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. “Funny. Seems to me you were the one who skipped out of town first, Daneen. Speaking of which, how is Nick?”
Nick. Nick Walker. His younger brother, and once upon a time the object of affection of a number of teenage girls in the township of Joyful, Georgia. He’d have to include Emma Jean Frasier and Daneen Brady in that list.
Daneen Brady—now Walker. His former sister-in-law.
“Emma, maybe we should leave now,” Johnny said, trying to turn her back toward the car. The last thing he wanted was to get Daneen started on the subject of his brother.
Too late.
“Probably burning in hell, for all I care,” Daneen said, her voice hard, as it always was when Nick’s name came up. “Wherever he is, he’s certainly not here, so if Nick’s the reason you came back to Joyful, you might just as well turn around and go back up north.” Her tone turned sugary sweet, though her green eyes remained cool and assessing. “Gracious, it’s been ten years, Emma Jean. Haven’t you gotten over Nick yet?”
Yep. Daneen was sharpening up her claws. When she got around to remembering the rumors of what had happened between him and Emma Jean on prom night, they’d become even more cutting. Though there had never been any romantic involvement between him and his ex-sister-in-law—and never would be—she did seem to think her family status gave her the right to tell him how to run his life. The only reason he gave her a tiny bit of leeway on that was because she was, truly, family. Once a Walker, always a Walker, no matter how much Daneen hated to claim the name.
“Let’s go, Emma.”
Emma wouldn’t be moved. Instead, smiling as she tapped the tips of her perfectly manicured pink nails on her collarbone, she stared at Daneen. “Oh, you sweet thing, to be worried about me,” she said, lacing her voice with a sugary hint of Southern cordiality. “But, no, Nick was only a boy. A sweet, innocent teenage crush. Obviously our relationship wasn’t anything like yours—since you were the one he had to run away with and marry so your daddy wouldn’t kill him and all.”
Johnny lowered his head so his ex-sister-in-law wouldn’t see his grin. Not too many women could pull off that perfect blend of sweetness and cutting sarcasm. Emma’s grandmother had had it down to an art form. Emma had apparently learned one or two things during her time in the South.
He had no idea where she could have learned anything about the adult film business.
As steam almost began rolling out of Daneen’s ears, Emma gave a little smile and leaned heavier against Johnny’s side. “I am really hurting now. You will help me back to the car, won’t you? I’ll speak to Mr. Boyd tomorrow.” She gave him a wide-eyed, limpid look which, he supposed, probably appeared helpless and intimate to Daneen, as Emma had likely intended.
For an instant, he was tempted to let her fall on her ass again, leaving her lying on the ground outside Boyd Realty. She deserved it. Damned if he was going to let Emma Jean Frasier use him to salve her ego or bolster her pride one more time. Been there, done that. Pick another sucker, lady. Once in a lifetime was enough for anyone.
But there was something else in those golden-brown eyes of hers, something beyond flirtation or teasing. Her lashes flickered as she blinked rapidly,