needed space. Distance. Needed to get away from those golden-brown eyes of hers and her soft voice. The longer he spent in Emma’s company, the more likely he’d have been to shake the hell out of her and ask her why she’d done what she did.
First, why she’d used him as a physical substitute for his brother when it came to something as important as sex. Then, why she’d run away the very next day…when that sex had been so damn good! And finally, how in the name of God she could have gone on to have sex for money in the name of movie-making.
Sex, sex and sex again. That’s what it all came down to. If he’d stayed in that house another minute, the subject would have come up. And sex was one thing he could not talk about with Emma Jean Frasier. At least not without being sorely tempted to find the nearest flat surface and fully explore the meaning of the word with her in every position known to man. Plus a dozen yet to be invented.
He shook his head in disgust. He obviously needed to get laid. Preferably by someone who didn’t list her proficiency with various coital positions on her résumé.
Then he snorted. “It’s bullshit. If she’s a porn star, I’ll prance up Market Street in those spike-heeled shoes of hers.”
No, there had to be another explanation for the stories flying around town. Had to be. And once he got a firm grip on his libido again, he’d find out what it was.
In the meantime, there was her car to deal with. Grabbing his cell phone, he hit one of the speed dial buttons. “Virg, can you meet me down in the parking lot of the grocery store?” he asked when a familiar voice answered.
“Sure,” his cousin said. “Can I finish my hot dog first?”
“Hot dog. Minnie working tonight?”
“Uh-huh. Third weekend in a row.” Virg tsked in disgust. “That skunk boss of hers tells her if she wants to be head cook on Sundays, when the regular guy’s off, she has to bounce at the door every Friday and Saturday night.”
Minnie had recently moved up from bouncer to cook’s assistant at the Junctionville Tavern. After she and Virg got married, she’d put her foot down saying it wasn’t seemly for a bride to be physically tossin’ drunks out of bars. Her boss had apparently found a way to finagle her back where he wanted her.
“If she didn’t have her heart set on getting a job as head cook somewhere, I’d make her quit,” Virgil continued.
He’d make her quit. Yeah. Right. Virgil Walker would be able to make his two hundred and fifty-pound wife, Minnie, do something on the same day Johnny made snow fall in July. Still, he might be able to sweet-talk her into it. They were disgustingly cooey with each other.
“Okay, meet me by the red convertible parked right in front of the store in about a half hour,” Johnny said.
Virg audibly chewed a mouthful of his dinner. Johnny knew without asking that the hot dog was smothered with onions and mayonnaise. A disgusting combination if ever there was one, but that’d been Virgil’s favorite meal since childhood.
“Red convertible,” Virg finally said. “You mean the porn star’s car?”
Johnny winced. “She’s not…just meet me there, Virg.”
He cut the connection before his cousin could answer, then headed back downtown. When he arrived at the store, he pulled into the parking lot next to Emma’s car. Before cutting the engine, he opened the window. Johnny sat back, watching the last of the evening shoppers pushing their carts inside. It’d be closing soon, right around the time the town of Joyful rolled up its sidewalks for the night.
“Hey, Johnny,” he heard from outside. Glancing up, he saw Claire Deveaux, the harried woman whose little girl’s spill had caused such a fuss earlier. Claire was walking toward the store, a frown on her pretty brow.
“Hiya, Claire. Didn’t finish your shopping earlier, huh?”
She grimaced. “I tried to clean Eve up in the bathroom, but she was a mess. I had to leave an entire cart full of groceries behind and take her home. I bet those twits didn’t even have the sense to put the ice cream back in the freezer case.”
He snorted. “Better hope they did. Otherwise they’ll want you to pay for it. Where’s the baby?”
“Home with her daddy. Probably telling him for the tenth time about how mama wasn’t paying close enough attention so she spilled her juice on her fave-o-rite top.” She sighed, sounding amused, yet weary. “Daddies and their little girls.”
He wasn’t much of an expert on either one, not being a daddy, and ever having had one to speak of. At least not one he wanted to acknowledge.
“So, I hear you scooped up the porn star and carried her out after she fell.” Claire nibbled the corner of her lip. Johnny couldn’t tell whether she was embarrassed, amused or disappointed because she’d missed the spectacle.
“She’s not a…look, Claire, it was Emma Jean who fell.”
Claire’s mouth fell open far enough for him to count the fillings in her teeth. “Emma Jean Frasier? Good lord, why didn’t she call me and tell me she was coming?” She peeked into the car as if expecting to find Emma inside. “Where is she?”
Johnny now remembered that Claire and Emma had been close friends in high school. “I dropped her off at her grandmother’s house. She twisted her ankle, but she’ll be okay.”
“Emma Jean,” Claire murmured again, and a soft smile crossed her lips. “I haven’t seen her in…oh…ten years.”
Johnny nodded and murmured, “Prom night.”
A soft flush rose in Claire’s cheeks, and her eyes widened. She stared at Johnny, obviously remembering. “Oh, my goodness, that’s right.” Then she began to smile. “And just think, you were here to save her this afternoon. Again. You do always seem to be in the right place at the right time to take care of Emma Jean, don’t you, Johnny?”
Yeah, but, she’d better not get used to it. He was done taking care of Emma Jean. He had enough people to take care of in his life. The last thing he wanted was to be needed by a woman he’d once wanted with every ounce of his body.
From now on, she was on her own.
“Well, I’d better run,” Claire said as she glanced toward her watch. “Store closes soon, and I’ve got to get home and feed my family. I don’t guess you or Emma Jean got to finish your shopping either?” She looked down, sheepishly. “I still feel awful about that. If you see Em, tell her I’ll come by soon to apologize and catch up on old times, okay?”
He wouldn’t be seeing her. No doubt about it. But he merely shrugged, then bid Claire goodbye.
True to his word, Virgil came strolling up Market Street right on time. Virgil, two years younger than Johnny, was one of the Bransom-Walkers. Meaning, his mother, a rather well-liked member of the Bransom family, had married a no-account Walker thirty-odd years ago. Their offspring were marginally more respectable than the plain old Smith-Walkers, such as Johnny and Nick. Their own mother hadn’t been much higher on the socioeconomic scale than their father, though Johnny was the first to admit she was pretty much a saint in their eyes.
Virgil didn’t
