In Emmylou's Hands. Pamela Hearon

sassy siren needed to be taught that she couldn’t get her way about everything.

      In his peripheral vision, he saw Emmy clicking her way toward him, hips swaying with more action than a tow sack full of cats in heat. His chest tightened with a breath that caught on an inhale. Thankfully she was merely taking the seat that Arlo James had offered.

      It was at the end of the row where Sol stood, close enough that he caught the scent of her perfume once his breathing resumed. It was nice...light. Not at all the scent he would’ve imagined a woman like EmmyLou Creighton wearing. He would’ve pegged her as the kind whose perfume invaded your nose before she invaded your space and then hung around long after she was gone. And—

      Why in the hell was he dwelling on the woman’s damn perfume? Wouldn’t she have loved that?

      He swiveled to lean his back against the wall, shifting his weight to his artificial leg.

      Emmy cast a sidelong look his direction that started at his knee and moved up slowly to his face. “You want to sit?”

      “Naw.” The scowl he gave her came naturally, stemming from part pain, part anger and part embarrassment that a woman was offering him her damn seat. “I’m good.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pushed away from the wall. “But you keep traipsing around in those heels and someday you’ll limp worse than I do.”

      She arched one cool eyebrow. “I’ll only limp worse than you do if one of them breaks off.”

      Sol could swear he felt a vacuum as the people within earshot sucked in a simultaneous breath.

      Nobody spoke to him like that. Nobody ever mentioned his leg. They treated it like the crazy cousin confined to the attic in years past. Everybody knew it was there, but no one was willing to bring it up. People kept their eyes averted, but he could feel the looks.

      This woman had balls, although how she could hide them under that tight skirt was beyond him. He snorted a half laugh at the thought...just as Audrey approached the microphone.

      Thank God this would all be over soon.

      * * *

      EMMY HAD NEVER been to one of these raffle nights and hadn’t realized it would go on for...forever, if the numbness of her butt was any indication.

      She really needed to get up, and stubborn-ass Sol Beecher standing next to her obviously needed to sit. She heard his painful grunts every time his weight shifted. But she’d offered once, and he’d come back with one of his smart-ass answers uttered through that ever-present scowl. She wouldn’t offer again.

      The man had major attitude problems. What had she ever seen in him? Besides the sculpted chest and broad shoulders that filled out those T-shirts he was so fond of wearing. And he did have gorgeous brown eyes that caught you by surprise because his hair was a golden, sun-streaked blond.

      But that hair! She shivered in disgust. What used to be cute, sexy, surfer dude shaggy was now just flat-out unkempt and screamed I don’t give a rat’s ass. Oh, it was clean—she’d give him that. But just once she’d like to go at it with a pair of her shears.

      The thought of running her fingers through his fresh, just-cut hair brought on the familiar sensation that curled low in her belly.

      Seriously...sad sack Sol? Oh, please... She rolled her eyes at her overactive imagination.

      But her butt tingled to life as the eighth graders started their skit.

      Whatever it takes to get through this, she decided.

      Ten nice prizes had been donated to the raffle from Taylor’s Grove businesses, so the committee had decided to space out the drawings by letting each class perform some kind of act. Emmy had loved the kindergartners’ rendition of “Old MacDonald” complete with animal costumes, and the first graders’ skit about the animals of the Serengeti had been cute and informative. But somewhere around the fourth grade’s recitation of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, her attention in the kids had waned and turned to the man standing beside her.

      “And we finally get to the reason most of y’all are here.” Audrey’s voice boomed over the microphone, and a chuckle passed through the crowd. “But before we draw the ticket for the grand prize, there are a couple of people 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