She Drives Me Crazy. Leslie Kelly

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      “’Cause, you know, I felt pretty sure you couldn’t be talking to me,” he said as he backed out of the parking space. “The guy who just carried your ass out of not only a painful situation but a damned embarrassing one.”

      “Which wasn’t entirely my fault.”

      “Wasn’t mine, either,” he countered. “In case, you know, you were, uh, cursing more than the pain in your ankle.”

      Darn. She hadn’t fooled him at all with the brief staring contest. He was still too intuitive for her own good.

      But he was also correct. “You’re right,” she admitted, the words dragged out of her throat almost against her own will. “Thank you. That wasn’t quite the way I’d expected to renew my acquaintance with the residents of Joyful.”

      “How’d you expect to do that?” he asked with a frown. “On a stage wearing nothing but a big smile?”

      She sucked in a shocked breath, then barked out a laugh. “Good grief, hasn’t this town seen me naked enough?”

      This time, she surprised a laugh right back out of him. He glanced over at her, good humor making those irresistible dimples of his deepen in his lean cheeks. “Is that a trick question?”

      She raised a brow.

      “Is there such a thing as seeing enough of a naked woman?”

      Deadpan, she replied, “I suppose it depends on the woman. Are we talking Lady Godiva naked here? Or the old lady from the Shoebox greeting cards naked?”

      “How about porn star naked?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

      Then she snorted. Porn star, indeed. “Is that how you’re getting your kicks these days? Was the can of spaghetti sauce you dropped really supposed to be a dinner for two—you—and a two-dimensional date on your big-screen TV?”

      He chuckled again, shaking his head. Johnny always could get her to say the most outrageous things, when other people generally thought of her as the sweetest spoken, most ladylike girl around. Once upon a time she’d liked him for that.

      With Johnny, she hadn’t had to be an angel. And lordy had he tempted her to be a devil. On one night in particular.

      “You haven’t changed much,” he finally said.

      “You have.”

      “You’re still a smart-ass.”

      “You’re still a bossy, arrogant so-and-so.”

      He snorted. “You obviously still know how to be the center of attention.”

      “You obviously still have a hero complex,” she responded.

      They fell silent for a moment, then, she heard him say one more thing. “I’ve thought about you.”

      The absurd fluttering his softly spoken words caused in her stomach made her retort airily, “I haven’t spared you one minute.”

      That shut him up. And officially upped her time in purgatory for lying. Big huge fat liar, that was Emma Jean’s new title.

      But it served its purpose and was worth a few more years of penance. Because it got him to quit being cute and teasing and playful and sexier than any man had a right to be.

      Johnny angry she could handle. Johnny flirtatious and cute she definitely could not. No sane, reasonable, breathing woman could. It was bad enough that she was half-crippled and helpless, she hated to be emotionally helpless on top of it. As emotionally helpless as only Johnny Walker had ever been able to make her.

      Helplessness had never agreed with her, emotionally or physically. Nor, she realized as she thought about him taking her to a clinic with pricey X-rays, had poverty. An Ace bandage from the clinic would probably cost more than a bag of groceries. And right now, a little pain seemed preferable to starvation.

      Having sprained her ankle enough as a kid, she recognized the symptoms. All she needed was a good soak, a strong bandage—which her grandmother had always kept on hand—and some aspirin. Or a belt of something strong to numb the pain in her ankle and the confusion in her brain.

      She doubted her grandmother had ever stocked anything strong enough to numb the abject humiliation of the scene in the store.

      “I don’t need to go to the clinic,” she said.

      He just shook his head. “Don’t start that again.”

      Knowing he probably figured she was arguing for argument’s sake, Emma turned in her seat. She placed her hand on his arm, just below the rolled up sleeve of his dress shirt, to try to convince him she was serious. Bad move. Waaaaay bad. It was impossible to ignore the sudden blast of heat shooting through her fingertips at the feel of his smooth skin against hers. General Electric could have learned something about stoves from this guy’s skin.

      Hot. Fevered. Powerful.

      She gulped away the momentary insanity. “I mean it,” she finally said when she felt capable of speech. “I’ve sprained and twisted my ankle enough times to know what it feels like. This one’s not bad.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thin and unconvincing. Not surprising. She could barely focus on anything but the knowledge that she was really here, breathing the same air, actually touching him after all these years.

      Though behind the wheel, he seemed unable to tear his gaze away from her hand, starkly pale against his own deeply tanned skin. She finally pulled it away, wondering why her fingertips still tingled even after she’d clenched her fists in her lap.

      Then, noting where her fists had landed, she jerked her hands lower toward the knee part of her lap. Away from the, umh…upper thigh part. That territory was too alert already. It had been ever since she’d seen him in the grocery store.

      Emma, you are one pathetic, sex-starved woman.

      Yeah. She definitely was. Which was why she needed to get away from the six-foot tall walking pile of solid sin.

      “My grandmother had a well-stocked medicine cabinet at the house,” she mumbled, knowing the house wasn’t too far away. “I can bandage it myself. I’ve had lots of experience. Can you just give me a ride to her place?”

      He cleared his throat, gave one nod and turned at the next corner. They rode in silence for a few moments, but finally, as they pulled out onto Main Street, Johnny glanced at her again. “I’m sorry about your grandma. She’s sorely missed. Most of the town turned up at her funeral.”

      She heard an unspoken question in his voice. “I was in the hospital after a car accident.”

      He cast her a quick look that might have been concern but was more likely curiosity.

      “I’m fine now,” she quickly explained. “But I was laid up for a few weeks.” She glanced out the window, unable to hide the regret in her voice. “My parents didn’t even tell me she’d died until two days after the funeral. They knew I’d have tried to get here.”

      “I’m sorry, Em.”

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