Read Online Exposure by Susan Andersen - Free Book Online Page A

those boys!" She looked up at him. "Sheriff, I swear," she earnestly tried to assure him, "I gave my sons a ten-dollar bill yesterday to take a truck-load of stuff to the dump."
    "An old bed frame, newspapers, Styrofoam, some furnace filters?"
    Her lips grew tighter with each new item he listed. "I'll kill 'em! I will hang those two up by their thumbs and skin them alive."
    "They're teenagers, ma'am. If this is the worst thing you ever have the law come knocking on your door for, you've done a pretty good job. Have them clean up the mess first thing Saturday morning. Then send them to me. I'll put 'em to work picking up litter around town for the rest of the afternoon."
    "Yes . . . okay; I'll do that." She noticed he had real pretty eyes. "Thanks, Sheriff. I know you could have slapped me with a fine or something, and I'm tellin' ya, I honest to God don't know where I would have found the money to pay it."
    Yeah, he remembered those times very well. Elvis nodded politely and turned to go.
    "Uh . . . Sheriff?"
    He turned back. "Ma'am?"
    "Is that new lady still in town? That Emma Sands?'"
    "Yes, she is."
    "Is her little girl as adorable as they say?"
    A crooked smile tugged at Elvis' lips. "Yeah, she's a cutie."
    "Where are they from?"
    "New Orleans, I think."
    Mrs. Steadman stepped out into the yard, closer to him. "Is it true she really calls everyone that French word—that sher-ree?"
    "Pretty much."
    "And does she actually know how to work on cars?"
    "Yep. She gave Ruby Kelly's car a tune-up. When I left the boarding house this morning she was doing Jenny Suzuki's."
    "My." Mrs. Steadman couldn't have looked more enthralled if he'd said Emma Sands performed brain surgery.
    "Imagine that." After looking at him consideringly for a moment, she said, "Wait here."
    She disappeared into the house, but was back within moments to extend a piece of paper to Elvis. He looked down and saw it contained her name and phone number. "Will you give this to her and ask her to give me a call?" she asked shyly. "There's something the matter with my Chevy that maybe she can fix."
    What was he, her messenger boy? Elvis almost shoved the paper back into her hands, but then stopped himself. Just an hour ago she probably would have crossed the street to avoid having to talk to him at all. He shrugged and pocketed the slip of paper. "Yeah, sure."
    "And tell her I could watch her little girl while she looks at it. It'd be fun having a female to fuss over for a change."
    * * * * *
    That evening he stopped by his mother's house. He was barely through the back door before she. too, started in on the subject of Emma Sands.
    She poured him a cup of coffee in an Elvis Presley mug and sat down across the table from him. "So tell me about the new woman," she demanded, sliding the plate of Oreos closer to him. "This Emma Sands. Is she really the walking wet dream I keep hearing about?"
    Elvis looked at his mother. Good God. Here he was, thirty-two years old and just as conflicted in his feelings toward Nadine as he'd been as a teenager. Why couldn't she be like other people's mothers? "She's . . . pretty," he replied cautiously.
    "And? And?"
    "And built, okay?" He looked down at his mug and grimaced with distaste. "Good God, Mom, if I have to drink out of a damn Ervis Presley cup, couldn't you at least give me one of the ones where he's not a fat slob and a lousy dresser?"
    She was easily diverted as he'd known she would be. Snapping upright, she ordered, "Don't you insult the King, Elvis Aaron!" Neither, however, was she stupid. "And don't try to change the subject. What is it about this woman that's got all the guys drooling?"
    "Streaky blond hair. Big brown eyes. Really great tits." Then he scowled. "All what guys?"
    Nadine's eyebrows rose. "Relax, baby," she advised, reaching across the table to stroke her son's large hand. "It's just some of the older gents; no one for you to worry about."
    Elvis' big shoulders shifted. "Who says I'm worried? And what