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The Calamity Janes
Sherryl Woods


EMMA'S DILEMMA…What would Emma Rogers have done without her oldest friends, the Calamity Janes?As teenagers in Winding River,Wyoming, they'd supported her ambitious dreams. A decade later, when Emma went home, struggling with single motherhood and career pressures as a top Denver attorney, Cassie, Karen, Gina and Lauren rallied around her. But why were the Calamity Janes urging her to look with favor on her sexy nemesis, Ford Hamilton? Wasn't it bad enough that her young daughter sang the praises of the heart-stoppingly handsome publisher who'd clashed repeatedly with Emma on a controversial court case? Worst of all, Emma's own heart was strongly tempted by Ford's offer to match wits–and join hearts–with him for a lifetime!









“What was that all about?”


“What?” Ford asked blandly.

“What was my mother saying to you before I got back here?”

“Just sharing a little advice.”

“About?”

“Life.”

“That’s a broad topic. Care to narrow it down?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t want to give away any of her tricks.”

Emma frowned. “Don’t you start conspiring with my mother,” she warned.

“What would we have to conspire about?” he asked, all innocence.

“Me, for starters.”

Ford reached for her hand and tugged her closer. “Give me a little credit. When it comes to you, I think I can handle things on my own.”

“We’ll see,” Emma murmured just before his lips claimed hers.




The Calamity Janes

Sherryl Woods







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Praise for

SHERRYL WOODS


“Sherryl Woods…writes with a very special warmth, wit, charm and intelligence.”

—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep understanding of human nature is woven into every page.”

—New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers

“…Ms. Woods proves herself a reader favorite indeed.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

“…energetic pacing, snappy dialogue and an appealing romantic hero.”

—Publishers Weekly review of After Tex

“Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy, glamorous mix of romance…”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity and the right amount of humor.”

—Romantic Times Magazine




Winding River High School

Class of ’91

Welcome Home—Ten Years Later

Do You Remember the Way We Were?


Emma Rogers—That girl can swing…a bat, that is. Elected most likely to be the first female on the New York Yankees team. Member of the Debate Club, the Honor Society and president of the senior class.

Lauren Winters—The girl with all the answers, otherwise known as the one you’d most like to be seated next to during an exam. Elected most likely to succeed. Class valedictorian. Member of the Honor Society, County Fair Junior Rodeo Queen and star of the junior and senior class plays.

Cassie Collins—Ringleader of the Calamity Janes. Elected most likely to land in jail. Best known for painting the town water tower a shocking pink and for making the entire faculty regret choosing teaching as a profession. Class record for detentions.

Karen (Phipps) Hanson—Better known as The Dreamer. Elected most likely to see the world. Member of the 4-H Club, the Spanish and French clubs, and first-place winner of the county fair greased pig contest.

Gina Petrillo—Tastiest girl in the class. Elected most popular because nobody in town bakes a better double chocolate brownie. Member of the Future Homemakers of America. Winner of three blue ribbons in the pie-baking contest and four in the cake-baking contest at the county fair.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue




Prologue


The only light on in the kitchen was coming from inside the well-stocked refrigerator. Emma stood on the tiled floor in her stockinged feet, still clad in the designer suit and simple gold jewelry she’d worn to court hours ago, and ate strawberry-cheesecake yogurt from its plastic container.

“Welcome to my glamorous life,” she muttered as she spooned the food into her mouth without really tasting it.

It was ten o’clock at night. She’d left her high-priced Cherry Creek home that morning at six-thirty. She’d managed to snag a piece of toast on her way out the door and a tuna on rye at the courthouse at lunchtime. This yogurt was dinner. Unfortunately, it was all too typical of her daily diet, all too typical of her nonstop schedule.

It had been weeks since she’d been able to sit down at the table with her six-year-old daughter for a leisurely meal. Caitlyn was so accustomed to eating with the housekeeper that when she and Emma talked on the phone during the day, she rarely ever asked if her mother was coming home. A part of Emma was relieved not to have to deal with the added pressure of Caitlyn’s disappointment, but another part of her knew that she ought to be appalled by the lack of time she and her daughter shared and—even worse—Caitlyn’s resigned acceptance of that lack.

