JULE McBRIDE is a native West Virginian. Her dream to write romances came true in the nineties with the publication of her debut novel, Wild Card Wedding. It received a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Series Romance. Since then, the author has been nominated for multiple awards, including two lifetime achievement awards. She has written for several series and currently makes her happy home at Blaze®. A prolific writer, she has almost fifty titles to her credit.

Naked Ambition
Jule McBride

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

Chapter One

November 2007

EVERY TIME SHE SO MUCH AS LOOKED at J. D. Johnson, Susannah Banner could swear she felt his big, hot hands removing all her clothes, never even bothering to leave behind the panties. Even worse, the undeserving man had had this bothersome effect on her since she was only five years old, knee-high to a grasshopper her daddy had called her.

Yes, J.D. had started ruining her life as early as grade school, where she’d had the misfortune of first meeting him, Susannah fumed as she drove her compact car along Palmer Road, past Hodges’ Motor Lodge. She then cornered off the main drag and into the back parking lot of Delia’s Diner to hide the car so J.D. wouldn’t see it if he followed her. She’d been young when she’d met J.D., and well, what little girl—especially one so innocent as Susannah—could have seen through a male as duplicitous as J. D. Johnson?

Years later, when Susannah was old enough, she’d fantasized about him for hours, a mistake that had led to hot-heavy sex and feelings of sincere regret. Not even in a proper bed, she reminded herself, her fury rising, but in the bed of his daddy’s pickup truck.

Just minutes ago, J.D. had drawn his last straw, and she was still reeling. Oh, Susannah knew he hadn’t been born with the sense God gave a gnat, but then what man had? J.D. possessed the devil’s double-edged tongue when it came to sweet-talking his way out of bad tasting situations, too. And he’d been gifted with a singing voice that could charm the skin off a rattlesnake, and worse, the pants off any female country-western fan in America.

Susannah wasn’t like those women, though, she thought as she headed toward the door to Delia’s. Why should Susannah be impressed by J.D.’s good fortune, after all? Like everybody else in Bayou Banner, she’d known him before he was rich and famous. In fact, she was one of the chosen few who knew what the initials J.D. stood for.

“I just wish I hadn’t married you, Jeremiah Dashiell,” she muttered. It had been her biggest mistake. Tears shimmering in her soft blue eyes, she tossed one of her trademark oversize handbags into the corner that she and her best friend, Ellie Lee, occupied every Saturday morning for breakfast.

As Susannah scooted in after the bag, Ellie set aside a tented white reserved card written in Delia’s calligraphy.

“Please forgive me!” Susannah began, scarcely registering that Ellie was still wearing sunglasses, although the day was overcast. “J.D. made me late.” Susannah shook her head, making the ends of her long, wavy sun-streaked blond hair swirl around her face. “God, I hate him! I just wish I’d had sex with somebody besides him just once. But no,” she continued, “I’ve always been faithful.” She’d doubted that was the case with J.D., and now her worst fears had been realized. She blinked back tears. “Do you realize he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, Ellie?”

“Sure, I was born the day after you in the hospital in Bayou Blair,” Ellie reminded. “So I’ve known you even longer than you’ve known J.D. And I agree. I think you should have slept with that banjo player, at least. Remember the hottie who played in J.D.’s band in high school? The one who looked like Justin Timberlake?”

“The one who called every time me and J.D. hit the skids?”

Susannah muttered, wondering how she was going to tell Ellie what had just happened. Thinking about the banjo player was a welcome diversion. She’d kissed him and let him feel her breasts, but that was all. “How could I forget him? Of course, three weeks after I saw him, I married J.D.” She glared down at the gold band on her ring finger.

“You should have insisted on an engagement,” Ellie mused, eyeing the band. “That would have given you time to consider the consequences.”

“True.” After his career had taken off, J.D. had offered to buy her a diamond, so it would look as if they’d been engaged, but Susannah had refused, since that would have ruined the spontaneity of their wedding night. Now, of course, their whole marriage was a lie. “You think I would have stayed single if I’d talked to somebody with a crystal ball?”

“Honey, not even Mama Ambrosia could have seen your and J.D.’s future.”

The local fortune teller had a cabin on a meandering tributary near Bayou Banner. As angry as she was, Susannah could admit Ellie was right. Not even a professional such as Mama Ambrosia could explain the magic that still happened sometimes between Susannah and J.D. They’d even made up their own private language for it, with code phrases for lovemaking such as scarves and cards or hats and rabbits.

J.D.’s slow drawl rumbled in Susannah’s ear, and she could almost feel his warm breath tickling the lobe. “What about a game of scarves and cards, Susannah?”

He’d proposed on one of those liquid-velvet nights the Mississippi Delta had made famous, when the moon was just right, and shadows on the surface of the bayou rippled like fairy wings, making everything seem like an illusion, including scents of forsythia that stirred in the midnight air as gently as the cream in Madame Ambrosia’s darkest love potions.

Their prom clothes—his tux and her butter-yellow dress beside them—they’d been lying naked on their backs on pine needles, stargazing through the waving fronds of willow branches. With a voice as smooth as the inky sky, J.D. had sung the traditional song, “Oh, Susannah”—something he always did, since his family had come from Alabama—then he’d whispered, “I want to marry you right now, oh, Susannah Banner.”

She’d smiled into blue eyes, threading her fingers in the dark hair of his chest, then she’d kissed him, his light goatee tickling her nose and chin. “You want to marry me right now?” she’d teased, just to hear him say it again. She’d never heard anything as sexy as his drawl, and everybody else felt the same way. His voice was smoky and mysterious, a low bass rumble that came from his chest and shot into a listener’s bloodstream like a Cupid’s arrow tinged with sex. “I want to marry you this very second.”

“Why should I say yes?” she’d kindly inquired.

“Because when we’re legal, we can lie in bed all day.”

“Now there’s a typical J.D. answer.” She’d laughed. “Sex is never far from your mind, is it?”

“Does that bother you, oh, Susannah?”

“Your sex drive is the only thing I like about you, J.D.,” she’d assured, although secretly she’d hadn’t much minded his sense of humor, either.

She had been eighteen then, and since her parents had died the year before when their car crashed on the road between Bayou Blair and Bayou Banner during a flash flood, there had been nobody left to stop Susannah from marrying bad-boy J.D., except her big sister, June, who was ten years older. And of course, Susannah had never once listened to June.

“Well, J.D.,” she’d said reasonably. “All we have to do is drive into Bayou Blair and find ourselves a preacher and a place to get a blood test.”

And so, by the next morning, they were husband and wife.

Back then, J.D. had been playing music in clubs around the tristate, and he and his band could haul equipment in nothing larger than a cargo van. Now he came with an entourage, and she was lucky if his publicist, Maureen, would even share his most current cell phone number. Susannah had never been interested in gadgets, but her traditionally decorated house was full of them at the moment—everything from new phones to fancy laptop computers and an intricate home alarm system she couldn’t even operate.

“Susannah? You gonna have the usual?”

Delia’s voice cut through her reverie. Thankfully Delia was the polar opposite of J.D. Nothing had ever changed the diner owner—not two divorces, or losing her mama to cancer, or having her last boyfriend run off with the librarian from Bayou Blair. Come hell or high water, Delia remained as steady as a rock. She was a little plump, with a pretty face that never aged, and she’d always worn the same tan uniform and white apron. As always she was unsheathing a pencil from a mussed bun of tawny hair as if it were a tiny sword. She pointed it at an order pad, ready to do battle.

“What are you girls having?” she drawled.

Susannah shrugged undecidedly, thinking that Delia had even looked this way years ago when Susannah and June had come here with their folks every Saturday morning. Memories made Susannah’s heart squeeze. After her folks had passed, Ellie had begun meeting Susannah here every Saturday, keeping up the Banner family tradition. When nothing else in the world helped, smelling sausage frying on Delia’s grill could usually soothe Susannah.

“I’m not sure, Delia…” Susannah forced herself to stare at the menu, only to notice her wedding ring and feel a wave of depression. “I’m not very hungry. Maybe toast—”

Groaning, Delia dropped the order pad into her apron pocket and planted her hands on her hips. “I should have known something was wrong by the crazy way you pulled into my parking lot. What did your devil in blue jeans do now?”

“Not a thing,” Susannah lied, knowing if she opened her mouth—at least to anybody except Ellie—her dirty laundry would be hanging out for all of Bayou Banner to see. Of course, before J.D., Susannah’s own mama had caused a few eyebrows to rise around town, too.

