Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(57)

“I know, but you’re going to anyway.” She plopped the fresh piece in her mouth.

“Really, Torie—”

“Haul ass, Your Ladyship. My royal chariot’s waiting. Or are you chicken?”

“Of course I’m chicken! Why do you think I’ve gone all these years without learning to drive?”

“All you have to do is steer up and down Kenny’s driveway. You can steer, can’t you?”

“Probably, but there’s no point.”

“There’s always a point to spitting in the devil’s eye.” Torie’s familiar green eyes held a challenge.

Patrick took Emma’s arm and drew her off the stool. “Do what she says, Lady Emma. Life’s too short to spend it bogged down by phobias.”

Emma could fight one of them, but not both, without looking completely spineless. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Up and down the drive. But that’s all.”

It wasn’t all, of course. After half an hour in the drive, Torie somehow managed to bully her into pulling out onto the road by promising that hardly anyone ever used it.

Emma found herself with wet palms and a damp T-shirt, driving a car with the steering on the wrong side. As her fingers gripped the wheel, she fought the memory of that terrifying day when she’d been ten and she’d watched a bright yellow lorry come barreling toward the car.

She crept too close to the center line and jerked the wheel.

“Relax,” Torie said. “You’re fingers are going to start cramping up.”

“Stop cracking your gum!”

“Damn, you’re cranky. By the way, in this country we drive on the right side of the road instead of the left.”

“Oh, God!” Emma wrenched the wheel to the right, but didn’t straighten in time to keep the tires from biting into the gravel on the shoulder. Finally, she managed to maneuver the car into the proper lane. “You should have told me at once! I think I’m going to faint.”

“Take deep breaths.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this! Oh, Lord, Torie, there’s a car coming up behind us!”

“As long as you don’t slam on the brakes, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I decided to stop smoking, and I need a distraction. Making somebody else miserable seemed like a good idea.” Torie’s voice grew belligerent. “And I’m giving up cigarettes for myself, not for anybody else. So if anybody says anything to you about the fact that I’m not smoking, you tell him to mind his own gee dee business!”

“I can’t do this much longer. I want to stop.”

“There’s a diner in town. We’ll stop there.”

“Town! I can’t!”

“Now that you’ve got your tendency to drive on the wrong side of the road straightened out, you’re doing just fine.”

“I don’t—I don’t have a license.”

“I’m good friends with most of the cops around here. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried. I’m terrified!”

“We’re both still alive, so that should count for something.”

Somehow she made it into town and managed to pull into a large space next to the diner. She turned off the ignition and leaned back against the seat in relief.

Torie grinned. “Proud of yourself?”

Emma scowled at her.

“Come on, admit it. You’ve done something you didn’t think you could do.”

Now that her heart rate was beginning to return to normal, maybe she did feel a little proud. Being unable to drive limited her life in so many ways. Not that she could drive now. “I’ll admit I’m happy we’re still alive,” she said begrudgingly.

Torie laughed. “Come on. I’ll buy you coffee to celebrate.”

Inside Jimmy’s Diner a model train chugged along a track that ran just below the ceiling. Chrome chairs sat around tables covered in black-and-white-checked oilcloth, and two ceiling fans spun overhead. A blackboard near the entrance listed the day’s lunch special: chicken-fried pork chops, stewed okra, along with a carrot and “raisen” salad. Emma was uncomfortable with the idea of a young child coming in and seeing that, so she requested a piece of chalk from the woman at the register and corrected the spelling.

Torie hooted and hugged her.

They sat at a table that held A-1 Steak Sauce and Tabasco, along with the more usual condiments. On the wall next to them hung a painting of a rooster and a red lantern. As the model train passed over their heads, she saw that each car was painted with the sign of a local business.

While Torie sipped the coffee the waitress brought and Emma waited for her tea, she thought back to her conversation with Beddington. Why hadn’t the burly man told him everything he’d seen? What kind of incompetent spy had Hugh hired?

“Good morning, ladies.”

Dexter O’Conner approached the table. This morning he wore a yellow oxford shirt instead of blue. He looked pleasantly rumpled, a bit distracted, and rather adorable. She smiled at him. “Hello, Dexter.”

“Emma. Victoria.”

“That’s Lady Emma to you,” Torie snapped.