In Emmylou's Hands. Pamela Hearon

TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       EXTRACT

       COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

      “MY FAMILY HAS a beach house in Gulf Shores, Alabama.”

      No sooner were the words out of EmmyLou Creighton’s mouth than she knew she’d spoken too soon. Of course, that was nothing new—her mouth had a tendency to stay several strides ahead of her brain most of the time. Grabbing her phone in one hand, she held up a finger on the other to put the conversation with her two friends on hold while she texted her mom.

      Beach house taken June 23-30?

      No, came the reply.

      Pencil me in.

      Seriously?

      I’ll explain later.

      She tossed her phone down and drummed the table with her long fingernails to signal that speech could once again commence.

      Bree Barlow and Audrey Dublin looked at each other and shrugged, oblivious to the amazing feat EmmyLou had just accomplished.

      “Don’t you see?” She directed her comment toward Audrey. “You can use a week at the beach house as the grand prize.”

      Audrey’s gray eyes, which had been pinched with worry two minutes ago, widened. “For the raffle? Oh, Emmy! You can do it just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

      Emmy laughed and snapped hers in answer. “Just like that.”

      Even Bree, who was enjoying her first girls’ night out since the birth of her second child, came out of her exhausted lethargy to gasp her approval. “That would be such a fabulous prize! Taylor’s Grove has never had anything like that.”

      “Taylor’s Grove, Kentucky, never had anything like me.”

      “Are you sure about this? I mean, a text and it’s done?”

      Emmy laughed at the skepticism in Audrey’s voice. “It’s done, sugar. Trust me. Everybody in the family gets a week in the summer if we want it, but we have to claim the week, which I just did. We also get weeks during the rest of the year if it’s not rented, but it almost always is.”

      Their server showed up with another tray of drinks. “Guy at the bar sent these over.”

      “Again?” Bree groaned at the third bottle of sparkling water set in front of her. “Would you please tell him to save his money and just send her a beer?” She indicated Emmy with a nod, and then wagged a finger between her and Audrey. “I’m nursing and she’s a newlywed, so we’re off the market.”

      The server grinned. “Different guy. But I’ll tell the next one.” She replaced the empties in front of Audrey and Emmy with full bottles.

      Emmy’s glance drifted down the bar until she found the young man looking expectantly their way. “Kind of cute, but way too young. Twenty-five, maybe. Still wet behind the ears.” She raised her beer bottle with a nod of gratitude but broke eye contact immediately.

      Having done this for far more years than she liked to acknowledge, Emmy was the go-to expert on all the subtleties of pickups. At thirty-five, although everyone guessed her to be eight to ten years younger, she could fill a book about turnoffs, turn-ons, tune-ins, tune-outs and tone-downs.

      Years of experience, however, had brought her no Mr. Right—no one to settle down with and have the family she wanted so badly. She hadn’t lost hope, even though her close friends were now happily married with kids.

      “I’d think you would like younger guys, Emmy.” Audrey took a sip of her rum and Coke. “More stamina.”

      “Jackrabbits.” Emmy shivered in mock disdain. “My preferences lean toward the ones who are...slower, you know? Not like those giant tortoises that take forever. Have you ever seen those shows on the National Geographic Channel? About the huge ones that live on the Galápagos Islands? My God, you know she just wants to turn around to him and say, ‘Will you get on with it?’” She placed her hands on the table and pushed slowly out of her chair, opening her mouth and dragging out a grunt before plopping back in her chair and repeating the action.

      Bree and Audrey giggled at her imitation.

      “I’m looking for one of those cute turtles that plods along all efficient-like at a nice steady pace but starts to scurry when he hits the beach. And once he plunges in, he just paddles along with that smooth stroke until the tide goes down.” She fluttered her eyelids and gave a dreamy smile. “Mmm!”

      Her friends exchanged knowing glances and nodded in agreement. “Mmm!”

      “Hey, wait a minute. What’s wrong with this picture?” Emmy slapped the table with her palm. “Here I am, offering my family’s beach house to raise funds for a school I never attended in a town I’ve only lived in for a couple of years, but said town’s not taking care of my needs in return. Y’all snatched up the last two good turtles Taylor’s Grove may ever hatch.”

      “True, we got the best ones,” Audrey agreed. She shook a finger in Emmy’s direction. “But Sol Beecher’s still available...and he’s your closest neighbor.”

      The name caused Emmy’s teeth to clench. “Yeah. Thank God that translates as a quarter mile away.” She snorted. “Try raffling off that snapping turtle and see how much you get for him. I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for a night with him.” She doubted the present company was aware she’d had a night with Taylor’s Grove’s most eligible bachelor fourteen years ago, shortly after she and her friend Maggie Wells had started the hair salon in Paducah, Kentucky—just outside of Taylor’s Grove.

      Maggie, a Taylor’s Grove native, had introduced Emmy to her friend—handsome and oh-so-sexy Sol Beecher. Three dates in, they’d ended up in bed, and he’d never called again. She could still feel the sting if she thought about it...which she didn’t.

      But Audrey’s and Bree’s husbands, Mark and Kale, were Sol’s best friends. And Kale and his dad had just purchased the local marina from Sol at a hefty price if word on the street was correct. Emmy could sense a lecture coming on from Bree about her teasing of Sol.

      Bree squinted as if trying to remember something difficult to recall. “He’s different than he used to be in high school. He was Mr. Popular then. Outgoing...fun. Of course, he chased anything that wore a skirt.”

      “Until it came off...um... I’ll bet.” Emmy covered her slip of the tongue.

      “Something happened in Afghanistan.” Audrey stared into her drink as if the answer could be found there. “He came home with that limp—”

      “Caused by the weight of that chip on his shoulder,” EmmyLou interjected.

      Audrey leaned back and crossed her arms, tilting her head and turning a studious eye Emmy’s direction. “I’ve never heard you come down on anybody the way you do him. What’s he done to you?”