Still, the Banners had been the town’s most prominent family, and Susannah had hoped to uphold tradition. However, instead of decorating the town square’s Christmas tree or spearheading the Easter egg drive, she’d spent most of her time apologizing for her rowdy husband and his big-city friends, all of whom made her mama look tame.

Suddenly, something inside Susannah’s chest wrenched, and she almost uttered a soft cry; she could swear her heart had done three somersaults and now, it was aching to beat the band. How could she get the old J.D. back? The sweet, gentle man she’d married?

If only her mama was alive! Barbara Banner would have known how to handle J.D. She’d been a delicate woman who read too much, painted in her spare time and was overly emotional and prone to indulge too many fantasies, the type to take to her bed in winters, and to get involved in dramas of her own making. Still, her advice about men was always on target. Realizing Delia and Ellie were staring at her, Susannah blinked.

“You sure you’re okay, honey?” asked Delia.

“Fine,” Susannah lied. Knowing only a hearty appetite would appease Delia, she added, “I changed my mind. I’ll have the usual. In fact, you’d better add extra grits.” As she said the words, her stomach rumbled. Like most Southern women, Susannah included, Delia had inherited enough mouthwatering recipes to open a restaurant. For years, Susannah had been begging Delia to share her recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie, but Delia kept refusing, saying the ingredients were top secret. “I’ll have my favorite pie for dessert,” Susannah added.

For Delia, having dessert after breakfast showed proof of mental stability—it was as good as formal papers signed by the board of health—so she sighed in relief, then took Ellie’s order and headed for the counter, saying over her shoulder, “I’m puttin’ cornbread on top of them grits, too, honey-bun. That’ll keep that miserable excuse for a man from scrambling your noggin. Yes ma’am, the only thing I allow to be scrambled in Delia’s Diner is my own damn eggs.”

Lifting a hand so as to display her airbrushed nails, Delia held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart to indicate the minuscule length of J.D.’s penis. “Johnson’s johnson,” she called loudly, just in case Susannah hadn’t caught the allusion.

Susannah wished it were true, but unfortunately J.D. was hung like a racehorse, and he knew how to use every inch of his equipment. Otherwise Susannah would have divorced him by now, or at least that’s what she told herself.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ellie drawled as Delia put in their order.

“I have. Of my own husband. Oh, he was always kind of wild. Everybody knows that, Ellie. I hate to admit it, but that’s why I fell in love with him. I think J.D.’s shenanigans remind me of Mama. Remember how dramatic she could be? So full of life? How she’d race around town in that little pink convertible Daddy bought her? But this…” She shook her head. “He threw another wild party.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“True.” But the house they shared, Banner Manor, meant the world to Susannah, and one of her dreams had been to restore its former glory. She and June had grown up there, and despite its sizable acreage and isolated location, nestled in a grove of mature oaks, Susannah had kept living there after her folks were gone. By then, June had moved into town with her husband, Clive, and they’d had two kids.

So naturally J.D. had moved in after he’d married Susannah. They hadn’t even discussed it, no more than they’d talked about having kids or sharing finances. At eighteen and twenty-two, respectively, passion had been their focus.

“What?” prompted Ellie, drawing Susannah from her reverie once more. “Did some cigarette-smoking guitar player burn another hole in the upholstery?”

Susannah visualized a nicotine stain left on her mama’s favorite love seat, wishing it were that simple. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Do you remember how I was going to that two-day seminar you turned me onto, in Bayou Blair? The one about how to start your own business?” Because she figured J.D.’s new friends would only destroy any improvements she made at Banner Manor, and she wasn’t going to have kids while J.D. was acting like a kid himself, Susannah was considering opening a shop, although she didn’t yet know what kind.

“You went, right?”

“Yeah. I got back this morning, so I figured I’d stop by the house before I met you, drop off my bags and say hi to J.D. I mean, I’ve been gone for two days.” It was her longest trip away from home since high school, and the sad truth was, she’d enjoyed it, except that the seminar had been in the town where she and J.D. had eloped.

“You found a house full of people?”

“You knew?”

“You just missed Sheriff Kemp. He told everybody in Delia’s that he got complaints last night about noise.”

“Sheriff Kemp? Was he in here flirting with Delia again?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t ask her out yet.”

Ever since Delia’s boyfriend left her, the sheriff had been sniffing around. “How could he get a complaint about our house? You know how isolated it is!”

“Gladys Walsh drove up to the door out of sheer nosiness.”

The woman was a known town biddy. “Next thing you know, Mama Ambrosia will see parties in her crystal ball and start communicating with busybodies telepathically.” Susannah sighed. “I’m at my wit’s end,” she added, her throat closing with unshed tears. “J.D.’s a grown man. He ought to be thinking about settling down.” At first, she’d enjoyed the parties, been excited to share J.D.’s new success, but things had spun out of control, and lately she missed the normal life they’d once shared. But now the stuff had really hit the fan…

“He’s under pressure,” Ellie ventured.

“I know,” Susannah said. In the past six years, he’d become Bayou Banner’s most celebrated native son, the only homengrown talent, and she and Ellie had discussed the issues related to his good fortune many times. Nevertheless, even Ellie’s lover, Robby Robriquet, wouldn’t hang around J.D. anymore, and those two had been as thick as thieves since birth.

“When I married him, we had sex every five minutes, and I was ready to start a family. Everybody said I was too young, but Mama and Daddy were gone, and June was married, and I wanted that life for J.D. and me. I figured he’d keep playing music on weekends and take over the bait-and-tackle shop when his folks retired to Florida, since he worked there all his life.”

Instead, two years into the six-year marriage, J.D. had hired someone else to handle the shop, and Susannah had been trying to get pregnant. She and J.D. had even seen a fertility specialist, but he’d just said their timing wasn’t right.

Susannah squeezed her eyes shut, recalling the day J.D. and his band had auditioned to be on a nationally televised talent show. They’d gotten on, then won, but only J.D. had been pursued by a record company; they’d insisted he work with a new band. Not that his buddies held a grudge about that. Everybody agreed that J.D.’s talent was special. Still, one thing had led to another, and there were rumors that J.D.’s third record might be nominated in the coming year for a prestigious music award.

“He’s so full of himself,” Susannah continued. “Like a stranger. And not a stranger I’d want to know.” Sometimes after dark, she would sit in her car, in the driveway of Banner Manor, dreading going inside her own home. It was as if the world’s worst forces were in there, fighting to claim J.D.’s soul and he was losing.

“When I got home this morning, the door to Mama and Daddy’s old room was open. And you remember how I asked J.D. to keep that room off limits to his buddies?” Musicians, groupies, a cameraman and publicist were staying in the house, and more than once, Susannah had run into people in her own kitchen whom she’d never met before. “It’s the one thing I made J.D. swear he’d do for me.”

“I witnessed that conversation.” Ellie frowned. “And that woman was there, too. You know, the tall, gorgeous one who looks like a model?” Pausing, Ellie added, “I think she’d be more attractive if she lost the military look. She’s always wearing those heavy boots and flak-inspired jackets?”

Boy did she. “That’s her. Sandy Smithers.” She was with a group who’d come, supposedly, to help J.D. arrange music for his new lyrics. “Until this morning, I thought she was with that lanky blond bass player,” Susannah said.

“Joel Murray?”

“Yeah. He’s a studio musician.” Susannah nodded, feeling sick. She’d never changed anything in her folks’ room, and since their passing, that had comforted her. But…“When I went in this morning, Laurie—”

“Laurie?”

“Was in Mama and Daddy’s bed with Joel.”

“Laurie? June’s daughter? Your niece?”

Susannah nodded.

“She’s fifteen! That’s statutory rape!”

“She hadn’t slept with him yet. They were just…Well…she was wearing panties, but he was naked.”

“The guy must be at least thirty. What did you do?”

“Shrieked like a banshee, tossed him into the hallway, then told Laurie to get dressed and wait in the car. After that, I headed for my and J.D.’s room—”

“And?”

“Oh, Ellie,” she said in a rush. “J.D. was in bed with that woman Sandy Smithers.”

“No!”

Invisible bands tightened around Susannah’s chest and she couldn’t breathe. “Well, I must have screamed. I don’t really know. I was in such shock. She jumped up, grabbed the sheet and ran—”

“She was naked?”

“Totally. By then, J.D. was up, and I said…” Shaking her head, she decided she’d never repeat what she’d said. Already the words were haunting her, and she had to fight the impulse to run home, find J.D. and take everything back. Just as in the past, a tender touch would make everything all right. Surely there was a reason he’d been in bed with Sandy. But what kind of excuse would explain that.

“Susannah?”

She barely heard her friend. “I told him I’m leaving him,” she managed. “Among a few other choice words. I love him, but I shouldn’t have stayed this long, Ellie.”

