In Emmylou's Hands

“What’s hard to believe is that anybody would’ve dropped off a precious mama dog like Cher and her puppies. Some people are just too ornery for words.” Emmy kissed Bentley several times around the eyes. “I think Cher showed herself to you on purpose, knowing you’d take her in and find good homes for her babies. Probably even knew you’d keep one, they were so stinking cute. I know I was a goner for Bentley as soon as I saw him and those big puppy eyes. That’s why he’s so big. Nobody can resist him, so everybody feeds him.” He licked her nose, which made her laugh. She wasn’t going home alone tonight after all. She’d be in the company of Bentley, who adored her. “Sol Beecher’s one of those people who are too ornery for words, too. The man needs a dog to get his mind off himself.”

Audrey laughed and shook her head as she laid her payment on Emmy’s workstation. “And the conversation has come full circle back to Sol.”

“So he’s gonna match the funds, huh?” He was doing a good deed, but it made her peevish just the same. Everything about the man made her feel that way.

“That’s what he said.” Audrey nodded. “I even called him later in the week to see if he wanted to change his mind. I mean, this could turn out to be pretty expensive for him. But he insisted that he wants to match dollar-for-dollar.”

An idea popped into Emmy’s mind, no doubt borne on peevish wings—a way she could raise more money for the school and aggravate the hell out of Sol Beecher in the process.

“Give me a stack of those raffle tickets, Audrey.” She smiled innocently at her friend. “I’ll bet I can sell jillions of them here at the salon.”

* * *

EVERY SEAT WAS filled in Taylor’s Grove Elementary’s gymnasium/cafeteria on raffle drawing night. The cacophony rivaled that of a basketball game, and the crowd of bodies had heated the temperature at least fifteen degrees since Sol had arrived—reluctant, but here nevertheless.

Audrey’s plan to thank him publicly for his donation made him as uncomfortable as wearing a wool suit in July. In fact, he’d initially refused to attend when she first brought it up. But then they’d sent in the big guns in the form of little Tess, whose pleading gray eyes had been his undoing. So here he was, having given up his seat to Miss Beulah May Johnson, with his leg aching so badly he had to smile through clenched teeth, speaking to people and pretending to be enjoying himself when all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there and go home where he could gnash his teeth in private.

His checkbook was hollering louder than his stump, though. This event was about to set him back twenty-three hundred twenty dollars. When he’d told Audrey he’d match whatever they made, he’d expected the usual thousand or so, maybe less since they were charging ten dollars a ticket. He’d never have guessed Taylor’s Grove residents would give up tens so readily. Apparently a week at the beach was a hotter commodity than he’d realized. The kids had even set up tables around the squares in nearby towns and sold the hell out of tickets in places where Taylor’s Grove Elementary was considered a rival.

The donation was for a worthy cause—as many new computers as the money would buy—so it was hard for him to be too disturbed about the high amount.

What did disturb him, though, was the wicked grin EmmyLou Creighton shot his way just now as she entered. It was as though her eyes had sought him out of the crowd when she walked into the gym even though she wasn’t usually prone to smile at him at all. Her high heels announced her approach to Audrey, who looked surprised but thrilled to see her. Actually, every man in the place looked thrilled to see her in the tight lime-green skirt that pulled the eye straight to her ass no matter how hard you tried to look away.

The temperature in the gym rose another twenty degrees...

An astonished look swept over Audrey’s face when Emmy handed her an envelope, and then both women glanced his way. Audrey’s look was wide-eyed and apologetic, while EmmyLou’s smile oozed with smug.

Oh shit. The price has just gone up.

A trickle of sweat found the crease along the center of his spine, which he straightened as Audrey headed his way. His gaze locked with Emmy’s and stayed there. “I don’t care how much it is,” he whispered when Audrey got close. “I’ll match it.”

“But, Sol, it’s—”

“Dollar-for-dollar, Audrey. I gave my word.” He broke eye contact with Emmy and caught Audrey’s smile. The gleam in her eye elevated him to hero status—a place he hadn’t been in a long time. It sent a flicker of warmth through him. Of course, he didn’t dare look Emmy’s way again. The brunette had bested him and she knew it—and looking at her was what she expected every man to do.

