insisted she was already feeling better—an outright lie if he’d ever heard one, given the way her lips trembled and her eyes teared up when she tried to stand up unaided.
“’Evening,” Johnny said with a nod as they approached the front door. Emma was leaning into his side, his arm supporting her around her waist as comfortable and easy as could be. Only a cardiologist would have been able to tell his heart was beating hard enough to bust out of his chest. He told himself it was merely the thought of having to deal with Emma and Daneen together. But somewhere, deep inside his gut, he knew it was more likely because of the way Emma felt pressed against his side.
Just about perfect.
“Mrs. Dillon,” he said, easily recognizing the dour-faced woman standing beside Daneen.
Cora Dillon had once worked as a lunch lady at the Joyful Primary School and now did cleaning work wherever she could get it. He half expected her to rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon, the way she would way back in second grade when he’d try to sneak an extra piece of fruit from the lunch line. “Reduced price lunch for poor folks means one apple, Mr. Walker,” she’d say, loud enough for every kid in the cafeteria to hear. “And no cookie!”
That pretty much summed up his childhood. One apple and no cookie. Some steely-eyed adult like Mrs. Dillon always seemed to be around to make sure no trashy Walker kid tried to snitch anything more than his charitable due.
He half wished the old woman would get charged with jaywalking, or lifting a piece of candy out of the Brach’s sampler display at the grocery store without paying for it.
There was one case he’d sure as hell prosecute.
Mrs. Dillon gave what for her probably passed as a friendly smile. “Mr. Walker,” she said in greeting.
Johnny kept his hands well out of spoon range, just in case, even though he knew she couldn’t very well rap the knuckles of the county prosecutor. Particularly not when one of her own rowdy grandsons was a recent beneficiary of Johnny’s goodwill toward the high-spirited youth of Joyful.
“Nice to see you, ma’am,” he replied, every bit as evenly.
Then the woman turned her attention on Emma Jean, studying her like someone might study a particularly difficult crossword puzzle or riddle.
“This is Emma Jean Frasier. I’m sure you knew her grandmother,” he explained.
“It’s just Emma,” his companion murmured under her breath.
Her words were lost under Daneen’s surprised gasp, which Cora Dillon echoed. Daneen’s reaction he could have predicted. Mrs. Dillon, though, was probably annoyed at being caught not knowing the name, marital status and credit history of a new arrival to Joyful. Maybe Cora was losing her touch—she wasn’t often caught unaware when it came to gossip-worthy newcomers.
“Hello, Daneen,” Emma said when neither of the other women made any effort to speak. Johnny had to wonder how she hid her tension beneath that smooth, cultured voice. Her whole body was tight enough to snap in half.
Little wonder. Daneen had, after all, stolen Emma’s man away once upon a time.
“Emma Jean,” Daneen whispered, sounding the tiniest bit unsure of herself. Very unusual for this particular woman, who hardly ever let anyone see her weaknesses.
A variety of expressions crossed Daneen’s face, ranging from dismay, to dislike, and perhaps even a bit of embarrassment. With reason, of course, as they all well knew.
But Daneen quickly did her thing, tossing her head and ignoring whatever guilt she might still be feeling about what had happened back in high school. “Well, I had no idea you were coming back to Joyful.” Daneen’s tone sounded forced as she straightened her shoulders in a failed attempt at indifference.
“Never can tell where one of us bad pennies is going to turn up,” Emma said with a too-bright laugh. “How…nice…it is to see you, too.”
That sounded about as sincere as a televangelist asking for forgiveness for screwing over his flock, but Johnny figured Emma Jean had a right to be spiteful. Daneen had done her dirty, all right. In front of the whole town, to boot.
“Johnny, wherever did you find her?” Daneen asked. “I didn’t even know you two were…acquainted.”
He frowned slightly at the blatant lie. There was no way Daneen hadn’t heard about prom night, even though she hadn’t been there to witness it firsthand. She’d run off, leaving Joyful in a tizzy that same day. Still, she’d come back soon enough afterward to hear the story. It had been whispered over and over, just like all the other scandalous tidbits of local folklore.
The prom night interlude between rebel Johnny Walker and golden girl Emma Jean Frasier was probably repeated almost as often as the tale of how Joyful had gotten its name. Frankly, Johnny had always found the name story a lot more interesting. Reportedly two hundred or so years ago, one of the town’s founders had stopped at the tiny two-road crossing and pronounced, “This place is about as joyful as a fi’ty cent whore with a toothache.” And Joyful had been christened.
How could a couple of teenagers caught bare-ass naked at the gazebo by most of the members of the senior class of Joyful High compare with that?
Unfortunately, he appeared to be the only person in Joyful who believed it couldn’t.
“Emma and I ran into each other at the grocery store,” he finally said. “She needed some help. I’m going to drop her off at her grandmother’s place, but we need the key.”
Cora, who they’d nearly forgotten about, reached into her pocket and dug out a small key ring. “Here you go,” she murmured, still staring with avid interest at Emma. “I cleaned it up for you this morning. I was dropping the key back off to Mr. Boyd.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Dillon,” Emma said, sounding as refined and genteel as her late grandmother, who’d been every inch a lady. Had Emma sounded as dignified when asking him to make love to her? He couldn’t really remember.
Liar. He remembered everything about that night. And no, she hadn’t sounded proper and refined at all. She’d sounded sweet and hungry. Enticing, alluring and innocent. A lot more innocent than he’d ever expected, to his utter shock.
Which made it difficult, if not downright impossible, to believe the rumors that she’d been off making dirty movies since she’d left here ten years ago. He hadn’t had time to wrap his mind around the whole gossipy rumor, but his first instinct was to suspect the Joyful grapevine had this particular story totally screwed up, particularly given the way she’d joked about porn movies during their drive.
“I haven’t been inside the house in a very long time and I do appreciate your efforts,” Emma continued.
Mrs. Dillon looked as if she didn’t know whether to take Emma’s words as a compliment or not, so she just grunted and turned toward the door. “I’ll wait for Mr. Boyd inside,” she told Daneen, who still appeared too shocked to protest. Then Cora entered the building, leaving the three of them alone.
“So, why are you back, Emma Jean?” Daneen asked. “I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Emma, apparently not as easily cowed, or, at least, as polite, as she’d been in high school, raised a brow.