“Well, you never had a choice.”

“True.” Susannah was his. And J.D. was hers. Even as kids, they’d recognized they belonged together. He’d been mean at first—tweaking her braids at school and trying to get a glimpse of her panties every time she climbed trees, tomboy that she was. Later, he’d played the big brother she’d never had, defending her honor. Then, he’d started touching her in a way no other man ever would, proving there was more to sex than the mere merging of bodies. Call it chemistry. Or magic. But a thousand men could walk past and Susannah’s pulse wouldn’t race, and her knees wouldn’t weaken, and she wouldn’t feel breathless and painfully aware of every sweet place she wanted J. D. Johnson—and only J. D. Johnson—to touch.

Just thinking about loving him sent a rush of adrenaline through her system. Tingles skated down her spine, her nipples peaked and suddenly, she was aware of her upper thighs, not to mention the ache between them. A slow, enticing longing made her shudder. The truth was, she could almost orgasm just thinking about J.D. Dammit, she fumed, he was supposed to be her everything—her lover forever. A father to the kids they were meant to make together.

“Falling out of love is the worst thing that can happen to a person,” she whispered miserably. Could she get through a night without cuddling his hard, muscular body, or listening to his steady breathing lull her to sleep? Even now, when they were fighting, she spent hours craving the lovemaking they used to share, before they’d started growing apart. Her hands wanted to cup his broad shoulders, then trace over his pectorals and his washboard-flat belly.

Worse, with her mother gone and June married, there was nobody to give advice except Ellie—and Ellie had never been married before, either. Still, Susannah’s marriage had ended before this morning. Sometimes the spark would ignite unexpectedly, of course. Flames would devour Susannah and J.D., and for a moment, she’d believe their estrangement to be over, only to experience heartbreak once more.

“Mama used to say the secret to love is learning to forget,” she murmured. But now Susannah had no choice but to acknowledge all the things J.D. was doing wrong. An image of him and Sandy flashed in her mind, both naked as jaybirds.

“Where’s Laurie now?” Ellie finally asked.

“I dropped her off,” Susannah said. “June thought she’d spent the night with a girlfriend. Laurie was wearing an inchlong skirt, ripped fishnets, knee-high boots, and she had a fake tattoo on her thigh, of a skull and crossbones.”

“J.D.’s a lousy influence. Did she realize you found him in bed…”

Susannah quickly shook her head, her heart aching. All these years, she’d suspected him, but now…

“Here you go, ladies!” Delia arrived, setting down two oversize platters. “Eat hearty. Those plates better get so clean that I won’t have to wash them.”

“Ellie!” Susannah exclaimed when Delia was gone and Ellie removed sunglasses and lifted her fork, only to use the tines to toy with her eggs. Where Susannah was tall and willowy with honey hair and brown eyes, Ellie had a square-shouldered, almost boyish build. Her jaw-length, jet-black, wavy hair was pressed right up against her peaches-and-cream skin, making her look like a forties film star. “Your eyes are more red, white and blue than an American flag,” Susannah said. “You’ve been crying.”

“All morning.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so fixated on J.D. that I didn’t notice. What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“I thought things were great. Your daddy’s about to announce you’ll be running your family’s company after he retires next week, right?” Ellie was a shoe-in, mostly because she’d come from a family of n’er-do-well brothers—the sort of man Bayou Banner bred like fire ants. Ellie’s brothers weren’t reliable enough to run such an accurate polling service.

“Robby promised me that when Daddy made his announcement, we’d tell him about us. Then we made love all night.”

Susannah slid the charm along the chain around her neck as she did when she felt worried. Ellie had an identical necklace, and both charms had been engraved with the words, Remember the Time. Years ago, on a rainy Saturday in Bayou Blair, they’d asked a jeweler to make them.

“Then what?” Susannah prodded. After Robby had finished graduate school, he’d begun working for Ellie’s father, a man known around town as Daddy Eddie.

“When I woke up, I could tell he’d been staring at me while I slept.”

“And?”

“He said Daddy’s giving him the job.”

Susannah gasped. “Lees have run the company since it started. And that was back in the eighteen-hundreds.”

“Right. So I called Daddy. But he said it’s true. Robby could have told me last night, but before we made love, he sat there listening to me talk about how we’d work it out, once I got promoted and he was reporting to me.”

“Robby accepted the job?”

“This morning he said we should get married, and I should quit work and raise our family.”

“That snake in the grass!” Susannah exploded. She’d set out to be a homemaker, but Ellie had gone to college and graduate school. “You got honors in economics and statistics, and all the while, you were running Lee Polls. Your brothers were in school up North for years, flunking out of their classes, too.” Every single one of Ellie’s life decisions had been made with an eye to running the company, but Robby had just started working for Daddy Eddie this year. “What are you going to do?”

Ellie’s blue eyes turned steely. “Go to New York and start another polling business to compete with Daddy and Robby.”

Ellie was leaving Robby and Lee Polls? It would work out fine, of course. Ellie had traveled more than Susannah, especially since Susannah had come to hate accompanying J.D. when he’d started playing to larger crowds. People had treated her like arm candy, and that had been a blow to her ego, invalidating her many years with J.D.

“Come with me, Susannah.”

“To New York? To do what?” Her résumé consisted of a high-school diploma and the two-day seminar she’d just attended at a hotel near the airport in Bayou Blair. She’d always planned to stay in Bayou Banner and raise a family.

“You could find a man,” said Ellie. “At least you could say you slept with somebody besides J.D.”

“Other guys never got Robby out of your system,” Susannah reminded, still reeling. “But not seeing J.D. on the street would help,” she suddenly added. “I can’t divorce him if he’s nearby.”

“He’d change your mind for sure.”

Yes, he’d start kissing Susannah, delivering those little nibbles which were almost as famous as his music, then he’d take off her clothes, undoing buttons with his teeth, murmuring sweet nothings all the while. He’d trail hopelessly hot, wet butterfly kisses down her neck, the ones he knew drove her crazy, and by the time her panties hit the floor, she’d do whatever J.D. wanted. It had happened every time she’d tried to leave him, which lately, was about once a week. “I hate him,” she whispered.

“Divorce is too good for him.”

“The only thing I want from my marriage is what I brought to it,” Susannah said bravely. “Just Banner Manor. And it would do me good to have sex with somebody else. Anybody, really. Maybe even a few people,” Susannah added, the idea taking hold.

“I’m going to sleep with everybody I can,” Ellie assured her.

Imagining all the hypothetical studs, Susannah said, “They wouldn’t even have to be very cute, would they?”

“No. The whole point would be to get our minds off J.D. and Robby.”

“I can’t watch J.D. pack his bags,” Susannah admitted. “I’d feel too sorry for him and maybe have pity sex. He’s the one who should move into Hodges’ Motor Lodge.” It was where all husbands in Bayou Banner went during separations.

“You have money. You’re still handling J.D.’s finances.”

She could write herself a check for the trouble he’d caused her, but Susannah never would. “I don’t want J.D.’s money.” She’d settle for the ghost of the man she married. She’d been so sure she was marrying a guy who would run a tackle shop his whole life, and who’d be a good daddy to his kids.

“We can share a place until he leaves Banner Manor,” Ellie urged. “I’ll lend you cash until he’s out of the house.”

It would only be for a week or so. “I hate leaving him in Banner Manor, even for ten minutes.” Especially with Sandy there. Fighting tears, she told herself that the other woman was no longer her concern since she was leaving J.D.

“It won’t be for long,” Ellie said. “Your folks left the house to you. J.D. doesn’t need it. Between a lawyer and Sheriff Kemp, all those people will be gone soon.”

By then, Susannah should have racked up some flings and J.D. would be just a memory.

“I just wish he wasn’t such a…” Pausing, she searched for the right words and settled on, “Alpha man.”

“Him and Robby both. Alphas of the Delta.”

Susannah almost smiled at the play on words, but her heart was hurting. Suddenly tires screeched outside. She and Ellie craned their necks to peer through Delia’s window just as a late-model black truck swerved on Palmer and turned down Vine.

“J.D.,” Susannah muttered. “He’s going to kill somebody driving like that. And with my luck, it won’t even be himself.”

“At least he’s not in that new boat,” Ellie muttered.

Named the Alabama, the cabin cruiser was docked at a marina on the river. Given the wild company J.D. was keeping, Susannah had blown a gasket when she’d seen it, knowing that somebody would eventually was going to get hurt. “You’re too cautious,” J.D. had said. “You’ve got to loosen up, Susannah. Have a good time.”