But for the first time in a long time, desire flushed through him. Not a desire to get laid. A desire to get even.

The sassy siren needed to be taught that she couldn’t get her way about everything.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Emmy clicking her way toward him, hips swaying with more action than a tow sack full of cats in heat. His chest tightened with a breath that caught on an inhale. Thankfully she was merely taking the seat that Arlo James had offered.

It was at the end of the row where Sol stood, close enough that he caught the scent of her perfume once his breathing resumed. It was nice...light. Not at all the scent he would’ve imagined a woman like EmmyLou Creighton wearing. He would’ve pegged her as the kind whose perfume invaded your nose before she invaded your space and then hung around long after she was gone. And—

Why in the hell was he dwelling on the woman’s damn perfume? Wouldn’t she have loved that?

He swiveled to lean his back against the wall, shifting his weight to his artificial leg.

Emmy cast a sidelong look his direction that started at his knee and moved up slowly to his face. “You want to sit?”

“Naw.” The scowl he gave her came naturally, stemming from part pain, part anger and part embarrassment that a woman was offering him her damn seat. “I’m good.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pushed away from the wall. “But you keep traipsing around in those heels and someday you’ll limp worse than I do.”

She arched one cool eyebrow. “I’ll only limp worse than you do if one of them breaks off.”

Sol could swear he felt a vacuum as the people within earshot sucked in a simultaneous breath.

Nobody spoke to him like that. Nobody ever mentioned his leg. They treated it like the crazy cousin confined to the attic in years past. Everybody knew it was there, but no one was willing to bring it up. People kept their eyes averted, but he could feel the looks.

This woman had balls, although how she could hide them under that tight skirt was beyond him. He snorted a half laugh at the thought...just as Audrey approached the microphone.

Thank God this would all be over soon.

* * *

EMMY HAD NEVER been to one of these raffle nights and hadn’t realized it would go on for...forever, if the numbness of her butt was any indication.

She really needed to get up, and stubborn-ass Sol Beecher standing next to her obviously needed to sit. She heard his painful grunts every time his weight shifted. But she’d offered once, and he’d come back with one of his smart-ass answers uttered through that ever-present scowl. She wouldn’t offer again.

The man had major attitude problems. What had she ever seen in him? Besides the sculpted chest and broad shoulders that filled out those T-shirts he was so fond of wearing. And he did have gorgeous brown eyes that caught you by surprise because his hair was a golden, sun-streaked blond.

But that hair! She shivered in disgust. What used to be cute, sexy, surfer dude shaggy was now just flat-out unkempt and screamed I don’t give a rat’s ass. Oh, it was clean—she’d give him that. But just once she’d like to go at it with a pair of her shears.

The thought of running her fingers through his fresh, just-cut hair brought on the familiar sensation that curled low in her belly.

Seriously...sad sack Sol? Oh, please... She rolled her eyes at her overactive imagination.

But her butt tingled to life as the eighth graders started their skit.

Whatever it takes to get through this, she decided.

Ten nice prizes had been donated to the raffle from Taylor’s Grove businesses, so the committee had decided to space out the drawings by letting each class perform some kind of act. Emmy had loved the kindergartners’ rendition of “Old MacDonald” complete with animal costumes, and the first graders’ skit about the animals of the Serengeti had been cute and informative. But somewhere around the fourth grade’s recitation of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, her attention in the kids had waned and turned to the man standing beside her.

“And we finally get to the reason most of y’all are here.” Audrey’s voice boomed over the microphone, and a chuckle passed through the crowd. “But before we draw the ticket for the grand prize, there are a couple of people we need to recognize for their generous donations of both time and money. EmmyLou and Sol, would y’all come over here and stand by me?”

EmmyLou stood and smoothed her skirt as Sol stepped in front of her and crooked his elbow, offering his arm to her. She took his arm graciously, trying to ignore the masculine feel of him beneath her fingers. His gait was odd, his hip bumping hers as they walked, and she was much too aware of his tightening bicep every time he bumped her that told her he was straining hard to keep from limping.