Emma’s ex-husband hadn’t been as forgiving. Kit Rogers had married her while Emma was still in law school. In one of those inexplicable failed-birth-control flukes, she had gotten pregnant before graduation. For some reason, Kit had assumed that she would become a traditional stay-at-home wife once Caitlyn was born. His own law career was well established, his income well into six figures. Emma hadn’t needed to work for financial reasons.

But Emma refused to cooperate. She hadn’t excelled in law school only to give it all up. Her determined pursuit of a career with a top-notch, demanding Denver law firm had turned from an annoyance into a full-fledged bone of contention in their marriage.

As her star at the firm had risen, the arguments had increased in intensity. His manipulative efforts to sabotage her career had escalated. When nothing—not even the worst kind of betrayal, so painful that even now she couldn’t bear to think about it—had worked, he’d walked out, threatening to sue for custody of Caitlyn. The clash in court, complete with the city’s best legal talent on opposing sides, had promised to be the stuff of headlines. Emma had actually begun to relish the challenge.

That should have been a wake-up call about her driven lifestyle and her misplaced priorities, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Kit had met someone else almost immediately after their separation and had backed off on his threats. Emma had won without going to court and without having to change. In the end it had been a hollow victory. Now Kit saw even less of Caitlyn than Emma did. Her daughter was resigned to that, too.

In fact, Caitlyn had been forced to accept too darned much, Emma concluded as she angrily tossed the yogurt container into the trash and shut the refrigerator door. There had been too many canceled plans and broken promises.

After switching on the overhead light, she reached for the invitation that had come in that day’s mail. Her high school reunion was coming up in a few weeks in Winding River, Wyoming. Caitlyn’s private school would be out by then. It would be a chance for Emma to spend some quality time with her daughter, a chance for Caitlyn to see her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins—extended family she needed more than ever now that her father was pretty much out of their lives. Caitlyn deserved this trip. They both did. Visits to Wyoming had been too rare thanks to Emma’s demanding schedule. It had been two years. The time had just slipped by.

Emma picked up her datebook and thumbed through the pages. Appointments and court appearances jammed every page. She took out a pen—not a pencil that could be erased when second thoughts set in—and circled the weekend of the reunion. She made a note by tomorrow’s date to have her secretary cancel everything for that Wednesday through Sunday. Even though the Fourth of July holiday was only a few days later, she couldn’t quite bring herself to take an entire week off. Well, five days was better than nothing…and considerably more than the occasional day she snatched for herself.

Five whole days away from her job, away from Denver. The thought boggled her mind. Best of all, she would get to see her dearest friends, the indomitable Calamity Janes—so named for their penchant for trouble and heartache—who could make her laugh and remind her of who she’d been before work had become an obsession. It would be good to get some perspective—some balance—back into her life. If anyone could help her accomplish that, Lauren, Karen, Cassie and Gina could.

It was ironic, really, that five women could be so different and yet have so much in common. Lauren was now a Hollywood superstar, Karen a rancher. Cassie was a struggling single mom, Gina a gourmet chef with her own restaurant in New York. Yet they shared a history, a friendship that had weathered time and separation. The last time they had all been together had been at Emma’s law school graduation. Since then, they’d stayed in touch through occasional phone calls, e-mails and hastily jotted notes on Christmas cards.

But even if the contact had been sporadic, the depth of the bond had never suffered, Emma reflected. These women were her best friends and, though she sometimes neglected them, she treasured the friendships. Lauren, twice-divorced herself, had listened endlessly when Emma had gone through her divorce. Cassie had provided a shoulder to lean on as Emma had struggled with the guilt of not having enough time for Caitlyn. Happily married Karen had been steady as a rock, offering nonjudgmental advice whenever Emma had sought it. And ever since the divorce, Gina had sent periodic care packages of gourmet baked goods to cheer both Emma and Caitlyn.

