She Drives Me Crazy

by Leslie Kelly

  She crossed her arms, the pose doing wicked things against the low neckline of her silky dress. The skin there was pinkened. She’d apparently forgotten the danger of the Southern sun, and he had the most ridiculous urge to yank her dress up.

  Only to protect her from sunburn. Not to, uh, cover anything, which would imply that he was affected by the way she looked. No sir. Not this boy.

  “I do mean it. I’m here to stay. At least for a while.”

  Her words shook off his lapse into horndog land. “Why the hell would you want to move back to Joyful?”

  “Why the hell did you never leave?”

  “I did leave,” he shot back.

  “For college. Then you came right back here to drop into your role as wicked Walker man. Why? Did you figure you couldn’t make it anywhere else?”

  Direct hit. It wasn’t precisely true, but Emma’s accusation had crossed his own mind once or twice in the past. Leave it to her to zero right in on it.

  Coming back here to the familiar faces and the familiar pace and the all-too-familiar lifestyle had been almost too easy. He’d sometimes thought about things he might have done, places he could have gone, if he hadn’t felt the need to come back here and…what? Live up—or down—to the Walker name? Play devil’s advocate to the lousy sheriff? Enable his mother to hold her head up high? All of the above?

  Yeah. He’d sometimes wondered if moving back to Joyful had been one big cop-out. But damned if he wanted Emma Jean Frasier to be the one throwing that in his face.

  He stepped closer, crowding her, suddenly angry with her for accusing him of nothing more than what he’d thought of himself. “We’re talking about you. Not me. Why are you looking for work?”

  She inched a step back. “For the usual reasons.”

  “Like?”

  “Gee, a paycheck? Benefits? A regular meal once in a while?”

  He’d become used to her sarcasm in the few days she’d been back. He’d even begun to like it, though he’d never have expected it from the sweet angel he’d known in the old days. But he sensed that beneath her smart-ass bravado, she was all-too-serious. “Since when does the spoiled rich girl need to worry about a regular meal?”

  She countered with a question of her own. “Since when is it any of your business?” Then, as if she knew he was going to argue the point, she quickly changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to looking into the construction of the club. Or gotten me a copy of the tax record?”

  The mulish expression on her face told him it was pointless to go back to the issue of her job. She’d changed the subject, end of story.

  Northerners.

  “Well?” she prodded. “Have you learned anything?”

  He had. He’d just been trying to figure out how to tell her what he’d found. She wasn’t going to like the answer, not one bit. But she also didn’t look like she’d have the patience to keep waiting.

  Sooner or later, she’d go back out to the construction area. He couldn’t stand to ever see her in that dirty little jail cell again. And he’d sooner cut off a limb than have to console her while she cried her eyes out one more time.

  Or see her get all fired up and spitting mad until his blood was boiling right along with hers. For all the wrong reasons that had nothing to do with the strip club and everything to do with wanting to strip her and take her up against the closest wall.

  “Yeah. I did,” he bit out.

  “Well?”

  He didn’t want to have the conversation here on the corner. Taking her arm, he said, “Let’s go to my office and talk.”

  She shook her head. “Just tell me what you learned, okay? I’m tired and I haven’t had a very good day.”

  Seeing the determination on her face, he did as she asked. “Your grandma sold the lot right before she died, Emma Jean.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, her eyes widening.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but it’s true. I looked up the records myself.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  His jaw tightened. “I’m not making it up.”

  She shook her head, looking dazed. “I’m sure you’re not…I just…I can’t believe she went ahead and did it.”

  “You mean, you knew she was thinking about selling out?”

  “She told me she was considering it.” Emma met his stare, her amber eyes glassy and punctuated by dark circles beneath them. “But I never thought she’d really go through with it.”

  The tremor in her voice confirmed the one question he’d had. A part of him had wondered if Emma, herself, had bought the property from her grandmother, not wanting the truth known because of the kind of business now being built there. Obviously not. “So you really have nothing to do with Joyful Interludes?”

  She raised a curious brow.

  “The club.”

  “That’s the name of the place?”

  He nodded.

  “And it’s really a…a strip club?”

  “Yeah, from what I hear.”

  “Joyful’s gotten big enough to need a strip club?”

  “Back to that naked woman issue, hmm?” he asked, remembering their conversation Friday in his car.

  “I can’t believe quiet little Joyful is allowing this to happen. Where are the protestors? Why hasn’t anyone raised a fuss? It’s like everyone in this town is asleep!”

  It had surprised him, too, though he expected things were heating up in the church meeting rooms and at the local bridge games. Just because nobody had shown up with the picket signs didn’t mean nobody was painting them in their garages.

  Doing the groundwork for Emma had aroused his own curiosity. Funny how quiet—and how fast—the whole deal had been…from old Mrs. Frasier selling her land to an out-of-state corporation, who then put through some slickly worded paperwork to get the zoning and land use applications approved. He wouldn’t go so far as to call the deal a dirty one, but it didn’t seem to be entirely clean and aboveboard, either.

  Then again, here in Joyful, nothing ever was.

