In Emmylou's Hands

Will his secret be safe?

Sol Beecher returned home from serving in Afghanistan a changed man. Closed off, he hasn’t opened up to anyone in years, and he certainly has no intention of doing so with EmmyLou Creighton. She, however, seems determined to get under his skin…and into his bed. Any other man would be thrilled to have the enticing EmmyLou pursue him, but a relationship with her means exposing his prosthetic leg. They’re thrown together at every turn, and keeping the truth from her becomes increasingly harder—as does hiding his attraction. How can Sol trust his biggest vulnerability with someone who’s obviously hiding her own secrets behind that alluring smile?

“Here I sit, not an arm’s length away, all but begging you to kiss me, and you want to argue about it.”

“I’m not arguing about it. I just can’t imagine that you’re being sincere.” Sol pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes. “I don’t want to be toyed with, EmmyLou.”

He threw the truck into Drive and pulled back onto the road, fuming. The heat and their silence made the air in the truck hard to breathe. He turned onto her lane, then brought the truck to a stop in her driveway and cut the engine. Without a word, he got out, determined to walk her to the door so she couldn’t throw not being a gentleman in his face.

But she was already out before he closed his door. She came around and met him at the front. “You’re right. I do toy with guys sometimes. It’s called flirting.” She stepped against him and slid her arms around his waist. And then her lips were pressing his, warm and inviting.

The jolt he felt was strong enough to shake the dust off his libido. Without a thought or a consideration, he held her to him and answered her mouth with the fervor it demanded.

Being toyed with might not be so bad…

Dear Reader,

When I first introduced EmmyLou Creighton as Maggie Russell’s best friend in My Way Back to You, the question started showing up, time after time: When will EmmyLou get her own story?

For those of you who’ve met her, it might seem strange that a character as flamboyant and “out there” as EmmyLou would be reticent about sharing anything. But we all have our public side and our private side, and EmmyLou is no different. It took some time to earn her trust to the point that she was willing to open up because EmmyLou isn’t just another pretty face—she has a deeper side…a crippling secret that many who read this will readily identify with.

Of course, EmmyLou’s hero had to be her equal in every way, which included her depth and level of intrigue. Sol Beecher—once Taylor’s Grove’s most eligible bachelor but now its most mysterious recluse—was the perfect one to coax Emmy’s secrets out of her and perhaps even share his own.

Have I caught your attention? I hope so! And I hope you enjoy EmmyLou and Sol’s story—In EmmyLou’s Hands.

Until next time,

Pamela

In EmmyLou’s Hands

Pamela Hearon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA HEARON grew up in Paducah, Kentucky, a place that infuses its inhabitants with Southern values and hospitality. Here she finds inspiration for her quirky characters, her stories’ backdrops and her narrative voice. Pamela was a 2013 RITA® Award finalist and a MAGGIE® Award finalist for her first Harlequin Superromance story, Out of the Depths. The Summer Place was a 2014 National Readers’ Choice Award finalist. Visit Pamela at pamelahearon.com, and on Facebook and Twitter.

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To Camden, Taj and Quincy.

If you read this many, many years from now, perhaps you’ll smile and feel that you know Gigi a little better.

Acknowledgments

It takes so many people to bring a book from its inception to the printed page, and I’d like to take this time to say thank you to a few.

Thank you to my editor, Karen Reid, for teaching me so much about romance writing. I’ve worked with you on six books now. Each has been pure pleasure.

Thank you to my agent, Jennifer Weltz of The Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency. You are quite simply The Best.

Thank you to my critique partners at WriteRomance—Maggie Van Well, Angela Campbell and Sandra Jones.

Thank you to my family for your encouragement, your understanding of my time commitments and your love.

And thank you to my husband, Dick, whose hands forever hold my heart.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

“MY FAMILY HAS a beach house in Gulf Shores, Alabama.”

No sooner were the words out of EmmyLou Creighton’s mouth than she knew she’d spoken too soon. Of course, that was nothing new—her mouth had a tendency to stay several strides ahead of her brain most of the time. Grabbing her phone in one hand, she held up a finger on the other to put the conversation with her two friends on hold while she texted her mom.

Beach house taken June 23-30?

No, came the reply.

Pencil me in.

Seriously?

I’ll explain later.

She tossed her phone down and drummed the table with her long fingernails to signal that speech could once again commence.

Bree Barlow and Audrey Dublin looked at each other and shrugged, oblivious to the amazing feat EmmyLou had just accomplished.

“Don’t you see?” She directed her comment toward Audrey. “You can use a week at the beach house as the grand prize.”

Audrey’s gray eyes, which had been pinched with worry two minutes ago, widened. “For the raffle? Oh, Emmy! You can do it just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

Emmy laughed and snapped hers in answer. “Just like that.”