Like he did last night, Susannah thought once more, an image of Sandy’s nude body flashing in her mind. “He’s probably headed to June’s. I told him I was going there, and that you were on a business trip, so he wouldn’t follow me here.” Her voice broke. “Oh, Ellie, what happened to him?”

“Fame. He changed, Susannah. He wasn’t always like this. He used to be one of the best people I know.”

Susannah’s eyes narrowed. Suitcases were piled in the backseat of Ellie’s car. “You packed already?”

“My flight’s in an hour. I came to say goodbye.”

Goodbye? Susannah stared at the corner of Palmer and Vine, from which her husband had just vanished. The intersection had been a landmark as far back as she could remember, but now J.D. was out of sight and Ellie was saying goodbye. Susannah was at the crossroad, too. She loved J.D. Still, she deserved a more stable life with a man who wouldn’t betray her.

“J.D.’s obviously not home now,” she found herself saying. “So…I’ll run in and grab a few things.”

“Really?”

Susannah nodded. “I’ll come with you, Ellie.”

A heartbeat passed, then the two women said in unison what they always had when making a new memory together. It was the phrase that had prompted them to have the charms on their necklaces engraved, one that had started so many sentences of their conversations. “Remember the time.”

Already, both could hear the other saying, “Remember the time we were sitting in Delia’s Diner? You know, the day we left J.D. and Robby?”

In years to come, it might well prove to be their most pivotal decision. “Remember the time,” they whispered, eyes locking. Then they hooked pinkie fingers, shut their eyes and made silent wishes. A moment later, after leaving bills on the table, they headed toward the door.

“Ladies!” Delia called. “You didn’t clean my plates, and now I’m going to have to wash them! You didn’t even eat your dessert. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“On an adventure,” Susannah called as she opened the door.

And then she and Ellie linked arms and stepped across the threshold, toward their future.

Chapter Two

Eight months later

“SUSANNAH, YOU’RE MORE FAMOUS than J.D.,” Ellie teased, smoothing a hand over her black cocktail dress and looking around Susannah’s restaurant. “And any minute now, you’re going to get the call saying J.D. finally agreed to your terms in the divorce!”

“Don’t forget your polling company has been just as successful. Besides, none of this would have happened without you and Joe,” Susannah said breathlessly, her heart full to bursting as she glanced around the cozy eatery she’d opened six months before, then at Joe O’Grady the man who’d unexpectedly walked into her life. “When the foxhole shuts, the rabbit hutch opens,” her mama had always said. Still, Susannah was nervous about getting the call she expected from her lawyer tonight.

At noon, when she’d spoken to J.D. for the first time in eight months, he’d said, “Susannah, come home. Come tonight. Now. We have to talk.”

“Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Liar.”

“Listen to me, sweetheart.”

Against her will, she’d felt his voice pulling her heartstrings. “Are your friends still in our house?”

Our house. She’d said the words, knowing Banner Manor would remain hers and J.D.’s even after he was no longer allowed inside. “They’re not my friends.”

“At least you finally realized that.”

“I’ll get everybody out.”

That meant he hadn’t yet. “Promises,” Susannah managed to say. “I can’t see you,” she’d added, then kicked herself for even having considered it.

“Just do it. We’re worth it. What about all the years we’ve spent together? Come to town. Don’t meet me at the house. That way you won’t see any other people. Go to the Alabama,” he’d coaxed, picking up on her vulnerability. “Just you and me. No lawyers. No music people. There’s a direct flight in two hours. I checked. You’ll be at the airport in Bayou Blair by seven this evening, on the Alabama by eight. Just go outside right now and catch a cab to the airport. Don’t pass go. You know we can’t get a divorce.”

It was just like him, spontaneous to a fault, showing he’d never change, but she’d begin to weaken, anyway. “I can’t.”

“You have to, Susannah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

For a second, it seemed the best argument she’d ever heard.

“Say yes.”

The one word—so simple but so complex when it came to J.D.—came out before she could stop it. “Yes.”

“Eight o’clock on the Alabama,” he’d repeated quickly. Before she could change her mind, she heard a soft click, then the dial tone.

For the next few hours, she’d watched the clock, her eyes fixed on the minute hand until the time of the flight came and went. Then she’d phoned her attorney, Garrison Bedford, and explained that she was being pressured. When Garrison called back moments later he reported that J.D. now understood she wasn’t coming, and had to agree to the terms of the divorce. He’d promised to sign all necessary papers and vacate the house by eight, which was when she’d agreed to meet him. Now Susannah was waiting for Garrison’s final call.

Just a few moments ago, she’d thought it had come. She’d been called to the phone, but then the caller had hung up. Maybe it was J.D. again. Each step in the separation had been messy. For months, J.D. had tried to keep Banner Manor, if only to antagonize Susannah. “He’s saying possession’s ninetenths of the law,” Garrison first reported.

So Susannah had settled into the two-bedroom apartment she and Ellie had rented on the Lower East Side. She’d started scanning personal ads, just like Ellie, looking for hot dates, but then Garrison told her to stop, since it would jeopardize her divorce. She’s also taken the first waitress job she’d been offered.

By the end of her first day at Joe O’Grady’s, she’d realized that sipping sodas while J.D. played music at various venues had taught her reams about the restaurant business and booking acts. Within a week, she’d devised an innovative plan to rearrange Joe’s restaurant, expanding seating capacity and revenue, then she’d doctored the pecan pie on his dessert menu by adding ingredients from her mama’s recipe, which in Bayou Banner, had been as famous as Delia’s strawberry-rhubarb confection.

“She’s amazing,” Joe had bragged to Ellie, not bothering to hide his attraction when both women dined in his restaurant. “Susannah’s got a knack for this industry. She talked to our chef about the menu, and he’s desperate to try all her recipes. She ought to open her own place.”

“That’s a great idea,” Ellie had enthused.

“As soon as J.D. agrees to the terms of the divorce, I’m going home to Banner Manor,” Susannah had reminded.

“You only have to supervise when you first open,” Joe had assured her, having heard about her situation during their interview. “Somebody else can manage the business later.”

“J.D. hired somebody to run his daddy’s tackle shop,” Susannah had admitted, wishing she wasn’t still so fixated on J.D. Unlike Ellie, she’d found something wrong with every potential lover in the personals. They were too tall, too short, too smart or not smart enough, and as much as she’d hated to admit it, their only true flaw was that they weren’t J.D. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t have a fling till the divorce was finalized.

“Lee Polls is being run by an outsider,” Ellie had reminded, as she and Joe had continued talking.

“I’m a financial partner in other eateries around town,” Joe had continued. “I backed an ex-chef when he opened his own place and hired a manager here, so I can spend more time downtown booking acts in my jazz club, Blue Skies.”

Ellie had shown Susannah an article about the club. “You own Blue Skies, too,” Ellie had murmured, admiring Joe’s entrepreneurial skills.

“Because my favorite part of the job is booking acts, I’m there in the afternoons when people audition,” Joe had explained. “Susannah, if you’ve got more recipes as good as the one for pecan pie, and if you want to open a place, I might agree to be a partner, and even bring in music acts.”

Susannah had started to feel as if she was stepping into a fairy tale. “You’re offering to back me financially?”

“I’d have to sample your menu first,” Joe had said, his tone suggesting he wanted to try more than just food.

“If we can make money, I’m in, too,” Ellie had said.

“Tons,” Joe assured.

Ellie and Joe had continued talking about restaurant leases, health codes and liquor licenses, but Susannah had barely heard. She’d begun mentally riffling through recipes handed down by women in her family for generations. The idea of opening a Southern-style eatery like Delia’s Diner was so exciting that whole minutes passed during which Susannah didn’t even think about J.D. It was the first relief she’d felt, and more than anything else, that had spurred her on.

“I can use Mama’s recipes!” she’d exclaimed. “Why, Ellie, you know how everybody always loved her vinaigrette-mustard coleslaw and barbequed lima beans.”

“Her hot pepper cheese grits were the best,” Ellie had answered. “And nothing beats her cardamom-sassafras tea and home-churned ice cream with fresh-crushed mint.”

And so, Oh Susannah’s was born in a hole-in-the-wall near the famous Katz deli on New York’s Lower East Side, on Attorney Street, close to the apartment they were renting. Even the street’s name had seemed fitting, given Susannah’s ongoing long-distance legal battle with J.D. Putting her energy into the restaurant had helped her escape negative emotions, and she’d wound up using the butter-yellow and cherry-red color scheme she’d spent so much time devising for the kitchen at Banner Manor. The white eyelet curtains she’d dreamed about covered the windows, and mismatched rugs adorned hardwood floors. Short-stemmed flowers were bunched on rustic tables in mason jars.