  “I can’t believe the residents aren’t in an uproar,” she mumbled, still looking dazed over what she’d learned. The late-afternoon breeze wisped a strand of her short, silky hair across her face, but she didn’t seem to care enough to brush it away.

  “I imagine there’s some talk,” he admitted, forcing himself to focus on the issue. Not on her hair. Not on her lips. Not on that sassy little smear of pink lipstick on his straw.

  It was the color of a ripe strawberry. His favorite fruit.

  “Nobody found out anything until last week when the billboard went up,” he finally said.

  “So it was very hush-hush. Isn’t that unusual for this place, where everybody whispers about every kid who’s ten minutes late for his curfew or they discuss what color underwear the new Sunday school teacher’s wearing?”

  He could have defended Joyful’s gossip line as being fully up to date and functional. But he didn’t figure now was a good time to mention the leopard-spotted thong rumor. Or the whole porn star thing.

  “Yeah, I guess it is,” he said with a nod. If he gave a rat’s ass either way about this pitiful town he called home, he might have cared enough to investigate. But he didn’t. Joyful could get as corrupt and nasty as any other town and he wouldn’t go out of his way to reread a single zoning law.

  Unless…

  “Johnny, isn’t there anything you can do about this?”

  Damn. Unless that. Unless someone—like her—asked him to.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s bad enough my family land has passed out of the family. I can’t imagine it turning into some tacky roadside strip club. Is there some legal way around this?”

  She was asking for his help. Doing the one thing guaranteed to get him to do what he sure as shit didn’t want to do. One more word, and he’d be a goner. If Emma Jean said “please,” in that sweet, soft way, with her pretty pink lips, he’d pro
mise her just about anything. At least, that’s how things had gone in the past.

  Not this time.

  Tsking, he shook his head and gave her what he hoped was a salacious smile. “You asking me for another favor? Better watch out, Emma Jean, associating with the likes of a Walker. Don’t you remember? You lie down with dogs and one day you may just get bit.”

  His choice of words probably hadn’t been wise, considering the way he’d nibbled on her neck, memorizing the taste of her skin, leaving his mark on her that night in the gazebo. But they had obviously done the trick.

  Because she remembered, too. Her lips parted as she sucked in a quick breath. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that they were standing outside, on a public street, in plain view of anyone in the diner, or the courthouse, or the hardware shop across the street. They seemed very much alone for a long heady moment, full of memory and expectation. And a sultry kind of want he didn’t think either one of them had ever fully gotten over.

  Want. Need. Hunger. Sweetness. Craziness.

  Her.

  “Are you threatening to bite me?” she whispered, her voice husky and filled with innuendo.

  “You never know what a Walker is capable of.” He reached up and toyed with the neckline of her dress, unable to resist upping the stakes in this challenging game. He ran his fingertip back and forth. Back and forth. Brushing her skin and pushing the sleeve farther off her shoulder. No bra strap blocked the way. The realization made him hiss out one long breath.

  She closed her eyes, then opened them. “Maybe you should be the one who’s careful. Because maybe I know how to bite, too.”

  Oh, wouldn’t he love to find out. He’d love her nibbling on his chest. His arms. Using her wicked mouth and her perfect lips and her hot pink tongue and her sharp white teeth on him. Every bit of him. Then he saw the look in her eyes and realized she’d been getting even, paying him back for what he’d said.

  “You don’t want to start this game with me,” he replied, his voice low and intense as he strove for control.

  He meant it. Emma Jean was reaching into the fire here, like she never had before. Putting dangerous thoughts in his head. Dangerous, sensual thoughts he had no business thinking. Not here, not now. Certainly not about her.

  “Who says it’s a game, Johnny?” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “Besides, you’re the one who started it.”

  “Yeah, and you’d better be careful I don’t finish it.”

  They both knew what he meant. Both knew that if he tried, he could back her up against the closest tree, and do pretty much whatever he wanted to her. Flip up her dress and take her higher than she’d ever been. The rest of Joyful be damned.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who held that power. Because if Emma reached for him, he’d be a goner. At her mercy. Up for anything she wanted, any time she wanted it.

  Like now.

  He knew she was going to stoke the flames about two seconds before she rose on tiptoe, slid her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her lips. Her kiss was hot and wet, openmouthed and carnal. Sinful, even, on such a bright, sunshiny day.

  And it blew his mind.

  She tasted so good. So luscious he had to pull her closer, then tilt his head so he could truly devour her. Their tongues met and tangled in a brief power play until they settled together in a sweet, languorous thrust that both gave and took.

  Then, finally, after he’d completely lost his sense of time and place, she pulled away and took a step back. Her chin up, she tried to look steady and calm, but he saw the way her whole body swayed and knew she was as affected as he.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be careful,” she finally said through deeply inhaled breaths. “Because sometimes good little girls do know how to bite back.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ONCE CLAIRE had decided to make some changes in her life, she didn’t waste any time. She was fired up, excited, energetic, feeling like someone who’d just woken up after a long nap.

  She’d thrown away her secret stash of chocolate and made an appointment to get a real haircut. Pitching her sweatpants and long T-shirts in the trash, she’d dug out some of her business clothes to see how much weight she’d have to lose—or how big a girdle she’d have to buy—to get back into them. She’d even skipped her favorite soaps two days in a row.