But even as anticipation of seeing them began to stir inside her, Emma sighed as she thought of the work that would be waiting for her on the following Monday. For once, though, she couldn’t let that matter. The truth was that the work could wait. She was not indispensable. She had more money than she had time to spend it. So did the partners at her firm. A few less billable hours would hardly ruin her fast-track career.

Who knew when a chance like this would come along again? The prospect of seeing the Calamity Janes was too good to pass up. The usual dread of listening to her mother grumble that she hadn’t been eating right actually brought a smile to Emma’s lips for once. And knowing that her father would likely remind her that she was brilliant and beautiful and worth loving…well, that was something she’d been needing to hear ever since her divorce. Even though the breakup had been for the best, even though Kit had proved himself to be a world-class jerk, the divorce had been a blow to Emma’s self-esteem. A high achiever from grade school on, she’d never expected to fail at anything.

Pleased with her resolve to take a much-needed break, she could hardly wait to tell Caitlyn. She could already imagine the rare, shy smile that would light up her daughter’s face. Unfortunately, she could also envision the child’s hesitancy, her reluctance to believe that the trip would actually happen.

“I won’t let you down, baby,” she vowed as she flipped off the light and headed for her home office, where she had another hour’s worth of paperwork to get through before bedtime. “Not this time.”

This trip was going to be all about relaxation, laughter, family and friends. Nothing was going to interfere with that, nothing at all.




Chapter 1


Ford Hamilton stared at the computer screen on which the front page of the weekly Winding River News was laid out. There was a big gap where his lead story should be. Because it was the paper’s first edition since he’d taken over ownership, he’d wanted something splashy to fill that space, something to make the locals sit up and take notice.

“So, boss, want me to go out and interview the people planning their class reunion about who’s coming and what will be happening?” Teddy Taylor asked. Teddy was eighteen and intended to major in photojournalism. He was enthusiastically interning with Ford for the summer and itching for a page-one photo or byline. On a paper just starting out on Ford’s shoestring budget he was doing everything. Even an intern’s inexpert help was welcome.

Ford sighed. A class reunion was not the sort of local news he envisioned for his front page. He’d been trained in hard news in big cities, where the stories competing for page-one headlines were about politics and corruption and crime. There wasn’t much of any of those things in Winding River, Wyoming. It was a sleepy, quiet town where very little happened—which, he reminded himself, was precisely the reason he’d chosen it. He was tired of chasing bad guys all the time, to say nothing of arguing with editors about how a story should be played in the paper. Now he was in charge, and maybe, just maybe, he could put out a paper that would actually make a difference in the community.

Unfortunately, the very things that had drawn him here—the peace and quiet—were thwarting his plans to make a big impression with this first edition. He was just waking up to the true meaning of the term “slow news day.” He had a feeling that he’d just gone through what was destined to be a slow news week, if not a slow news year.

Still, that did not mean he had to resort to filling prime front-page space with puff pieces about a class reunion, even if it was all anyone could talk about around town. He’d list the scheduled events the week before the event, then send a photographer when the time came. A picture spread inside was enough coverage for a non-news event.

That still left an empty hole on page one for this week’s edition, and time was rapidly running out. He couldn’t count on an accident or even a little cattle rustling happening before his deadline. After twenty minutes spent skimming through a half-dozen press releases for community events, Ford resigned himself to going with the most exciting thing he had—that blasted rinky-dink reunion. Maybe there was an angle that would work, give the story a little substance to justify placing it on the front page.

“Teddy, how about going over and interviewing the sheriff?” he suggested. “Ask him what the plans are for security, especially since I hear that actress is coming in for the weekend. Is the county paying overtime for extra help in case there are any problems with crowd control?”

Teddy’s mouth gaped. “Crowd control? In Winding River?”

“Lauren Winters is pretty hot since she won her Academy Award this spring,” Ford explained, regretting that his predecessor had announced her attendance. That could have been his big story. “If word leaks out that she’s going to be here, every tabloid from around the globe will be sending in a photographer. While you’re at it, check to see if all of the hotel rooms are booked. The paparazzi get testy if they can’t stay close by. If nothing’s available, they’ll be sleeping in their cars on her front lawn or wherever it is she’s staying. Ask Ryan if he’s prepared to deal with that.”