Even Bree, who was enjoying her first girls’ night out since the birth of her second child, came out of her exhausted lethargy to gasp her approval. “That would be such a fabulous prize! Taylor’s Grove has never had anything like that.”

“Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky, never had anything like me.”

“Are you sure about this? I mean, a text and it’s done?”

Emmy laughed at the skepticism in Audrey’s voice. “It’s done, sugar. Trust me. Everybody in the family gets a week in the summer if we want it, but we have to claim the week, which I just did. We also get weeks during the rest of the year if it’s not rented, but it almost always is.”

Their server showed up with another tray of drinks. “Guy at the bar sent these over.”

“Again?” Bree groaned at the third bottle of sparkling water set in front of her. “Would you please tell him to save his money and just send her a beer?” She indicated Emmy with a nod, and then wagged a finger between her and Audrey. “I’m nursing and she’s a newlywed, so we’re off the market.”

The server grinned. “Different guy. But I’ll tell the next one.” She replaced the empties in front of Audrey and Emmy with full bottles.

Emmy’s glance drifted down the bar until she found the young man looking expectantly their way. “Kind of cute, but way too young. Twenty-five, maybe. Still wet behind the ears.” She raised her beer bottle with a nod of gratitude but broke eye contact immediately.

Having done this for far more years than she liked to acknowledge, Emmy was the go-to expert on all the subtleties of pickups. At thirty-five, although everyone guessed her to be eight to ten years younger, she could fill a book about turnoffs, turn-ons, tune-ins, tune-outs and tone-downs.

Years of experience, however, had brought her no Mr. Right—no one to settle down with and have the family she wanted so badly. She hadn’t lost hope, even though her close friends were now happily married with kids.

“I’d think you would like younger guys, Emmy.” Audrey took a sip of her rum and Coke. “More stamina.”

“Jackrabbits.” Emmy shivered in mock disdain. “My preferences lean toward the ones who are...slower, you know? Not like those giant tortoises that take forever. Have you ever seen those shows on the National Geographic Channel? About the huge ones that live on the Galápagos Islands? My God, you know she just wants to turn around to him and say, ‘Will you get on with it?’” She placed her hands on the table and pushed slowly out of her chair, opening her mouth and dragging out a grunt before plopping back in her chair and repeating the action.

Bree and Audrey giggled at her imitation.

“I’m looking for one of those cute turtles that plods along all efficient-like at a nice steady pace but starts to scurry when he hits the beach. And once he plunges in, he just paddles along with that smooth stroke until the tide goes down.” She fluttered her eyelids and gave a dreamy smile. “Mmm!”

Her friends exchanged knowing glances and nodded in agreement. “Mmm!”

“Hey, wait a minute. What’s wrong with this picture?” Emmy slapped the table with her palm. “Here I am, offering my family’s beach house to raise funds for a school I never attended in a town I’ve only lived in for a couple of years, but said town’s not taking care of my needs in return. Y’all snatched up the last two good turtles Taylor’s Grove may ever hatch.”

“True, we got the best ones,” Audrey agreed. She shook a finger in Emmy’s direction. “But Sol Beecher’s still available...and he’s your closest neighbor.”

The name caused Emmy’s teeth to clench. “Yeah. Thank God that translates as a quarter mile away.” She snorted. “Try raffling off that snapping turtle and see how much you get for him. I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for a night with him.” She doubted the present company was aware she’d had a night with Taylor’s Grove’s most eligible bachelor fourteen years ago, shortly after she and her friend Maggie Wells had started the hair salon in Paducah, Kentucky—just outside of Taylor’s Grove.

Maggie, a Taylor’s Grove native, had introduced Emmy to her friend—handsome and oh-so-sexy Sol Beecher. Three dates in, they’d ended up in bed, and he’d never called again. She could still feel the sting if she thought about it...which she didn’t.

But Audrey’s and Bree’s husbands, Mark and Kale, were Sol’s best friends. And Kale and his dad had just purchased the local marina from Sol at a hefty price if word on the street was correct. Emmy could sense a lecture coming on from Bree about her teasing of Sol.

Bree squinted as if trying to remember something difficult to recall. “He’s different than he used to be in high school. He was Mr. Popular then. Outgoing...fun. Of course, he chased anything that wore a skirt.”

“Until it came off...um... I’ll bet.” Emmy covered her slip of the tongue.

“Something happened in Afghanistan.” Audrey stared into her drink as if the answer could be found there. “He came home with that limp—”

“Caused by the weight of that chip on his shoulder,” EmmyLou interjected.

Audrey leaned back and crossed her arms, tilting her head and turning a studious eye Emmy’s direction. “I’ve never heard you come down on anybody the way you do him. What’s he done to you?”

Emmy had said too much, so she pulled out her humor to cover, like always. “I’m just wondering how long I’d have to bang that shell with these hammers—” she put a hand on the outside of each breast and pushed, making her generous cleavage mound up even closer to her chin “—before it would finally crack.”

