we need to recognize for their generous donations of both time and money. EmmyLou and Sol, would y’all come over here and stand by me?”
EmmyLou stood and smoothed her skirt as Sol stepped in front of her and crooked his elbow, offering his arm to her. She took his arm graciously, trying to ignore the masculine feel of him beneath her fingers. His gait was odd, his hip bumping hers as they walked, and she was much too aware of his tightening bicep every time he bumped her that told her he was straining hard to keep from limping.
She drew a relieved breath when they reached the center of the room, grateful that they hadn’t been called up on the stage, and then realizing that Audrey had chosen not to be onstage for Sol’s sake.
Audrey held her hand out, and Emmy felt herself being traded from Sol to her friend.
“EmmyLou Creighton hasn’t lived in Taylor’s Grove all her life,” Audrey said, “but she acts as if she has. Not only has she provided us with the biggest grand prize we’ve ever had but also took it upon herself to sell the largest number of tickets.” Audrey’s voice quivered with excitement. “Thanks to EmmyLou, we added three hundred eighty-seven more tickets to the drawing—” Audrey paused and gave a laugh “—which you may or may not want to thank her for.” A responding laugh moved through the audience. “But that translates to an additional three thousand eight hundred seventy dollars for the school!”
The audience surged to their feet in a standing ovation, and Emmy’s heart, which should have swelled with pride, instead flew into a panicked rhythm as Audrey pulled her into a hug.
After all these years, she’d thought the stage fright was gone. But here it was—the invisible fist that reached from her tonsils to her breastbone, the grip that crushed her airways until she was sure she would die.
She tried to breathe through the panic like always, but it seldom worked. Oh God...the hug was over...the applause was dying down...people were lowering back into their seats...and the freaking microphone was being held to her mouth.
She had to say something.
The crowd grew quiet. Everyone was waiting...listening for her voice.
“I...uh...” Crap! Her mind went blank. She couldn’t remember the words she was supposed to say. Nothing behind her eyes—her brain was just a big blank wall with nothing written on it. She shrugged and forced a smile. Tell the truth. “I...um...” Her voice vibrated with fear. “I just did it...um...to aggravate Sol.”
A roar of laughter met her admission, and some people rose to their feet as she strutted back to her seat, confident now that she was done speaking and feeling like she’d dodged a bullet.
When the crowd was again seated and quiet, Audrey continued. “It’s no surprise that the man of the hour is none other than our own Sol Beecher, whose generosity to Taylor’s Grove is unprecedented. He not only requested that every person in our community have a ticket in the drawing—”
“Yay, Sol!” A man’s voice boomed through the auditorium, followed by a round of applause in agreement.
“—but also allowed his name to go on a measly five tickets even though he agreed to match the total sales dollar-for-dollar. And in case you missed it, I offered him an out on that when Emmy showed up with her surprising last-minute addition. He refused.”
An astonished gasp came from the woman behind Emmy, and she felt the flicker of guilt in her stomach. She extinguished it quickly by reminding herself that she’d already confessed her sin in front of God and this whole crowd.
“And so, by doubling the amount collected from raffle ticket sales, we now have a new total of—” Audrey nodded to a kid in the band, who broke into a drum roll “—twelve thousand three hundred eighty dollars!”
Another roar went through the crowd, which was once more on its feet. The standing ovation went on and on, lasting even longer than the Gettysburg Address, by Emmy’s estimation.
Sol looked positively miserable, and for once Emmy empathized with him...until Audrey handed him the microphone, and his deep, clear voice rang through the auditorium with not a single bobble.
“Taylor’s Grove has always been there for me, and I’m grateful. Of course, I didn’t realize I was...” Emmy again saw the handsome twenty-something he’d once been shining through the gruff camouflage as he glanced at Audrey’s paper and grinned sheepishly. “Six thousand one hundred ninety dollars’ worth of grateful.” The audience laughed, and he waited for them to quiet. “But I love this town and all of y’all—except EmmyLou Creighton.”
Another wave of laughter and another standing ovation as he limped back to the wall beside her, never looking her way.
Emmy’s shoulders drew back as her spine stiffened in anger at the rebuff.
But an easy smile covered her wrath...and the knowledge that the jerk’s admission was exactly as truthful as her own.
June 22
EMMYLOU GRABBED TWO towels as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping her wet hair with one, drying herself with the other, briskly. She should have been dabbing her skin gently rather than scrubbing it like a potato, but she was much too jittery. As she turned, her eyes dropped to the reflection in the full-length mirror of the skin on her thigh just below her butt cheek.
Oh Lord...is that the beginning of cellulite?
“No...no,” she whimpered. “Cellulite isn’t allowed. Not today.”
But sure enough, on closer inspection, there were indeed a couple of small dimples. Why, oh, why hadn’t she been proactive and gone ahead and splurged on that miracle cream while QVC had it on sale? “Now it’ll cost me an arm and a leg,” she huffed.
The mention of a leg brought her back to the reason she was jittery...
Sol Beecher would be here soon.
“Over six hundred tickets in that drawing.” She slapped the towel over the bar, spreading it out to dry. “The man has five and one of them gets picked as the winner. What are the odds?” She snorted at her reflection. “Why, those odds would be six hundred to five, I believe.” She tried to do the math in her head, but it got jumbled, so she gave up, satisfied to be in the neighborhood of correct. “Something close to one hundred something to one.”
Today Sol was picking up the keys to the beach house. She’d been planning what she’d wear for the event for two weeks and had finally decided on her gold bikini. She would be lounging by the pool—totally oblivious that this was the day they’d arranged. When he arrived, she wouldn’t have her cover-up available. In her own backyard? Of course not. She would invite him into the house, so he’d have to follow her—and no doubt check her out thoroughly—and he would be the sorriest man alive that he’d ever allowed her to slip away.
But now? Now his vision would fill with the sight of cellulite—two dimples of it, one for each eye. A much easier math problem than the other one.
What it added up to was that she was back to square one about what to wear.
She rushed to her closet, jerking hangers, searching for the new perfect outfit to show off her...assets. And make him