  No more soaps. No more 2:00 p.m. chocolate and potato chip binges. No more naptime for baby and mommy. No more shopping trips with flip-flops and ponytails and not one speck of makeup on her face.

  No more nights in white cotton nightgowns, lying next to her husband, wondering if he was going to turn off the news, give her a nice peck on the forehead, then roll over to go to sleep. As usual. Or if tonight might actually bring a return of intimacy to her marriage.

  Claire was done laying around waiting to see if she was gonna get screwed, literally or figuratively. It was time to take life by the balls and live it again.

  “What balls?”

  Claire hadn’t even realized she’d been muttering aloud until she heard Eve’s voice from the back seat of the car.

  “Nothin’, honey, I was just talking to myself.”

  Eve shrugged, not asking a million questions for a change. Claire knew why. Her confident, tough little girl was a wee bit nervous about today.

  “Mama, are you sure about this day-care stuff?” Eve asked for about the dozenth time since they’d left the house.

  “Yep, honey, I’m sure. It’s only for three mornings a week. It’ll be fun for you.”

  Eve scowled. “What if Courtney Foster is there?”

  “Well, then,” Claire said, casting her daughter a stern look in the rearview mirror, “you’ll have more chances to try to make friends with her.”

  She’d contacted a local preschool about getting a spot for Eve in the fall. But in the meantime, she was putting her in her church day-care center three mornings a week, where Eve already knew the teachers and many of the children. Three mornings during which Claire could do whatever she pleased.

  It wasn’t just good for her, it’d be good for Eve, too. At the very least, it would teach her how to get along with other kids—rather than beating them up—before she started kindergarten.

  Eve made a disgusted face. “I don’t want to be her friend.”

  “Hmm…that sounds like another little girl I know. A girl named Angelica,” Claire said, knowing Eve’s hot button and pushing it.

  Her daughter stuck her lip out. “I am not like Angelica on Rugrats. She’s a bad girl.”

  Claire caught her daughter’s eye again and winked to let her know she was teasing. Eve responded with a giggle, but that spark of devilment remained in her pretty eyes.

  Lordy, her daughter was holy terror. And she loved her like mad. She had since the first moment she’d felt her child flutter around in her stomach when she’d been four months pregnant. Claire would miss the munchkin, but Eve would be better—happier—if she was raised by a mother who didn’t resent everything around her because she hadn’t grasped at a chance to do something more with her life.

  “Why didn’t Daddy come with us today?”

  She couldn’t tell her daughter the real reason: because Tim didn’t know. She, uh, hadn’t told him yet. But he’d find out soon enough. It might take him a couple of days before he noticed she wasn’t in the house as much. Sooner or later—probably when they ran out of Eve’s favorite ice cream and he came griping to Claire about it—he’d figure it out.

  She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She and Tim had agreed before she ever got pregnant that she’d be a stay-at-home mom for at least the first year or two of their child’s life. They’d never agreed that she’d become a drone. A quiet, overweight woman whose entire life revolved around her husband’s work schedule and her four-year-old’s play dates and temper tantrums.

  Four years. Quite long enough. It was time for Claire to do some living outside her nice house on her nice street in her nice town
.

  She’d tried talking to Tim about it in the past. But every time Claire mentioned going back to work at the newspaper, he came up with a reason why she shouldn’t. Okay, so her job with the Joyful Gazette hadn’t made her much money. And it certainly hadn’t been Pulitzer Prize stuff. She’d covered everything from high school football games to garden club fund-raisers. She’d interviewed farmers who grew gourds shaped like Elvis, and local politicians who always said the same thing: “I’m a good ol’ boy, vote for me.”

  But she’d loved working, really loved it. Apparently, Linda Whitaker, her old boss who’d hired Claire right out of high school, had loved her work, too. Because the minute she’d heard Claire’s voice on the phone Monday morning, she’d asked her if she was finally ready to come back to work.

  The answer was yes. Part-time at first, but definitely yes.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, honey,” she murmured, smiling at how enthusiastic Linda had been about her return.

  “Let’s make a deal,” Eve said in that singsong voice that Claire knew only too well.

  Uh-oh.

  “If you don’t tell Daddy I acted like Angelica, I won’t tell him you said balls.”

  Claire sucked her lower lip into her mouth and slowly began to shake her head, trying not to laugh. Eve had no idea what Claire had meant, but she’d obviously zeroed right in on the tone and recognized a naughty word when she heard one.

  Then she nodded. “Deal.”

  Eve’s smile was decidedly self-satisfied.

  God help her, it was definitely time to get back into the workplace. If only so she could get back some of her negotiating skills. Because she was definitely going to need them to raise her precocious daughter.

  CONTRARY TO her confident predictions to Johnny about being able to deal with the club issue on her own, Emma needed help. She’d tried going down to the courthouse and looking up the tax records, to no avail. The county workers there were about as fast-paced as everyone else in Joyful. Meaning, they didn’t wind up to start their days until about ten minutes before lunchtime. And they mentally called it quits a half hour after they got back.