“You’re cracked.” Audrey’s giggle was a bit too loud, and Bree laughed around a yawn, both signals it was time to go home.

But Emmy couldn’t let the subject of Sol Beecher go without a last dig. “Now that Mr. Beecher’s come into a right good sum of money, it’ll be interesting to see how much he’ll pony up for good ol’ Taylor’s Grove Elementary.”

She raised her beer in the air, loudly da-dumming her way through a college football fight song she’d picked up somewhere.

* * *

“IT’S SMALL COMPARED to your grandparents’ old place, Sol. I mean...tiny. After living in that big, rambling house, wouldn’t you feel cooped up in a space like this?” Regina Dallas wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the modest two-bedroom she’d put at the end of the list of properties to show him today.

Sol leaned on the kitchen counter and gazed out the window into the backyard, pretending to ponder her question. What he really did was get the weight off his leg so he could answer without gritting his teeth. “It’s more like what I’m looking for, although I can’t convince you of that.”

He’d allowed the friend of the family, a real estate agent, to drag his ass in and out of houses for the past three days and was frustrated with her choices. Anybody else he would’ve fired for not listening to him after the first two showings.

Behind him, Regina gave a motherly sigh. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to downsize at your age. One of these days, you’ll get married...have kids...”

Sol ignored how her words made him feel like he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule.

“And then you’ll wish you’d taken the money from the marina and fixed up the old home place.”

The fact that she was thinking about him personally and not the money she would make in a business transaction softened his response. He didn’t growl back that a wife and kids weren’t in his future. Instead, he shrugged. “Maybe. But for now, downsizing to something more manageable seems the smartest move.” He still faced the window, but he was certain her eyes had dropped to his bad leg.

Everybody’s did.

Managing anything very long with this damn bad leg was a struggle, but keeping the secret all these years that it was a prosthesis was even harder.

The pity he saw in people’s eyes now made him want to spit. Being thought of as an amputee would have been more than he was able to bear.

He swiveled around to face her using the spin technique he’d perfected. “Washer and dryer hookups?”

“Basement.”

He nodded like that was no big deal rather than acknowledging it as a definite no. Stairs were a problem with both hands free—impossible with a laundry basket. He’d been forced to turn the formal dining room in his current house into a makeshift bedroom. Oh, he was definitely capable of getting up the steps to bed. But the thought of trying to get out in the event of a fire would have kept him awake.

“This leads to the garage.” Regina headed toward the door at the west end of the kitchen, and Sol followed. When they stepped through the opening, the sight of the small garage almost made him smile with relief. He’d found his reason to decline this house without admitting that the basement laundry was the real problem.

“I need at least a two-car garage for the car and boat. Preferably a three. I’d like to garage the truck, too.”

Regina rolled her eyes and made a noise he recognized as annoyance. “One bedroom, one bath, a three-car garage on several acres. You’re asking for something that doesn’t exist. At least not around Taylor’s Grove.”

“Just keep looking, okay?” He hit the button that raised the overhead door. “Give me a call when you find something.” He made his exit, leaving lockup duties to Regina.

Since selling the marina, he didn’t have a whole lot pressing on him these days. Finding a job would be a necessity come fall—mentally if not financially. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t an idea he relished. But he was treating himself to this one summer off. He’d never had one, even as a kid. Summers were a time to work from sunup to sundown when you owned a marina.

The next four months were his. He would fish Kentucky Lake and swim in the warm water after dark when nobody could see him. He knew that was dangerous, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Hell, he might live even more dangerously and give up these damn blue jeans for a pair of shorts every now and then. Sit in the backyard in the sunshine. Get a little bit of a tan on his pasty white leg...and the pasty white stump alongside it.

Maybe a tan would help him remember the bronzed kid with the great physique who had girls hanging all over him...help him remember a time when he wasn’t a pitiful freak.

“Get off the damn pity pot,” he admonished himself in his rearview mirror as he arrived in Taylor’s Grove. “Some never made it back at all.”

The circular park at the center of town was the local gathering spot. Today a small crowd had gathered in a knot around what looked to be a lemonade stand.

Sol would’ve preferred to drive by without having to interact, but his friend Mark Dublin’s wife, Audrey, and her daughter, Tess, were working the stand. They spotted him, flagging him down with friendly waves.

Guilt got the best of him. He groaned an “Oh hell” under his breath as he parked.

Nell Bradley met him at the curb as she headed to her car. She insisted on a hug, as always. And Johnny Bob Luther stopped him to share a joke that he’d heard maybe thirty times before from the old man. He laughed in appreciation of Johnny Bob’s skillful telling rather than the punch line. And then there was IvaDawn Carrol’s inquiry about how his parents were enjoying life in Florida. Even though they’d been there for five years now, IvaDawn always made it sound as if they’d just moved. Audrey’s mother, Helen, sat on the bench in the gazebo—silently nodding to the voices in her head that her early-onset Alzheimer’s provided.