A month after the opening, The New York Times had run a picture of Susannah, Joe and Ellie, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. The dining experience had been called “down-home elegance,” and ever since, there had been a line outside the door. Delia’s recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie had arrived with a note that read,

The article’s pinned to the bulletin board at the diner. You and Ellie have done Bayou Banner proud, and your folks would be tickled pink. Seeing as my competition (you) has moved out of state, I’m hoping you won’t hurt me with my own recipe. Just promise not to franchise anytime soon!

P.S., J.D. got even crazier after you left town, if that can be imagined. Of course, since Sheriff Kemp finally asked me out on a date (and I’m going), I’ll do whatever I can to keep your soon-to-be-ex-husband from getting arrested. But you must know: Mama Ambrosia came in for coffee, and she says trouble is brewing in J.D.’s future.

Later that day, Susannah’s emotions had tangled into knots. Since the New York Times article was on Delia’s bulletin board, J.D. must have seen it, which would serve him right. He wasn’t the only one who make a name for themselves. She didn’t want to rub his nose in her success, she told herself now, glancing around Oh Susannah’s, but the man deserved some comeuppance. Yes…revenge was a dish best served cold, she decided with satisfaction, studying a slice of Delia’s pie as a waiter passed.

Still, what had Delia meant when she’d said J.D. was worse than before? Was the gorgeous Sandy Smithers gone? And was there more trouble on the horizon, as Mama Ambrosia claimed.

Kicking herself for caring, Susannah reminded herself of all the holidays, birthdays and anniversaries J.D. had missed. Before he’d gotten famous, holidays had been fun. On Valentine’s Day, J.D. had licked chocolate syrup from all her erogenous zones, and now, as she recalled the event, an unwanted shiver of longing sizzled along her veins, then ka-boomed at her nerve endings in a grand finale.

No matter how much she fought it, desire for him felt like a rope uncoiling inside her. Her hands were burning to grab that rope and climb, but it wound around and around her making her dizzy as it spun.

Now she was coming undone, imagining J.D.’s hands grabbing the backs of her thighs, pulling her close. His hips connected, rocking with hers, and his erection was hot and hard, searing her belly. Sensation suddenly somersaulted into her limbs, racing to all her choicest places, and tiny jolts of electricity shot to her toes like lightning.

She could almost taste J.D.’s mouth, too, which was always as sweet as cotton candy. Realizing she’d been swept away again by her own imagination, she thanked God she hadn’t gone to meet him on the Alabama and groaned inwardly, reminding herself to think of her soon-to-be-ex-husband as poison. And as soon as Garrison called tonight to say her divorce was final, she was going to take an antidote called “sex with Joe O’Grady.”

“I can’t wait to hear Tara Jones sing,” Ellie was saying, nodding toward the stage.

This was the first time live music was being offered. “Me, neither,” Susannah managed, but in reality, she just wished she could shake off the aftershocks of her fantasy about J.D. The backs of her knees felt weak and her pulse uneven.

Clearing her throat, Susannah added, “She wants a low-key place to play on weekends, but I’m not sure I can stand to hear country-western,” The last thing she needed was to hear Willie Nelson singing “Angel Flying Too Close To the Ground,” or Johnny Cash and June Carter’s snappy version of “Walk The Line,” or Patsy Cline belting out “Crazy.”

New York wasn’t agreeing with her, either. Even without Sandy Smithers in the picture, Susannah might have run away with Ellie just to escape J.D.’s big-city friends. All their hustle, bustle and hype had been worrying her every last nerve. Now that she’d traded places and was living in their world, she missed Banner Manor even more. A new part-time manager at the restaurant was working out well, so technically Susannah could have toured the city some, but she just wasn’t interested.

Ellie was taking to the place like a fish to water, but Susannah was still pretending she was sleeping in her big brass bed in Banner Manor. Oh, it was fanciful, but she’d strain her ears until she could hear willow branches brushing against the windows in tandem with J.D.’s breathing. A chime made out of sterling silver spoons that she’d hung outside would sound, then she’d hear a gurgle from a dam he’d built in the creek to create a nearby waterfall.

Sometimes, if she imagined extra hard, she could almost hear the familiar creaks of the old house settling down for the night, then the whir of crickets and splashes of gators and fish in the wetlands. Music of the swamp, her daddy used to call it. New York’s sirens and blaring horns would fade away, drowned out by her own hoot-owls. More than once, she’d cried herself to sleep.

Realizing she’d been staring across the room at Joe, she blinked just as he glanced up from Tara, seemingly oblivious to the charms of the singer’s enhanced curves and flaming red hair. After saying goodbye, he strode toward Susannah and Ellie.

“Don’t forget,” Ellie sang. “Tonight, you and Joe are going to celebrate the call. Cha-cha-cha.”

“So much for my plan to have sex with tall, dark, handsome strangers,” Susannah said nervously. Joe’s hair was blond, and he was no taller than J.D.’s five-ten.

“The longer you put off sleeping with him,” Ellie said, “the more attracted he gets. He’s practically salivating! I wish somebody was that hot for me! Even Tara Jones isn’t fazing him, and she’s stunning.”

“If it wasn’t for Garrison making me wait, I’d have slept with Joe already,” Susannah assured, not feeling nearly as confident as she sounded. Of course, Joe had insisted on doing everything but sleep together. He was kinky and inventive and made up silly love games, so Susannah figured it would be easy to turn herself into a real hellcat for him. It just hadn’t happened yet.

“As soon as J.D. says he’s out of Banner Manor,” Susannah vowed, “I’m going to wrap myself around Joe O’Grady like corn kernels around a cob, so he can nibble all night.”

“Make a corncob pipe and you two can really smoke.”

Susannah chuckled. Joe had kissed her and fondled her thighs under her skirt while they’d been eating hot fudge sundaes at a soda shop. He’d role played too, pretending to be a cop arresting her, and a fireman checking for intruders, which had made her laugh. She felt something, too, just not the sparks she’d experienced with J.D. But that was just because Garrison hadn’t given her the go-ahead, she reminded herself.

“Oh, don’t look so anxious,” Ellie chided. “All men come with the same basic equipment, right? How hard can it be to have sex with a stud like Joe?”

It would be easier if J.D. hadn’t been her only lover so far, Susannah thought. “Sex is pure mechanics,” she agreed, determined to be her own best cheerleader. “It’s just a matter of knowing what to touch, for how long, and when.” Still…what if J.D. had ruined her for somebody else? Maybe she could forgive him for being a lousy husband, but for ruining her sex life, she’d have to kill him.

Ellie suddenly murmured, “Joe sort of looks like J.D., doesn’t he?”

“No! Joe’s got blond hair and brown eyes, Ellie! And he always wears suits! J.D. never bothers with a shirt, much less a tie. He goes around bare-chested in worn-out jeans and cowboy boots. He’s dark, too, from staying out in the sun too much.”

“I’m talking about Joe’s body type,” Ellie persisted. “He’s medium height and angular, with slightly bowed legs and the same bony cowboy butt. He’s even got a goatee.”

“That’s what’s in style now,” Susannah scoffed.

“I just noticed,” Ellie continued as if Susannah hadn’t even spoken. “Maybe you’re not going to be able to get over J.D., after all. Are you sure you want this divorce, Susannah?”

Susannah gaped. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, the person I can turn to in a crisis. I started using my maiden name again,” she added. “If there’s any resemblance between Joe and J.D., it’s completely coincidental.”

“A lot of guys have flirted with you, but you picked Joe,” Ellie countered. “His voice is like J.D.’s, too. I mean, not exactly. J.D.’s a famous singer, of course. Still, Joe’s voice is gravelly and low.”

“He’s a man, Ellie! All men have gravelly, low voices!”

The argument ended because Joe slipped behind Susannah. As he wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her against him, Ellie said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Fine by me,” Joe murmured huskily. His muscular thighs strained against the backs of Susannah’s and she could feel the nudge of what promised to be an erection soon. “I can’t wait for Garrison to call. Excited?”

Susannah’s knees threatened to buckle. Ellie was right! His voice was like J.D.’s! Oh, his voice was pitched higher, and she’d never mistake it for her husband’s, but there was a resemblance. Why hadn’t she noticed before? “Uh…yeah,” she managed.

Then she noticed Ellie motioning her to the phone.

Garrison.

“The call,” she whispered, panicking. As soon as she spoke to Garrison, she was supposed to sleep with Joe!

He was pulling her toward the phone, but as they reached it, Susannah slowed her steps. Something was wrong, she realized. Ellie had turned chalk-white. Extending the phone, she whispered, “It’s Robby.”