She drew a relieved breath when they reached the center of the room, grateful that they hadn’t been called up on the stage, and then realizing that Audrey had chosen not to be onstage for Sol’s sake.

Audrey held her hand out, and Emmy felt herself being traded from Sol to her friend.

“EmmyLou Creighton hasn’t lived in Taylor’s Grove all her life,” Audrey said, “but she acts as if she has. Not only has she provided us with the biggest grand prize we’ve ever had but also took it upon herself to sell the largest number of tickets.” Audrey’s voice quivered with excitement. “Thanks to EmmyLou, we added three hundred eighty-seven more tickets to the drawing—” Audrey paused and gave a laugh “—which you may or may not want to thank her for.” A responding laugh moved through the audience. “But that translates to an additional three thousand eight hundred seventy dollars for the school!”

The audience surged to their feet in a standing ovation, and Emmy’s heart, which should have swelled with pride, instead flew into a panicked rhythm as Audrey pulled her into a hug.

After all these years, she’d thought the stage fright was gone. But here it was—the invisible fist that reached from her tonsils to her breastbone, the grip that crushed her airways until she was sure she would die.

She tried to breathe through the panic like always, but it seldom worked. Oh God...the hug was over...the applause was dying down...people were lowering back into their seats...and the freaking microphone was being held to her mouth.

She had to say something.

The crowd grew quiet. Everyone was waiting...listening for her voice.

“I...uh...” Crap! Her mind went blank. She couldn’t remember the words she was supposed to say. Nothing behind her eyes—her brain was just a big blank wall with nothing written on it. She shrugged and forced a smile. Tell the truth. “I...um...” Her voice vibrated with fear. “I just did it...um...to aggravate Sol.”

A roar of laughter met her admission, and some people rose to their feet as she strutted back to her seat, confident now that she was done speaking and feeling like she’d dodged a bullet.

When the crowd was again seated and quiet, Audrey continued. “It’s no surprise that the man of the hour is none other than our own Sol Beecher, whose generosity to Taylor’s Grove is unprecedented. He not only requested that every person in our community have a ticket in the drawing—”

“Yay, Sol!” A man’s voice boomed through the auditorium, followed by a round of applause in agreement.

“—but also allowed his name to go on a measly five tickets even though he agreed to match the total sales dollar-for-dollar. And in case you missed it, I offered him an out on that when Emmy showed up with her surprising last-minute addition. He refused.”

An astonished gasp came from the woman behind Emmy, and she felt the flicker of guilt in her stomach. She extinguished it quickly by reminding herself that she’d already confessed her sin in front of God and this whole crowd.

“And so, by doubling the amount collected from raffle ticket sales, we now have a new total of—” Audrey nodded to a kid in the band, who broke into a drum roll “—twelve thousand three hundred eighty dollars!”

Another roar went through the crowd, which was once more on its feet. The standing ovation went on and on, lasting even longer than the Gettysburg Address, by Emmy’s estimation.

Sol looked positively miserable, and for once Emmy empathized with him...until Audrey handed him the microphone, and his deep, clear voice rang through the auditorium with not a single bobble.

“Taylor’s Grove has always been there for me, and I’m grateful. Of course, I didn’t realize I was...” Emmy again saw the handsome twenty-something he’d once been shining through the gruff camouflage as he glanced at Audrey’s paper and grinned sheepishly. “Six thousand one hundred ninety dollars’ worth of grateful.” The audience laughed, and he waited for them to quiet. “But I love this town and all of y’all—except EmmyLou Creighton.”

Another wave of laughter and another standing ovation as he limped back to the wall beside her, never looking her way.

Emmy’s shoulders drew back as her spine stiffened in anger at the rebuff.

But an easy smile covered her wrath...and the knowledge that the jerk’s admission was exactly as truthful as her own.

CHAPTER TWO

June 22

EMMYLOU GRABBED TWO towels as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping her wet hair with one, drying herself with the other, briskly. She should have been dabbing her skin gently rather than scrubbing it like a potato, but she was much too jittery. As she turned, her eyes dropped to the reflection in the full-length mirror of the skin on her thigh just below her butt cheek.

Oh Lord...is that the beginning of cellulite?

