Pamela Hearon - In Emmylou's Hands

Some kind of crazy-ass, scantily clad cross-dressing dude.

But he broke into a smile when he saw Sol. “Hey, man! Oh, thank God.” He dropped his head back in a relieved gesture. Then he straightened and pressed his forearms and face against the glass. The gesture pulled his T-shirt up, revealing an orange lace thong that basically covered nothing.

The man wasn’t bloody. He stood upright. He obviously wasn’t hurt. And he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get away from anybody.

“Go on.” Sol yelled from several feet away. “Get out of here.” He started to turn.

“Wait!” The nutcase pounded the door with his palms. “No, man! Hey! Don’t go!”

Sol moved closer, but only to flip the light switch on the wall. The deck light remained on, putting the visitor in a spotlight. Someplace he was used to being, no doubt.

“Look, I’m Joe Wayne Fuller. My family owns this house.”

Sol pulled up straight, pausing to study him a moment.

“My sister, EmmyLou Fuller, arranged your stay. Ain’t that right?” The guy’s head bobbed up and down, answering his own question.

EmmyLou Fuller? Sol had never heard her use that last name, but the name EmmyLou was too distinct not to refer to her. If this joker was her brother, she’d probably put him up to this.

The woman had already proven she’d go to great lengths to try to best Sol Beecher.

“Call her. She’ll tell you I ain’t dangerous or nothing. I just got into a situation.” He crunched his fingers in the air, forming imaginary quotation marks around the word. “I...uh... I lost my clothes, and, oh hell, man. Just call EmmyLou. She’ll vouch for me.”

“I’m not calling her. It’s two-thirty in the morning.” Sol put his hands on his hips and stood his ground.

Joe Wayne—if that was really his name—pressed his forehead against his arm and took a deep breath. “Well, would you at least get me some clothes from the family suite? I can’t go nowhere else like this.”

So he knew about the family suite.

Sol blew out an angry breath and jerked his phone up to find EmmyLou’s number.

* * *

A CALL AT two-thirty was not a rare occurrence in Emmy’s world.

Her two younger brothers, both single, were forever calling her when they came in after a night of drinking and carousing. And even the two older ones, both married, called after spats with their wives or when they needed help understanding the female gender.

But a call from Sol Beecher at this time of night hadn’t occurred in fourteen years. She blinked at his name on the caller ID, and her heart did a strange triple beat. But then she remembered he was at the beach house—he was probably calling to complain about something that didn’t suit him.

She fumbled with the button and pressed the phone to her ear. “If you’ve stopped up the plumbing, you’ll have to wait until morning. Just think of the beach as your private litter box for the night.”

“Yeah, well, the plumbing’s held up so far. But the litter box is going to come in mighty handy for your brother, who’s standing on the deck.”

Emmy shot straight up in the bed. “My brother? Which one?”

“Says his name is Joe Wayne Fuller.”

The edge of a groan seeped out. “Oh good Lord.”

“He’s wearing a black woman’s T-shirt—”

Oooo, that could be good news. “Is she with him?” She hadn’t realized she’d fisted the sheet in her hand until it relaxed.

“Who?”

“The black woman, because it’s probably my friend Shirley, and—”

“A black woman isn’t with him.” There he goes getting snippy. “He’s wearing a woman’s black T-shirt, an orange thong and cowboy boots...nothing else. And he’s beating on the door to the deck, saying I need to let him in to get some clothes.”

Emmy plopped back into her pillow, pressing a finger and thumb against her eyes. “Let me talk to him.”

“I’m not opening this door.” She could visualize Sol shaking that stubborn, shaggy head of his. “He looks crazy.”

“Is he drunk?”

Sol’s voice grew louder. “Are you drunk?”

“Not no more. But I wished to hell I was,” came the reply, slightly muffled, but she’d recognize that drawl anywhere.

“Listen, tell her me and this friend was having a little fun.” Emmy strained to hear her brother’s story. “But her husband came home and I hauled ass out of there and I got the wrong clothes and no money and I had to sneak all the way across town in the dark half-nekkid and I need some damn clothes!”

A loud smack told her he’d hit the glass door.

“So there you have it.” Sol again. “Straight from the crazy-ass’s mouth.”

“You could use a few lessons in anatomy.” She’d left herself wide open for another one of those been there, done that quips, so she hurried on. “Look...would you mind letting him in long enough to grab some clothes? And maybe loan him a few dollars? I’ll pay you back when you get home.” God, she hated asking him for a favor. But when it came to her brothers, she’d grovel if she had to. Besides, she owed Joey. He was the one she’d let down the most. Well, him and Mama. Always Mama. “Joey’s harmless. Even when he’s drunk, he’s a lovable drunk.”

She heard the door slide open and drew an easier breath.

“Thanks, man.” Joey’s voice kicked up a notch. “Thanks, EmmyLou. Love you.”

“Okay. He’s in,” Sol growled, and the sexy sound caused a flutter in her belly. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Sol...um... I’m sorry about this.” Emmy chewed her bottom lip. “But...thanks. I owe you.”

“Yes, you do.” He didn’t sound like he was kidding. “Hey, by the way, do you know if there’s any meat tenderizer in the house?”

Emmy’s brain stuttered at the abrupt change in topic. Sheesh! People said she had strange thought processes! “I...don’t...know. But if you buy your steaks at Campbell’s Meat Market—it’s only a couple blocks away—you won’t need tenderizer.”

“Oh man!” Emmy heard the shock in Joey’s voice. “What happened to y—”

“Okay, EmmyLou. Thanks. G’night.”

The phone went dead, and for a brief moment, emptiness surrounded her bed before the familiar voice chided her. “Why would you buy such a big house? You’re probably never going to get married now. All your friends married a long time ago.

“Boys are so much easier than girls. If you ever get pregnant, pray for a boy. Of course, it’s getting too late for you to have any children now.”

“Shut up, Mama.”

Emmy folded the pillow around her head as if that would silence the voice.

“Your brother’s down there with no money and probably no place to stay except with one of his no-account friends. He needs help, missy, and you more than anyone else owe him...”

Emmy threw the pillow on the floor and climbed out of bed. It was a nine-hour drive to Gulf Shores. Probably more like ten with stops to gas up and stretch.

“We’re not gonna stay, but we’ll need a few things.”

Bentley drew a long sigh as she pulled the overnight bag from her closet.

* * *

“...YOUR LEG?” JOE WAYNE finished his sentence, wishing he hadn’t as he watched the guy’s face turn the color of a pomegranate.

“Shark bit it off while I was surfing.” He leaned down and scratched a red welt on his foot.

“No shit? Hot damn!” Joe Wayne had always admired surfers. They looked so cool, riding waves like bull riders of the sea. He’d never been able to keep his balance on one of the suckers. Probably because the only time the urge hit him to try was after he’d had a few. “You still surf? You one of those guys they show on TV who suck it up and go ahead and do everything they did before?”