Читать книгу In Emmylou's Hands - Pamela Hearon - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

THE NINE-HOUR DRIVE back to Taylor’s Grove was as uneventful as Sol’s week had been once Joe Wayne left. No traffic jams. Very little construction. Bright sunshine the entire way. Even the diner he’d stopped at in northern Alabama had food that rivaled the one at home.

Yet, with all the rightness surrounding him, his world was a half bubble off plumb. Because of EmmyLou Creighton Fuller.

He couldn’t get the damn woman out of his mind.

True to his word, Joe Wayne left after the Patsy caper, though not for a couple of days. But when he did, he locked up the family suite and all its secrets therein.

That door—and the woman it had come to symbolize—was sealed off, which frustrated the living hell out of Sol.

So she had secrets. Hell, everybody had secrets. He sported one of the biggest ones around. Over and over—when he was drunk—Joe Wayne had reminded him that he’d lost his leg in an honorable endeavor. “Nuthin’ to be ashamed of.”

He wasn’t ashamed. He simply didn’t want all that hero attention.

But the next time Joe Wayne and his sister got together...if there was any drinking involved—and, of course, with Joe Wayne there would be—the information would undoubtedly be divulged. Probably in the form of a ballad. Oh, yeah, Joe Wayne had sworn that the Patsy fiasco made them blood brothers of a sort, and implied that the status gave Sol an exemption from being discussed. But the saying “Liquor is quicker” seemed to have been invented with Joe Wayne in mind.

And how long would EmmyLou’s mouth be able to hang on to such a juicy bit of news?

Only until the next time it opened...which was never a long wait.

The answer lay in finding a way to keep the woman quiet, and the closer he got to home, the more urgent the need became.

He turned off the radio in his truck, needing the silence to concentrate.

The secret behind the private suite’s door would’ve given him leverage. Each time he passed it, he paused to look over the structure and assess its weakness, fiddling with the real estate agent box, trying every random combination that came into his head. None worked.

The greatest frustration came from the assurance that the harder he tried not to think about the mystery of EmmyLou, the more obsessed he became. She was the human equivalent of the real estate agent box, and all he needed was the right combination.

One entire rainy afternoon even found him searching the term EmmyLou Fuller on his phone. What little information the query turned up was fifteen years old or more. She and Joe Wayne had a couple of big hits on the country music charts. She’d participated in beauty contests from the time she was five until she was seventeen but never went on to any of the big ones like Miss Tennessee.

Her life involved no huge scandal as far as he could tell. She hadn’t been kicked out of pageants for drinking or having sex with the judges.

One day she simply slipped from public view and was forgotten. So why the name change?

He supposed he could hold what little he knew about her over her head—a preemptive strategy to have in place when Joe Wayne put his real sister before his fake blood brother. But letting her know that he had something on her before it even came up seemed like overreaction.

Or maybe he should just level with her. I don’t want people to know about my fake leg just like you don’t want people to know about your fake name. Deal?

And he could watch himself slide from half man to no man at all in her perspective in a matter of seconds. Or worse, she’d start being kind to him and giving him that pitying look.

Oh hell no.

Despite the fact that it aggravated him, the one thing he liked about EmmyLou Creighton was how she didn’t cut him any slack because of his bum leg. Except the day her dog had humped it—she’d seemed sympathetic then. He’d hated that.

The Cadiz exit appeared, and Sol left I-24 to make the rest of the trip on two-lane roads. As he approached the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, he glanced at the rearview mirror.

What he saw wasn’t so much his own reflection with two bluish-green bruises circling his eyes and a piece of adhesive tape holding his nose in place. Instead, it was the answer he’d been searching for.

He grinned at the painful sight.

* * *

“JOE WAYNE WENT on and on about your friend he met at the beach house. Sol?”

Her mom’s mention of Joey and Sol in the same sentence brought a flush to Emmy’s face. The thought of her brother’s hijinks was bad enough, but adding Sol Beecher to the images made her want to crawl in a hole...or seek a new identity. Again.

“Sol’s not really a friend,” she corrected her mother, sensing the turn this conversation was about to make. “Just a guy from Taylor’s Grove.”

“Well, Joe Wayne told us he’s not married, and he’s around forty.” Yes, indeed. Thar she blows! “I never dreamed that Podunk town you moved to might have an eligible bachelor near your age. You shouldn’t let this opportunity pass you by. Lord knows, you’ve let that happen too often—and I’m not just talking in the marriage department.”

The long-familiar tightness in her gut, which always accompanied a visit or phone call from her mom, twisted into an ache. “This isn’t an opportunity, Mama.”

“Nothing ever is with you. That’s exactly the kind of failure talk that got you where you are. Nowhere.”

EmmyLou bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. Mama never heard when she talked about her successful salon or how much she loved living in her beautiful home on the outskirts of the friendly village. If it didn’t somehow bring direct attention to Mama, it was considered a failure. Emmy had learned the rules of engagement long ago.

A blessed beep sounded in her ear. “Hey, I’ve got another call, so I’ll have to let you go. Tell Dad I love him. Bye.”

“Think about what I said.” Her mom rushed and got in the last word...as always.

Emmy tapped the button without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey, EmmyLou. It’s Sol.”

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Heat surged through her at the sound of the wolf-like growl. She gritted her teeth. “Hi there. You back? And all in one piece?”

A long pause brought the hairs on the back of her neck to attention. “You talked to your brother.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about your nose—”

“Oh. That. Yeah, it doesn’t help my looks any.” She heard him draw a long breath. “So if you’re home, I’ll bring the key by.”

“I am. Out by the pool,” she lied, but it wouldn’t be a lie for long. She headed for her closet. “Just pull on around to the end of the drive, and you won’t even have to get out.” She had it all planned. He’d get an eyeful as she walked from the pool to his truck, and Bentley wouldn’t have a chance to hump his bad leg again.

“Be there in a minute,” came the gruff reply.

All she had to do was slip into her gold bikini and run to dive into the pool. She’d known Sol would be dropping by sometime today, so she’d done her waterproof makeup first thing after her shower. Her hair was pulled back into a cute, calculated bun that would keep its shape when wet.

On the way to the pool, she called Bentley, who came running from somewhere upstairs, as she grabbed the thermal glass of iced tea from the fridge and the magazines from the island.

She arranged everything around the chaise and then dove from the diving board to gain that sun-kissed glisten. Bentley jumped in from the side and dog-paddled to the steps. He shook himself and sprawled out on the warm concrete while she settled into the chaise and thumbed leisurely through the magazine. By the time she heard Sol’s truck in her driveway, she was confident she and her canine companion looked as though they’d been out there all day.

Her timing was a tad off. As she rose from her chair, Sol was getting out of his truck, so he missed the beginning of her entrance. And with him standing outside his truck, she wouldn’t get to lean over toward his driver’s side window. Oh well. She started her slow, seductive walk.