“No...no,” she whimpered. “Cellulite isn’t allowed. Not today.”

But sure enough, on closer inspection, there were indeed a couple of small dimples. Why, oh, why hadn’t she been proactive and gone ahead and splurged on that miracle cream while QVC had it on sale? “Now it’ll cost me an arm and a leg,” she huffed.

The mention of a leg brought her back to the reason she was jittery...

Sol Beecher would be here soon.

“Over six hundred tickets in that drawing.” She slapped the towel over the bar, spreading it out to dry. “The man has five and one of them gets picked as the winner. What are the odds?” She snorted at her reflection. “Why, those odds would be six hundred to five, I believe.” She tried to do the math in her head, but it got jumbled, so she gave up, satisfied to be in the neighborhood of correct. “Something close to one hundred something to one.”

Today Sol was picking up the keys to the beach house. She’d been planning what she’d wear for the event for two weeks and had finally decided on her gold bikini. She would be lounging by the pool—totally oblivious that this was the day they’d arranged. When he arrived, she wouldn’t have her cover-up available. In her own backyard? Of course not. She would invite him into the house, so he’d have to follow her—and no doubt check her out thoroughly—and he would be the sorriest man alive that he’d ever allowed her to slip away.

But now? Now his vision would fill with the sight of cellulite—two dimples of it, one for each eye. A much easier math problem than the other one.

What it added up to was that she was back to square one about what to wear.

She rushed to her closet, jerking hangers, searching for the new perfect outfit to show off her...assets. And make him sorry.

Geez, he could get her riled.

Since her first date at the age of fifteen, she’d never lost a guy she wanted. That wasn’t to say no one had ever broken up with her. Lots of them had. No, that was an exaggeration. A few of them had. But those breakups came at times when she was ready to call it quits.

Sol Beecher was the only one who ever walked away leaving her still wanting him.

Still she hadn’t completely admitted defeat, even after all these years.

Someday he would get through the self-absorbed funk he walked around in. He would see her...want her. And when that happened, she’d kick his bad leg out from under him and let him fall on his metaphorical ass.

The lime-green skirt had previously failed to catch his attention, and the gold bikini was out.

Wonder Woman costume? Nah, too obvious.

The chime alerted her that a vehicle had pulled into her driveway. She sprinted to the bedroom window and let out a groan at the sight of Sol’s black truck. “Early? Noooo!” She snatched her watch from the vanity and examined it. Sure enough, the stem was pulled out. She’d thought it was ten-ten, when in reality it was ten fifty-five.

Sol Beecher was only five minutes early.

Bentley woke from his nap in the middle of her bed. He jumped down and headed to the door as she threw the towel from her hair and ran back into the closet, grabbing the first top and bottom her hands touched. No time to dry her hair...or even run a comb through it. No time for makeup. The shorts were old jeans she’d cut off—ragged and frayed at the edges—while the T-shirt was one a friend had brought her. Bright purple, it sported a picture of Chewbacca on the front with MILWOOKIE above him in green block letters.

The sound of the doorbell mixed with Bentley’s bark of greeting.

Emmy rammed her toes into some flip-flops and her fingers through her hair on her way to the door. Bentley loved being out in the yard, but he didn’t have on the collar that went with the underground fence. So she grabbed the collar he was wearing as she turned the doorknob. Excited by the company, Bentley jumped back, causing her to jerk the door open with a swoosh.

Sol’s brown eyes widened in surprise...and then squinted. “EmmyLou?”

Go ahead, buster. Rub it in.

“Yeah.” Embarrassment made her insides cringe, but she refused to let him see her discomfort. “Just got out of the shower.” Bentley danced with excitement, hopping up and down like a deranged kangaroo. “Come in, would you? He’s going to rip my arm out of its socket.”

“I’m a little early. I figured I’d just stop by on my way into town.” Sol stepped inside and closed the door. “But I see I should’ve called first. This is obviously a bad time.”

The way his eyes raked over her went through her like a tack into corkboard. “Not a problem,” she snapped, releasing her hold on Bentley.

The dog made straight for the man’s bad leg...and began humping it.