“Robby Robriquet?” Ellie hadn’t spoken to her ex-lover in eight months; no wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Taking the receiver, Susannah brought it to her ear. “Robby?”

“I have bad news, Susannah. I just talked to Sheriff Kemp, and we decided it might be better if I was the one to call. Uh…we can’t find June.”

“My sister?” As Susannah’s fingers curled more tightly around the receiver, she visualized Sheriff Kemp on the doorstep of Banner Manor years ago. Clad in a tan uniform, he’d kept his hands in front of him, stiffly holding his hat. “We need to go inside and sit down, honey,” he’d said. “It’s about your mama and daddy.” Susannah’s whole body froze. “What’s happened to June?”

“No…not June.”

Relief was short-lived. Was the call about June’s husband, Clive? Or one of her nieces, Laurie or Billie-Jean?

Before Susannah could ask, Robby continued. “June’s fine, but we were hoping to track her down before we called you.”

“J.D.?” The truth hit her with the power of a freight train. They’d been looking for June, so she could provide Susannah comfort. A cry tore from Susannah’s throat, and vaguely she wondered if this was how Mama Ambrosia saw things in her crystal ball not really seeing them at all, but only feeling them deep down in her bones. A hand shot to her neck, and her fingers closed around the engraved charm that lay against her skin.

“I’m sorry, Susannah,” Robby was saying. Had he continued talking all this time?

“There was an explosion on the Alabama around eight o’clock. An attendant at the marina saw him onboard. The coast guard’s bringing what’s left of the boat up, but it’ll take a few days. Until then, we won’t know whether it was mechanical failure, a fire in the galley or the generator. The boat blew sky high, then sank just as fast.

“Because of all the legal goings, on between you and J.D., Garrison’s here. J.D. left everything to you. Earlier today, he refused to sign any divorce papers, saying you were his beneficiary. You need to catch the first plane you can. Ellie, too. It would be good if she traveled with you.”

“He wanted me to meet him on the boat at eight,” she said.

“Oh, no,” Robby whispered.

The thought hung in the air. Had J.D. caused the explosion because she hadn’t shown up? But no…he may be wild, but he wasn’t suicidal. Maybe he was okay. Maybe…

“He’s gone, Susannah.”

Her consciousness seemed to leave her body. She was floating away, high above the room, staring down at herself as if she were having an out-of-body experience. “I’m on my way,” she managed, but the words sounded foreign, as if a stranger had spoken them. It felt as if she were inside a vacuum. From somewhere far off, Tara Jones had started singing one of the last songs Susannah needed to hear, “Precious Memories.”

“That publicist, Maureen, keeps asking me about arrangements,” Robby was saying. “I guess she’s bringing camera crews here. Would it help you if I talked to folks at the funeral home before you get home? Or do you want—”

Camera crews? This was a private matter. “Please,” she murmured. She couldn’t face this without help. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could handle this. “Get those people out of my house,” she whispered. “Especially that woman Sandy Smithers. Get her out.”

“I will,” Robby promised.

Somehow she said goodbye and hung up. The color was still gone from Ellie’s face. “J.D.?” She asked hoarsely.

Woodenly, Susannah repeated what Robby had said.

“I’ll come with you,” Joe said, pushing hair from Susannah’s eyes when she looked at him.

Had she really considered sleeping with this man? Joe O’Grady was comparable, but she’d known J.D. since she was five years old. Now J.D. was gone and Joe was all she had, and yet, she only wanted J.D. It was wrong, but suddenly she didn’t even care about all the mistakes J.D. had made, including sleeping with Sandy Smithers. “I wish I’d never left Bayou Banner,” she tried to say, but no words came out.

“The manager can watch the restaurant,” Joe said. “I’ll help you pack.”

But her dresses were still hanging where they belonged, sandwiched between the cowboy shirts she’d always starched for J.D. although he’d never bothered to wear them. No doubt, her shoes were still in the over-the-door rack. The lefts and rights had probably been switched by J.D., something that always made him laugh because if she was sleepy enough, she’d put her shoes on the wrong feet.

“I have to go alone.”

“You need somebody with you,” Joe persisted.

She’d have Ellie, Robby and people in her community who’d known her all her life. Otherwise, she wanted to be alone with anything J.D. had left behind, his effects and memories. Didn’t Joe understand? Could anyone? J.D.’s death felt even more private than all the things they’d shared in bed.

Would she really never feel his lips crushing down on hers again? Or the damp, hot spear of his tongue as it plunged into her mouth? Or his huge hands as they glided down her belly, then arrowed between her thighs, stroking and building fiery heat? A whimper came from her throat as she imagined his biceps—bulging with corded muscles, shot through with visible veins—wrapping around her and squeezing.

Due to the exertions of performing on stage, J.D. always worked out, even when he was partying too hard, so he was ribbed top to bottom. She could smell the strangely sweet, musky scent of his sweat, and she wanted to shut her eyes and revel in the feeling of its dampness against her own skin. Right now, she needed J.D. more than ever. Only he could comfort her, but that was impossible. He was gone!

She’d been in denial. She’d never get over him, no matter what horrible things he’d done, but now she had no choice. “Maybe in a few days,” she forced herself to say. “Let me go down first, Joe…see what’s going on. After the funeral, maybe then…”

“I should come now.” His eyes were probing hers. All along, he’d thought she was ready to become his lover. She’d thought so, too. But it was a lie. She searched her mind, hoping she hadn’t led him on, but how could she be expected to explain emotions to Joe that she hadn’t yet admitted to herself? And besides, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t gauge the compass of her heart tomorrow. Although she hadn’t seen him for months, J.D. was her husband.

Joe seemed to respect that. “We’ll talk every day?”

“Yes,” she agreed numbly, confused but unable to cope with pressures. Would she have called off the divorce? Refused to sign legal papers? A whimper escaped her throat. If she’d stayed home, maybe J.D. would be alive.

J.D. had still wanted her, too! Of course he did! As Joe leaned closer, brushing his lips to her cheek, only one thought raced through her mind—he wasn’t J.D. And then, suddenly, J.D. seemed impossibly close. She sensed his presence. Was it his ghost? His spirit?

She was far too practical to believe in apparitions, but she whirled around, anyway, glancing toward the white curtains covering the window. But no…it was only her imagination. She could swear he’d been right outside, though, on the other side of the glass. Shaking her head, she realized she was experiencing shades of her mama, who’d had a reputation for possessing a fanciful mind. Susannah’s eyes searched the street, then settled on the name of her restaurant, emblazoned across the glass of the door. Fingers of twilight touched golden letters that spelled, Oh Susannah’s, but she saw nothing more.

Silently she cursed herself for naming the business after a song J.D. had sung to her so often. More than life, she wanted to hear his husky voice again.

And she could, but only on the CDs he’d left behind.

Chapter Three

IN THE LIVING ROOM OF Banner Manor, Susannah quit sorting J.D.’s unanswered fan mail, losing herself to his music, feeling unable to pick up the phone when it rang. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee…

She rarely drank. J.D. always jokingly said she stayed as dry as burned toast in the Sahara, but now she took another sip of brandy, wishing it would blunt the pain. Maybe she should have chosen one of J.D.’s stronger spirits, the whisky or gin. Either way, the most lethal spirit remained J.D. himself, since memories of him were everywhere.

She finally lifted the phone and pressed Talk, figuring it was either Ellie, June or Joe, they’d called daily since the funeral two weeks ago. Of course, Ellie mostly wanted to talk about whether Susannah had run into Robby. Seeing him had made her best friend start obsessing about her relationship again. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid,” Susannah said before the caller could speak. “I’m fine.”

“Not according to my crystal ball. So, honey, if you care about your future, you’d better not hang up on me.”

It was Mama Ambrosia, the only other person who’d been calling. “You again!” Susannah looked beyond the open living room windows, glancing past French doors that led to a patio beyond, then she took in J.D.’s guitar picks, which were strewn across the fireplace mantle. “Didn’t I ask you not to call again?”

“Now, darlin’, you’ve never come to see me, and I know you distrust my craft,” Mama Ambrosia began. A large powerhouse of a woman, she prattled in a voice made deeper by the hand-rolled cigarettes she chain-smoked. “But your mama trusted me. J.D., too. He and I go back quite aways, which must be why his vibrations are so strong. All night long, I’ve been getting big ol’ shivers.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you’re crazy, do you know that? I don’t believe in ghosts—I already told you that—so I hope you don’t intend to restart the conversation we had the last time you called, which was only—” Susannah looked at the clock on the mantle “—twenty minutes ago.”

