In Emmylou's Hands. Pamela Hearon

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СКАЧАТЬ yard, and I’m sure that pit bull husband of hers is laying in wait to bite me in the ass. Sol refuses to help me get her back—”

      “Oh good Lord, do not drag Sol into this. I drove all night to get down here, and I’m checked into a hotel. Give me a few minutes to walk Bentley, and I’ll be by to pick you up. We’ll go get Patsy.”

      “Forget that bullshit. You shouldn’t’ve come, ’cause you’re not going over there with me.”

      “Oh hell no!” Sol’s voice, in its typical aggravated mode. “Give me that phone.” There was a shuffling sound of the phone being passed, and then Sol’s growl came over the line. “EmmyLou, this is Sol. Are you in Gulf Shores?”

      “Yes, I am.” She lifted her chin defiantly to the reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I came to help Joey.”

      “That’s completely uncalled for.” He was all Mr. Take Control. And while her head wanted to tell him to mind his own business, everything below her neckline tingled appreciatively. But his sigh was pure aggravation, reminding her who she was speaking with. “All I need is another Fuller down here...” Emmy stiffened at his use of her real last name. What had Joey told him? “...needing me to take care of her during my relaxing time at the beach.”

      The last phrase was drenched in sarcasm, and she couldn’t let the cut-down pass without a comeback. “As I recall, taking care of my needs wasn’t one of your strong suits, Mr. Beecher.” A total lie—Sol had been fabulous in bed. But he’d never called her back, so he’d get no accolades.

      “Aw shit.” Oh good Lord, Sol had handed the phone back to Joey. “See, I knew something had went on between you two. Don’t tell me no more, ’cause I don’t want to have to lay him out. I might need his help.”

      Emmy’s reflection rolled its eyes. “No need to protect my honor, Joey. I’ll be there to pick you up in a few minutes. Just do me a favor, and please don’t tell Sol my history. I’m EmmyLou Creighton to everybody in Taylor’s Grove. I’d like to keep it that way.”

      “Your secrets are safe with me, sis.”

      EmmyLou dropped into the desk chair with a groan, defeated. Joey could be totally clueless sometimes, bless his heart.

      She was so screwed.

      * * *

      “AND ON THAT, I’m going to hang up. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

      Joe Wayne recognized his sister’s tone—the one that meant she had no confidence in what he’d told her, which was laughable considering it was her lack of confidence in herself that had spoiled everything. They could be making millions by now... He took a deep breath and let it go.

      “See you in a few,” he answered. “Love you.”

      “Love you, too.”

      “She’ll be here in a half hour.” He handed Sol the phone and turned his attention back to his sandwich. Or that’s what he pretended to do. In reality, he studied the man sitting across from him.

      So something had happened between Sol and EmmyLou. Something neither of them wanted to admit to. Well, the guy was a bit of a strange bird—but likable in spite of that hard-ass bullshit he put on. Like right then. He was sitting there, chewing his sandwich all slow, staring out at the Gulf like the sight had his total concentration. But Joe Wayne had seen his reaction when he heard EmmyLou was here. Something deep-rooted surfaced for an instant...something akin to fear. And he perked up when the topic of her secret hit his ears, although he played it cool like he hadn’t really taken it in.

      “Rocket-propelled grenade blew it off in Afghanistan.” Sol’s voice was low and even, like he was talking about that pelican he could see standing at the water’s edge.

      But the impact of the statement caused Joe Wayne’s throat to close around the bite he’d just taken. He chugged half the bottle of water to wash it down. “I’m sorry, man.”

      Sol closed his eyes as if the words hurt him, and Joe Wayne saw the muscle in his jaw twitch as he opened them again. “You don’t need to be sorry. You had nothing to do with it. I hate it when people are sorry.”

      “I mean I’m sorry for your loss,” Joe Wayne explained.

      “It’s a leg. Save your mourning for people.”

      Joe Wayne understood his point, but he figured the best way of showing it was to not say anything.

      He must’ve figured right, because Sol went on. “Nobody in Taylor’s Grove knows I lost my leg. They think I caught a bullet and just have a bad limp.”

      “That’s a helluva thing to keep quiet about.”

      “Can’t stand for people to be sorry for me—the way you were just now. I stayed in Texas the first year and went to physical therapy to get used to the prosthesis. After that, it was easy to wear long pants and keep it hidden. And I don’t ever talk about it.”

      “Which is why you didn’t want EmmyLou coming down here.”

      Sol looked at him directly, and the side of his mouth rose in a partial smile. “Your sister’s mouth is in constant motion.”

      Joe Wayne laughed. “A common Fuller family trait.”

      “So I’ve gathered.” Sol gave a disgruntled sigh. “And now that she’s coming over here, I’ll have to get back into my jeans.”

      “How long’s it been...since you lost it?”

      “Eight years. During my second tour of duty.”

      Joe Wayne held his water bottle up in a salute. “I appreciate your sacrifice, man.”

      Sol shook his head. “Half a leg’s a small a thing compared to what others gave.”

      Joe Wayne drank to him anyway and then took another bite with the understanding that the subject was closed. He liked this guy. He had an honorable air about him. “What happened between you and EmmyLou?”

      “None of your business,” came the answering growl.

      Yep, honorable...with a heaping helping of ornery on the side.

CHAPTER FIVE

      PARKING UP THE street in a black pickup truck with a pair of binoculars trained on Ramona’s house was not the smartest reconnaissance plan Sol had ever been part of, but the Fullers had collectively vetoed his suggestion to get the police involved. So the next best option seemed to be to watch the house for Ramona’s husband or both of them to leave and to hope for an unlocked door or window, which Joe Wayne seemed to think was likely.

      Looking around the run-down neighborhood, Sol couldn’t imagine such a scenario. This was a far cry from neat and tidy Taylor’s Grove and his own house, which he’d bet had never been locked since the day his grandparents moved in. But it confirmed that his decision to follow Joe Wayne and EmmyLou had been the right move, despite her protests that she didn’t need his protection.

      Damn stubborn woman.

      Joe СКАЧАТЬ