“Oh good Lord!” Emmy scrambled to disengage the two, but Sol lost his balance and stumbled back against the door, luckily catching himself. “Oh crap, I’m sorry. Really. I’m so sorry.” She was overdoing the apology. “Get down, Bentley. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Would you just get me the damn key?” Sol forced the words out. “Please.”

She pulled Bentley along and closed him up in her bedroom, then hurried to the kitchen to grab the key and the list of rules for the use of the beach house. She paused there to catch her breath and give her brain time to come up with something humorous to alleviate the awkward moment.

She and Sol didn’t get along, but that didn’t make it okay to humiliate him.

Aggravate? Yeah. Humiliate? No.

She looked down the rules, stopping as number six caught her eye...and gave her an idea. A true EmmyLou-ism.

She sauntered back to the living room, handing him the key when she got within arm’s reach. “That’s the key.” She then held out the paper and he took it, his eyes scanning it. “Just a list of rules for the house,” she explained. “Common sense mostly. Don’t put cans down the garbage disposal. Don’t start a campfire in the living room. Don’t pick the lock on the family’s private suite.”

He met her gaze, his eyes hooded.

“That’s where we keep our private stuff.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want you knowing my secrets...or going through my drawers.”

Most people would’ve laughed. Not Sol Beecher.

He shook his head as he opened the front door. “No worries, then. Been there. Done that.”

He must have sensed she was about to kick his ass, because he moved outside faster than she would’ve thought him capable of.

She slammed the door behind him.

Damn him! If humiliation was what he was about, she could be all over him like ugly on an ape.

This game was on.

* * *

NOW, THIS IS LIVING.

Sol dug his toes deeper into the sand and took another sip of his bourbon, reminding himself that he’d almost allowed his anger to get the best of him yesterday and let this opportunity pass him by.

He was glad he hadn’t, even if he’d had to endure EmmyLou’s obviously planned slight. Or perhaps, unplanned was the better way of thinking about it.

She would’ve been dressed to the nines with her makeup and hair done for any other adult male on the planet. But not him. She had to prove just how low he rated on her scale of men. If he was a gambler, he’d wager that, apart from family, he was one of the few men who’d ever seen her without makeup.

Of course, the joke was on her. With her dark brown hair and smooth olive complexion, she was more beautiful without all that makeup, but you’d never convince her of that. She was one of those women who wanted you to believe she got out of bed with everything in place.

As a matter of fact, the one night they spent together, she did sleep with her makeup on...and got up early the next morning to fix herself up before he woke.

Crazy-ass woman.

He shouldn’t let her get under his skin, and he shouldn’t have made that parting comment. But the woman had a way about her that made him want to... He took another sip of bourbon, letting its slow burn uncover the truth. Made him want to...

Don’t go there. Ms. EmmyLou Perfect may have prettied up for you years ago, but now she doesn’t even view you as a man.

It was difficult for anybody else to see him that way, he guessed, when he could hardly see it himself. The man he’d used to be, the cocksure man about town who’d played the field like an all-star...that guy got blown away, along with his lower leg, his hopes and his dreams, by a rocket-propelled grenade.

But he wouldn’t dwell on that this week.

The beach house was a perfect combination of comfortable family home and convenient guesthouse just steps away from the Gulf of Mexico with only a stretch of sugary white sand in between. According to the fire escape diagram on the kitchen wall, there were two suites downstairs and two up, though he couldn’t confirm that since he’d elected not to attempt the stairs yet. The nice, wide balcony on the second level would be the perfect place to catch the sunset, though. So sometime over the next week he’d make the climb.

Difficult, but worth it.

EmmyLou’s laughing brown eyes flashed into his mind again. As she’d warned, the family suite was locked. One of those boxes hung on the door handle—the kind with the combination that opened a compartment that held a key. The locked door piqued his curiosity, especially because it was directly across from the suite he’d claimed. But he doubted the room contained any deep family secrets.

The way EmmyLou’s mouth ran, no secret could remain safe with her for very long.

The beach had been crowded when he arrived this evening, but it was deserted now. The gentle, phosphorescent waves lapping at the sand called to him. He detached his prosthesis and grabbed the despicable but necessary crutches.