“Crazy?” countered Mama Ambrosia. “So some say. But I’ll remind you, missy, they said the same about your mama at times. Just like J.D., she was a handful, prone to daydreaming. And it’s high time you admit you inherited her genes.”

“Only the good ones,” Susannah assured her.

Previously, Mama Ambrosia had claimed J.D. had been a regular customer, visiting often to hear his fortune, and since she’d divulged facts only J.D. could know, Susannah believed her. Try as she might, Susannah couldn’t squelch the surge of hope she felt, either, when Mama Ambrosia called as if she might connect with J.D.’s spirit and say goodbye. Not that she and J.D. could resolve their differences, but still, she’d feel better. Despite being characteristically pragmatic, she found herself prompting, “You said you felt a shiver. What exactly does that mean?”

“That he’s in trouble, Susannah.”

“He’s in far worse than that,” Susannah pointed out, taking another big swig of brandy. She’d scattered her almost-ex’s ashes to the four winds. Determined to feel no more pain, she squared her jaw and drank some more, but the hot taste of alcohol only reminded her of J.D.’s kisses. Her throat was scratchy from crying, and the booze soothed it as the syrupy warmth slid slowly downward, burning all the way to her belly. It curled like a ball of fire and felt so good that she knocked back yet another drink, sighing when the scalding heat slid through her veins.

“He’s in trouble on the other side,” Mama Ambrosia clarified ominously, bringing Susannah back to reality. The reality of non reality, she thought, since Mama was clearly as crazy as a loon.

“If he’d caused as much trouble there as he caused in life, I don’t doubt it,” conceded Susannah, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. “Maybe he and the head honcho of the underworld are fighting over who gets to hold the scepter or sit on the throne.” She realized she must be feeling the effects of the alcohol when she found herself imagining J.D. gripping a pitchfork and wearing a skin-tight red suit that showed off his cowboy butt. Already he possessed the right style of goatee and mustache, not to mention a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Now, now,” Mama Ambrosia chided. “You still love him, and that’s why I’m calling. Even if you won’t admit it, my crystal ball told me so. Besides, I’m morally bound as a fortune-teller to alert you to your dismal cosmic situation.”

Yes, Mama was definitely certifiable. “My cosmic situation?”

“Expect a visitation.”

Susannah was starting to feel like a parrot. “A what?”

“Visitation. As in when somebody visits.”

Susannah could only shake her head. “I know what a visitation is.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Not bothering to answer, Susannah said, “A visitation from whom?”

“The dearly departed who was your dearly beloved.”

“Very doubtful.” Thankfully, her call waiting beeped just then. “Sorry, I really should get the other line,” Susannah said, trying to muster an apologetic tone. She was almost as mad at J.D. for dying as she was at all his other transgressions combined, so Mama Ambrosia’s wild claims weren’t helping her mood. “The last thing I need is a visitation from J.D.,” she said. “And if I got one, I might just kill him all over again.” God only knew J.D. deserved a fate worse than death for the mess he’d made of their lives.

“Whatever. And the other man on the other line,” Mama Ambrosia said, “is the one you dated in New York. I saw him in my crystal ball, too, so I’ll let you go.”

Susannah couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really have a crystal ball?”

“I used to, but it broke,” Mama Ambrosia returned sadly. “This new one’s plastic, but don’t worry, it works just as well. Now answer Joe’s call, darlin’.”

Susannah was startled to hear his name, but probably, Ellie had mentioned Joe to someone at Delia’s Diner when she was in for the funeral, and that’s how Mama had heard it. Sighing, Susannah clicked the other line. “Hello?”

“Are you thinking about me?”

“Joe. It really is you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

J.D. Determined not to let Mama Ambrosia fill her mind with otherworldly impossibilities, Susannah pushed away the thought. “You,” she said. He wasn’t even close to ghostly. He was solid and real, and his persistence kept reminding her that life was meant for the living. Suddenly she added, “Where are you?” It sounded as if he were right next door.

“Home. I just came from your restaurant. Tara’s packing in people, and a guy from Chicago came by to see if she wanted to do a gig there tomorrow, which she is.”

“Good.” She paused, the idea that Joe was actually in Bayou Banner flitting through her mind. “We really do have a strong connection. Are you sure you’re not next door?”

“I wish. But what if I come tomorrow? Ellie gave me her key in case you say yes and are out when I get there. She said there’s a direct flight to Bayou Blair in about two hours.”

So, Ellie was still playing matchmaker. “Please let me stay and help,” she’d begged right after the funeral.

“You don’t need to be around Daddy Eddie and Robby,” Susannah had argued. “June and my nieces are going to help me, and besides, your business needs you.”

“Then promise you’ll let Joe come stay with you,” Ellie had urged. “You need to try, at least. Let him comfort you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Susannah had promised.

In the meantime, Susannah’s new manager was using her boss’s absence to shine, so Susannah had been able to remain in Bayou Banner roaming the grounds and sorting through J.D.’s belongings. She’d been listening to his CDs, too, although they made her ache, body and soul.

The soft, melodic songs on his first collection, Delta Dreams, had been composed with guitars, harps and flutes. Welcome to My Town contained humorous songs about Bayou Banner—“Dining with Delia,” “When I left my Wife For Hodges’ Motor Lodge,” and “Sheriff Kemp’s Blues.” Songs for Susannah was the most recent album, and Susannah still couldn’t listen to it without crying. Coordinators for the award ceremony had called; J.D. had been nominated, and they wondered if she’d accept the award if he won. Susannah had said yes, so she had to return to New York in a few days.

Thankfully, Robby had arranged the funeral, then held photographers and reporters at bay, as well as the publicist, Maureen, who’d arrived clad in black, crying louder than the bereaved, including Susannah’s in-laws who’d come from Florida. J.D.’s parents and Susannah’s real friends had wrapped around her like a security blanket, and the music had been perfect. The church organist played “Amazing Grace” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” songs that comforted Susannah even now.

At the river, near where the Alabama had sunk, she’d cast J.D.’s ashes to the wind. Cremation wasn’t what anyone would have chosen, but the explosion made burial an impossibility. After the funeral, Sheriff Kemp had handed Susannah the only items the coast guard found—a Saint Christopher’s medal she didn’t recognize. The only saving grace was that Susannah’s niece, Laurie, had straightened up overnight. She’d foregone her temporary tattoos, trashy clothes and blue hair coloring, and she was now dressing like a model citizen.

Due to the illogical nature of grief, Susannah had wound up stuffing J.D.’s silly old lumberjack hat into her pocketbook the day of the funeral, and she’d held it in both hands during the service. She’d always hated the hat, which was made of red-and-black-plaid flannel with oversized ear flaps. And because she thought it looked ridiculous on J.D., he’d always worn it to provoke her.

Now she’d taken to wearing it and dressing in his shirts since she could still detect his scent. She’d then wander aimlessly in her own house, sometimes plucking J.D.’s guitars, although she could play only the few songs he’d taught her.

Realizing she’d drifted, her fingers tightened around the phone receiver. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, putting Joe on speaker phone, so she could put down the receiver and drink her brandy. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m worried.” His voice floated into the air, husky with concern. “Uh…how much are you drinking, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She leaned toward the phone. “Just some brandy. Why?”

“You sound…a little funny.”

“You’re on speaker. Maybe that’s why.”

He offered a noncommittal grunt.

Thankfully the brandy was starting to blunt the pain, so she took another sip. “Sorry,” she apologized again. “It’s hard to be here…”

“Then don’t wait for the awards ceremony to come back. Or let me come there. I want to hold you, Susannah.”

He sounded so close. “I know,” she managed. But she needed to be alone. She’d lost her folks as suddenly as J.D., and now Banner Manor seemed full of ghosts. More so, since storms were rocking the bayou.

Banner Manor lacked central air, and although there were window units, Susannah kept opening the windows. Outside, shadowy trees came alive at night, and alone in the dark, in the bed she’d shared with J.D. for years, she’d awaken in a cold sweat, hearing spooky sounds, then jumping from bed and heading for the window. She’d stare at the lightning, letting rain splash her cheeks like tears. And sometimes, she could swear she saw intruders on the lawn, but no one was there.

Back in bed, she’d shut her eyes and let scents from summer foliage transport her to recollections of physical pleasure she and J.D. could never share again. She’d cup her own breasts, imagining J.D. was touching her, then glide a hand down her belly and between her legs. Slowly she’d stroke, twining her fingers into her own soft curls until, in a haze of half sleep, she’d believe J.D. was touching her. Dampness would flood her and she’d arch, lifting her hips from the mattress just as she felt his tongue circle the shell of her ear. As she climbed higher, squeezing her eyes shut, she’d press her fingers inside, pretending they were J.D.’s hard cock, and then she’d hear his seductive whisper. “Oh, Susannah, how about a little magic? Do you want to play a game of scarves and cards? Hats and rabbits?”