By the time he got to the lemonade stand, the crowd had moved away. And surprisingly, it turned out not to be a lemonade stand at all.

“We’re selling raffle tickets,” Tess informed him. “Ten dollars apiece.”

Sol gave a low whistle. “What happened to three for five dollars?” That had been the going price for as far back as he could remember.

Audrey flashed him an apologetic smile. “We’ve got a grand prize this year that’s a real bargain for ten dollars.”

“Better than Patti’s pie a week for a year?” The owner of the diner across the street was notorious for her decadently delicious pies.

“A week at a beach house in Gulf Shores!” Tess fist-pumped the air with cheerleader enthusiasm and an infectious grin that showed off her new missing tooth.

“Man!” Sol was indeed shocked at the extravagant prize. “That put somebody back a chunk.” A zing of guilt flashed through him. He’d just gotten that huge amount of money from Kale in the sale of the marina, and he hadn’t yet given a dime of it to the school.

“The house belongs to EmmyLou Creighton’s family. Emmy’s donating her week to us.”

EmmyLou Creighton. The sexy-as-hell-and-didn’t-she-know-it bombshell who’d hit the local scene, what...maybe fifteen years ago? He’d gone out with her a few times when they were younger. Back then he’d been too full of himself to stay with anyone for very long. And now? If he thought about it too hard, he might think that EmmyLou intimidated the hell out of him with her grab-the-world-by-the-tail attitude.

The only thing he was up to grabbing most nights was the whiskey decanter.

“How are sales?” he asked.

Audrey gave a relieved sigh. “Really good. Better than we’d hoped for.”

“Tell you what, Tess.” He took his wallet out and handed the little girl a fifty. “Put my name on five of those suckers.”

Tess grabbed the pen and counted out five tickets. “How do you spell Sol?”

He winked at the little girl, who was the spitting image of her mom at that age. “S-O-L.”

Tess went right to work on her project.

Sol leaned closer to Audrey and lowered his voice. “And I’ll tell you what I’d like to do. When all the sales are finished, I want to match whatever you make. I’d like to have everybody in Taylor’s Grove’s name on at least one ticket. Can you do that?”

“You bet we can! Wow! Thank you so much, Sol!”

Audrey gave him a huge hug. The first time a good-looking woman had hugged him with happiness instead of sympathy in eight years.

It felt damn good.

* * *

“MATCH? AS IN give dollar-for-dollar everything you make?” Emmy grabbed the can of hair spray from her workstation at the salon and added the final touches to Audrey’s newly straightened locks. “Girl, you’ve got the most gorgeous natural color I’ve ever seen. You need to let me go wild with the teasing someday. And then you could put on a crop top and short shorts and look just like one of those models in the Guess ads. Mark would get an erection so hard he’d pole vault over the bed.”

Her friend’s face turned as red as her hair, and she did a quick glance around to see if anybody else heard. The quietest of her friends, Audrey was easy to shock, so of course Emmy tried every chance she got. “You’ve got weird thought processes, Emmy,” Audrey observed. “We were discussing Sol’s raffle contribution. How you went from that to Mark’s erection—” she whispered the last two words “—is beyond me.”

“You want me to explain?” Emmy made eye contact with Audrey in the mirror. “It just occurred to me that Sol’s doing this nice thing, which seems totally out of character for someone who goes around with a sneer on his face ninety-nine percent of the time.” Audrey opened her mouth, probably to take up for him, but Emmy wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t give me all that but he’s crippled crap. Everybody’s got stuff they have to deal with, and yeah, he took a bullet or something and I hate that for him, but he doesn’t have to act like the whole world’s his enemy.” She used the end of the comb to lift the hair at Audrey’s crown to form a perfect bump. “Soooo, I was thinking that he’s got a hard-on for the world, but it’s totally different from the hard-on Mark would have for you if you dressed up like one of those models in the Guess ads.”

Audrey dropped her head back and winked. “God, you are such a freak. But I love you anyway.”

“What’s not to love?” Emmy propped her hands on her hips and thrust her chest out, eyeing herself in the mirror. She worked hard at staying fit and doing everything humanly possible to fight the years. But it was Saturday, and while Audrey was going home to a husband who loved her, EmmyLou Creighton would be spending the night alone.

With a show of the innate closeness the two of them had developed, her dog Bentley came to her then and nudged her hand with his nose. He’d gotten too big to pick up, but she squatted and gave him a tight hug as Audrey stood up and stretched.

“It’s hard to believe Bentley and Bandit came from the same litter.” Audrey scratched Bentley behind the ears.