aimed between them.”

  “I don’t think he’d have dropped the charges if you had,” Johnny replied dryly.

  “I don’t think I’d have cared.” She straightened in her seat, her spine growing stiffer as some of her spirit began to return.

  He was glad to see it. Emma Jean had never been the type to let anybody keep her down for long. “Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” Speaking of blood…her clothes were sprinkled with a few drops. Probably from the fat lip. She was quite a sight. “What’d you do, take off the minute I left your house this morning?”

  “Almost. Claire told me what was going on out at Grandma Emmajean’s pecan grove and I talked her into driving me out there.”

  He figured as much. “You mean the construction site.”

  “Yes. How could this have happened? The land is decimated.”

  He shrugged, turning the SUV down an all-too-familiar street. Hers. “What’d you think the new owners were going to do with the place after you sold it? Have picnics in the summer?”

  The smack of her hand against his dashboard startled him so much he almost swerved off the road. “I did not sell the place.”

  The fury in her tone told him the sad, beaten-down Emma was long gone. In her place was one enraged, raggedy-looking blonde with fire in her stare and a curl on her lips.

  He pulled into her driveway, cut the engine and turned to face her. “I figured you must have sold it after your grandmother died.”

  She gave a fierce shake of her head, which sent those wild, untamed curls of hers rioting onto her forehead, almost covering her eyes. Unable to resist, Johnny reached over and brushed them back, fingering the silkiness for a brief second before letting the curl go. “Did you even brush your hair today?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she snapped, not looking like she cared one bit. “And I did not sell the lot, either. I inherited it, along with the house.”

  Interesting. She sounded completely sincere. But there had to be some explanation. Maybe Emma’s parents had dealt with it, sold the land themselves…wanting to “help.” Or maybe her grandmother had unloaded it.

  Something had happened back when Emma was recovering from her accident. She just didn’t know, or didn’t remember. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. He had the feeling if he did she’d slug him. She was too riled up, full of righteous indignation to listen to reason right now.

  “I believe you,” he murmured. “But charging out there probably wasn’t the best way to handle it.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Maybe just calmly calling the construction company?”

  “I didn’t have their number,” she replied with a lofty little shrug.

  He chuckled. “Well, sugar, they now appear to have yours.”

  “As in one angry wronged party?”

  “More along the lines of crazy lady with a cane and a dark-haired little pit bull named Eve.”

  Emma snorted a laugh. “That apple didn’t fall far from Claire’s tree, that’s for sure.”

  Suspecting she was right, he began to feel sorry for Tim Deveaux, who had yet to see his angel for the hell-on-wheels kid she’d someday become. Kinda like her mama had been, as he recalled.

  “Are you the only attorney in town now?” she asked, her voice growing serious again.

  He shook his head.

  “Because I think I need one.”

  “Charges were dropped.”

  “I mean a property attorney,” she said. “I’m going to call one right away. And Jimbo Boyd, because he was supposed to be looking after my interests.”

  “I’ll write down a couple of names for you,” he said, glad she hadn’t asked him for his help. He didn’t want to get involved with her any more than he had to. He’d already broken his silent promise to stop being Emma Jean’s savior.

  Not when he’d long ago wanted to be so much more.

  Emma let him help her into the house. She didn’t have much choice since she could hardly walk. Her entire body was tense against his, though, he had to admit, she still felt good. Soft and curvy and welcoming. Which sent his thoughts where they had no business going. South.

  Shit.

  Emma always had fit him better than any woman he’d ever known, and he’d known more than a few in his day. Not recently, though. He’d been going through a dry spell in his personal life. Not to mention his sexual one.

  For some reason, he just hadn’t been able to muster much interest in any of the women he knew. Nor had he much cared to get to know any new ones. In the year and a half since he’d moved back to Joyful, he’d dated a handful of women—none from here in town, of course, he wasn’t that stupid. The Joyful gossip lines had quite enough to talk about without adding this Walker’s sex life to it. But he hadn’t gone much beyon
d dating.

  Apparently his dry spell had ended. Because if putting his arm around the waist of a bedraggled, bloodied, un-showered, unbrushed blonde was getting under his skin like an itch that needed scratching before it drove him stark-raving nuts, he definitely needed to get laid. By just about anyone but her.

  Too bad she was the only one he wanted.

  Emma continued to mutter under her breath, not noticing the way he’d stiffened against her…not to mention his zipper.

  He needed to think of something else, something quick to kill his out-of-control libido. Control. Think of old lady Dillon. Castration. Having to ride the Small World ride at Disney World for twenty-four hours straight.

  Anything except backing her up into the porch swing and taking them both for one wild ride.

  Once inside, she slammed the front door shut, pulling away from him to lean on the inside wall. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t give me the cane back.”

  “I’ll get it for you,” he muttered, his throat tight. But not as tight as his pants.

  “After I no longer need it?”

  “What happened to the silver lining girl?”

  “She’s pissed off,” Emma shot back. “Tired and grungy and sore and ready to fight.”

  “So you’re done crying?”

  “You would have to remind me of that.” She clumped into her grandmother’s front room and dropped to a chair. “You caught me at a weak moment. It won’t happen again.”

  “Lots of those weak moments going around,” he murmured, remembering the one in her kitchen that morning.

  She met his even stare and her face flushed pink. The heat of anger slipped away, replaced by hot memory. What a double-edged sword, bringing up that intense outbreak of passion they’d shared. Because just thinking about it affected him every bit as deeply. So much for gaining control—his had taken a big flying leap. His heart rate kicked up and his stomach rolled over as he thought of how crazy they’d gotten on her kitchen table.

  Now he began to suspect why it was he hadn’t had much interest in other women lately. Because never, not once with any other woman, had he ever felt as sexually hungry as he did whenever Emma Jean Frasier was within a hundred yards.