Suddenly, she blinked, realizing Joe was still talking. “Uh…what?”

“I asked if your sister, June, had been there today.”

“Not today.” Susannah leaned toward the phone once more as she took another sip of brandy. “Her husband’s folks came in for the funeral and wound up staying, so she’s busy. And anyway, I’ve got things under control.”

“Do you?”

“Sure,” she said, but grief had overwhelmed her. Hours passed, during which she was lost to memories and couldn’t fully account for time. Everything felt unreal, like she was watching a movie, or reading a book. She kept expecting J.D. to jump out from behind a curtain and tell her this was a big joke.

“If you really don’t want me to keep you company, Tara asked me to go to Chicago with her. Just as friends, of course,” Joe clarified. “She thinks I can help her negotiate a better deal with the club owner if her audition works out.”

“That’s sweet of you…”

“But?”

“Oh, I do miss you, Joe,” she admitted. Dammit, Ellie was right. Susannah needed to let go of what was no longer possible. J.D. was never coming back, no matter what Mama Ambrosia said. “If you go, will you be back for the awards ceremony?”

“Sure. But right now, my bags are packed and by the door, and I wish you’d let me come see you. Wondering when I’ll see you again is torture. When I shut my eyes, I have a vision of you that just won’t quit, Susannah. Right now, I can picture every inch of you. I love your body, how soft your eyes look. I can feel your arms around my neck, your long legs gliding against mine…”

She swallowed guiltily. “I know, Joe—”

“No you don’t,” he interjected, sounding frustrated. “Give us a try. That’s all I’m asking. I know you want me. And I want you. Your mouth’s so hot.” Words were coming in a flood now. “I can’t wait to cover it with mine again. I want to crush your lips, feel my tongue inside.”

His voice caught and his breath turned shallow. “I…think about your breasts. How they move under your top, Susannah…just like your hips when you walk on those milelong legs. Sometimes, when you’re in the walk-in cooler at your restaurant, I notice your nipples get tight under your shirt.” Sucking in an audible breath, he said, “Susannah, I get hard just thinking about you, about the things we’ve already shared…”

“I know. I—”

“No you don’t,” he repeated. “He’s gone, Susannah. And I don’t want to hurt you or sound mean, but you were breaking up with J.D., anyway. You and your husband had been separated the better part of the year. I know you’re grieving, but it’s not right for you to be alone. Not when so many people care about you. Let me come there now. Or…”

“Or what?”

“I can’t keep waiting, Susannah.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said. But she was, wasn’t she? He wasn’t trying to pressure her, but he wanted her, and she was so lonely. Definitely, she wasn’t used to not having a man. It had been so long…

“Okay,” she murmured, the brandy thickening her speech. “Come to Bayou Banner now, and we can fly back to New York together in a few days for to the awards ceremony.”

“I’ll be there before you know it,” he said quickly.

Suddenly all her deepest recesses ached. God, how she craved to feel strong arms wrapping tightly around her back, and a man’s rock-hard, hairy chest pressing against her breasts. She yearned to feel the heat of his searing, blistering mouth when it covered her lips. Already she could feel his thighs straining against hers. She deserved relief from all this sadness and grief. She deserved release.

“I’m on my way,” he said. And then, as if afraid she might change her mind, he whispered a quick goodbye and the line went dead.

As the dial tone filled the air, she recradled the receiver and started. Something sounded by the window! Her feet moving of their own accord, she crossed swiftly to the French doors and stared into the darkness. “Nothing,” she whispered. Closing the doors, then the windows, she stared outside and gasped.

There! A white flash between trees. As it vanished, her heart hammered, making the pulse at her neck throb.

“Probably a stray dog,” she murmured. Or all the brandy. “Yes, it’s just my imagination.” Shaking off the uneasy feeling by reminding herself that she’d felt jumpy since the funeral, she glanced at the pile of J.D.’s fan mail and the sympathy cards that had flooded the post office. Some of the letters had been written before J.D. died, and she wasn’t surprised that so many woman claimed to be in love with him. Some offered to leave their husbands, or included risque pictures.

She lifted a sympathy card, addressed to her.

Dear Susannah,

If it wasn’t for your husband’s music, I never could have forgiven my man for his two-timing last year. But your husband’s new record, Songs for Susannah, is so touching. And I knew my husband loved me the way your husband loved you. Now, ever since I let my man come back home, wearing that hangdog expression, he’s stayed as straight as an arrow. Your man sang like an angel, and so many of his songs were about getting a second chance. Because of that, he helped a lot of people, and I just wanted you to know how he saved our marriage. He will be missed by the whole world.

Susannah wasn’t going to get another chance. An unexpected tear splashed down her cheek. “Is this any way to get in the mood for Joe?” she muttered. She had to quit reading these letters and let go of the past.

The second most-sexy man she’d ever met had plans for her…all of which included sex. She needed to forget self-recriminations, as well as past anger that could never be resolved. “For once, enjoy yourself,” she said. It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel good.

“I’ll take a long bath, then make the bed with the silk sheets. I’ll slip into a negligee, too,” she decided. “Then hunt down candles and oils.”

Joe had been wanting her for months, and two weeks ago she’d known it was high time she slept with him. Now, she tried to tell herself, nothing had changed. J.D. was gone, but her sex life wasn’t over.

Knowing Joe, he’d make that plane, too. Which left her just enough time to spruce up. By the time he let himself in with his key, she’d be in bed waiting.

Chapter Four

“WHAT SAY WE MAKE some magic, oh, Susannah?” J.D. whispered. “Maybe a little of our own bayou voodoo?” It was too dark to see him, but in the dream, his voice came from the foot of the bed as he curled his big hands around her feet. Playing musical instruments had strengthened his fingers, and the pads of his thumbs massaged deeply, rubbing dazzling circles. Long fingers dipped between each toe, stroking sensitive skin. Susannah tilted her chin up, her head, into the freshly laundered silk pillows.

Lifting both hands, she gripped the headboard of the brass bed where she and J.D. had made love so many times, then released a heartfelt sigh. “That feels good,” she moaned.

Yes, only J.D.’s touch possessed the uncanny ability to always transport her to faraway places. With just a flick of a finger, he’d made the night vanish—the hooting owls and rustling leaves, and the gurgling creek and tree branches that traced the windowpanes.

The incredible feelings of her beloved touching her, made her crazy for his kisses. Nothing mattered, not when he was shifting his huge, warm, hands to the tops of her ankles, then casually kneading his way upward, palming her calves, smoothing her bare skin, penetrating the muscles.

“Concentrate very hard on what I’m doing, Susannah.” His voice—a slow, sugary drawl that had thrilled millions of women around the world—lowered, becoming barely audible, his tone teasingly seductive. “Are you concentrating?”

Was she awake or sleeping? Did it matter? Jitters of excitement leaped in her belly, feeling like drunken fireflies taking flight; their brilliant wings swept around her, making everything light up. Her senses sharpened and she felt a hitch inside her chest, then weightlessness since she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Her nipples peaked, straining, and a bolt of heat as shattering as lightning shot to her lower belly and exploded. A moment passed, then the fire fizzled, curling up like a purring cat in front of a hearth. “I’m trying to concentrate,” she managed throatily, “but you make it hard.”

“I am hard.”

Her heart stuttered, missing a beat, since she was imagining the thick bulge pressing against the fly of his jeans; she’d witnessed her husband’s growing arousal thousands of times, but every time, she remained amazed by how fast he got turned on. “Well, that’s not my doing,” she said.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

His voice was as sexy as the ministrations of his fingers—all dripping molasses and swirling sugar canes—and she yearned to hear it, right next to her ear. Maybe he’d play songs for her later and sing her to sleep, the way he had so many times before, or maybe he’d murmur sweet nothings until she shivered and she melted like ice on a hot day.

She wanted to feel his mouth ghosting across her lips, her neck, her cheeks. Then she wanted to experience what she’d been so sure she never would again—the cooler dampness of his tongue. She was imagining everything she wanted to feel…the tickle of his soft hair on her face, the burn of his whiskers on her belly, with the tiny, suckling love-bites he would pepper across her breasts. Yes…in a moment, he’d be a stallion champing the bit. Need would take the reins and pent-up passion would be unharnessed so it could run wild.

Moaning, she squeezed her eyes shut. All was sensation because he knew exactly how to touch her. Where and for how long. He liked to take his time, torturing her with enticing circular movements of strong hands.

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