visit me in New York while I was in the hospital."
"What happened? Were you in traction? Broken legs?" he asked, glancing at her thighs, exposed to an almost indecently high level due to her short skirt. Then he quickly glanced away and a funny tick started in his temple.
Johnny always had been a leg man.
She thrust the thought—and the flash of unmistakable heat it caused—out of her head. Swallowing hard, she forced a note of nonchalance in her voice. "Nope, not legs. Broken head."
He gaped. "Are you kidding?"
"Minor swelling on the brain knocked me out but good for a few days. I woke up after surgery bald as a cue ball, a little confused about who I was and wondering whether Brad Pitt really had been painting my toenails while I slept."
This time, he hit his brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. Darn good thing they weren't being tail-gated, or he would have been rear-ended for sure. "You're serious?"
"Yeah," she said with a rueful sigh. "Unfortunately, Brad hadn't been visiting me during my unconscious state. That part was just a dream. Did you know they take off your nail polish when you have surgery? I didn't know until I woke up and peeked at my toes. They were dreadfully bare, so that's how I knew Brad hadn't come around."
He shot her a glare. "Would you shut up about your nail polish and get back to the bald part? Jesus, Emma Jean, did you have brain surgery?"
"The swelling had to be relieved." She fingered a short curl beside her cheek, twisting it around her finger. "Ah, well, I'd always wanted to do something drastic with my hair."
"Baldness is pretty drastic."
"So are scars on your head. Believe me, this hairdo is positively lush in comparison."
He stared at her hair, at the curl wound around her index finger. At her face.
Emma's heart skipped a beat in her chest as she took stock of the moment. God, of all the things she'd envisioned about her homecoming, there'd never been anything close to this.
Alone with Johnny. And him looking at her with the same old combination of interest, frustration and aloofness that had always driven her crazy. She wondered what he could be thinking to make his eyes sparkle such a brilliant blue, a vivid color she'd only ever before seen in the waters of the Caribbean.
Behind them, someone laid on a horn, and Johnny jerked his attention back to the road. Emma took the moment to order her heart to get back to doing its job, regular and even. And she reminded herself to breathe.
In. Out. Slower. Deeper. Calm. Relax.
Hitting the gas, Johnny took off down the street, shaking his head and muttering something beneath his breath.
"Ahem, if you're going to speak to me, could you do it louder? I didn't quite hear you."
He mumbled again, then glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She grinned.
"A lush hairdo? You always were one to see the silver lining, weren't you?" he finally said.
Not always. Not on prom night, anyway. Not until he'd shown her the silver lining. And a lot more.
"So you don't like my hair?" Emma wasn't particularly vain, but she'd thought the Marilyn Monroe look suited her. And at least, it got people to stop seeing her only as the sweet, long-haired golden girl.
The hairdo had inspired other changes, including a wardrobe renovation. Not to mention her cute sporty car. Within weeks, Emma Jean had transformed into a slightly bad girl. That was one positive thing to come out of her accident, anyway.
"I like your hair Emma Jean," he admitted. "But I meant the other silver lining. I guess you bless your accident a bit, since you got to see your grandmother one last time."
Definitely. "Yes. I'm very thankful I got to see her again."
It hurt to think of their last visit, fourteen months before, and not just because it had been the last time they'd been together. A very concerned Grandma Emmajean had said she was thinking of making some changes. She'd talked about leaving Georgia. Someone was interested in buying her land, and she'd
"What happened? Were you in traction? Broken legs?" he asked, glancing at her thighs, exposed to an almost indecently high level due to her short skirt. Then he quickly glanced away and a funny tick started in his temple.
Johnny always had been a leg man.
She thrust the thought—and the flash of unmistakable heat it caused—out of her head. Swallowing hard, she forced a note of nonchalance in her voice. "Nope, not legs. Broken head."
He gaped. "Are you kidding?"
"Minor swelling on the brain knocked me out but good for a few days. I woke up after surgery bald as a cue ball, a little confused about who I was and wondering whether Brad Pitt really had been painting my toenails while I slept."
This time, he hit his brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. Darn good thing they weren't being tail-gated, or he would have been rear-ended for sure. "You're serious?"
"Yeah," she said with a rueful sigh. "Unfortunately, Brad hadn't been visiting me during my unconscious state. That part was just a dream. Did you know they take off your nail polish when you have surgery? I didn't know until I woke up and peeked at my toes. They were dreadfully bare, so that's how I knew Brad hadn't come around."
He shot her a glare. "Would you shut up about your nail polish and get back to the bald part? Jesus, Emma Jean, did you have brain surgery?"
"The swelling had to be relieved." She fingered a short curl beside her cheek, twisting it around her finger. "Ah, well, I'd always wanted to do something drastic with my hair."
"Baldness is pretty drastic."
"So are scars on your head. Believe me, this hairdo is positively lush in comparison."
He stared at her hair, at the curl wound around her index finger. At her face.
Emma's heart skipped a beat in her chest as she took stock of the moment. God, of all the things she'd envisioned about her homecoming, there'd never been anything close to this.
Alone with Johnny. And him looking at her with the same old combination of interest, frustration and aloofness that had always driven her crazy. She wondered what he could be thinking to make his eyes sparkle such a brilliant blue, a vivid color she'd only ever before seen in the waters of the Caribbean.
Behind them, someone laid on a horn, and Johnny jerked his attention back to the road. Emma took the moment to order her heart to get back to doing its job, regular and even. And she reminded herself to breathe.
In. Out. Slower. Deeper. Calm. Relax.
Hitting the gas, Johnny took off down the street, shaking his head and muttering something beneath his breath.
"Ahem, if you're going to speak to me, could you do it louder? I didn't quite hear you."
He mumbled again, then glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She grinned.
"A lush hairdo? You always were one to see the silver lining, weren't you?" he finally said.
Not always. Not on prom night, anyway. Not until he'd shown her the silver lining. And a lot more.
"So you don't like my hair?" Emma wasn't particularly vain, but she'd thought the Marilyn Monroe look suited her. And at least, it got people to stop seeing her only as the sweet, long-haired golden girl.
The hairdo had inspired other changes, including a wardrobe renovation. Not to mention her cute sporty car. Within weeks, Emma Jean had transformed into a slightly bad girl. That was one positive thing to come out of her accident, anyway.
"I like your hair Emma Jean," he admitted. "But I meant the other silver lining. I guess you bless your accident a bit, since you got to see your grandmother one last time."
Definitely. "Yes. I'm very thankful I got to see her again."
It hurt to think of their last visit, fourteen months before, and not just because it had been the last time they'd been together. A very concerned Grandma Emmajean had said she was thinking of making some changes. She'd talked about leaving Georgia. Someone was interested in buying her land, and she'd
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