Teddy’s expression brightened. “Are you serious? You’ll let me interview the sheriff?”

Ford barely contained a grin at the boy’s eagerness, especially since the sheriff was his uncle. Chances were real good that Ryan Taylor would dictate the story just the way he wanted to see it in the paper. Normally Ford wouldn’t leave the interview to an unseasoned reporter, but Teddy needed to get his feet wet, and this was as good a story as any.

“Go for it. You have two hours to talk to him, write up the article and get it in. I want this edition on the street on time. The old owner tended to play fast and loose with deadlines and distribution. I’m not going to.”

“Got it,” Teddy said, and raced out, tape recorder in hand.

Ford sighed again. Had he ever been that young, that energetic? Not that he was exactly dragging at thirty-two, but after just a month he was already adapting to the slower pace of Winding River. He no longer got up at dawn, no longer worked twelve-hour days. He lingered over coffee at Stella’s for a chance to chat with the locals.

At first he’d welcomed the change from the lightning-fast speed of things in Atlanta and then Chicago. Slowing down had been one of the reasons he’d sought out a paper to buy and a place to settle and build a life for himself before stress leveled him with a premature heart attack. Eventually he hoped to marry, maybe have a couple of kids. He wanted more than a career. He wanted a life.

He’d spent a couple of years using vacation time to look for a community that was growing, one where a solid newspaper could make a difference, where his editorials and news stories might really have an impact on a way of life. He’d been drawn to Wyoming because of the rugged beauty of the landscape and because of the changes that were happening every single day now that it had been discovered by big name celebrities. Development was bound to follow in their wake, which promised challenges to the environment and to a way of life.

Everything had come together the minute he’d visited Winding River and talked to the paper’s prior owner. They’d made the deal on a handshake over the winter, and now, just a few months later, he was in business, publishing his own weekly paper, albeit with very limited resources for the moment.

He knew enough about small towns to recognize that he had to move cautiously. Change was always viewed with suspicion. Ironically that had been one of the reasons Ford had left his hometown in Georgia and settled in Atlanta after college. He’d seen how resistant people back home were to change of any kind.

Unfortunately, he’d realized belatedly that things weren’t that much better in a big city, especially when he had to fight his own newspaper bureaucracy before getting some of his tougher pieces in print. Chicago had been more of the same, a constant battle between the pressures of the advertising department and editorial independence. Years ago the separation would have been a given, but these days, with tough economic times for newspapers, the suits were having more of an impact on the journalists.

Ford was still finding his way in Winding River, getting to know the movers and shakers, listening to anyone and everyone who had something to say about the way the town was run or the way it ought to be.

Change was on the horizon. The downtown was testament to that. A chic boutique had moved in just down the block from a western wear store. There were Range Rovers parked alongside pickups hauling horse trailers. High-priced gifts were being sold next door to the feed-and-grain store. And fancy corporate jets sat on the airstrip next to crop dusters.

The previous owner of the paper, Ronald Haggerty, had stayed on long enough to introduce Ford around, give him a slap on the back and a hearty recommendation to the various civic organizations. Then he’d retired and moved to Arizona. Ford was on his own now.

He was already beginning to formulate some opinions that he was eager to get into print, but it was too soon. He needed to wait for the right opening, the right story to show everyone that the Winding River News and its new owner intended to participate in every aspect of life in Winding River. A big, splashy, controversial front-page story, that’s what he needed.

So far in life, Ford Hamilton had found the odds were usually in his favor. And if his luck held, he’d have that front-page story very soon.



“Am I really going to learn to ride a horse?” Caitlyn asked for the tenth time as she and Emma made the drive from Denver on Wednesday.

“Grandpa said he’d teach you, didn’t he?”

Emma nodded, curls bouncing. “I am sooo excited. I never rode a horse before.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Emma said wryly.

“And how many cousins do I have?”

“Five. You met some of them last time we were here.”

“But I was just a baby then. I was only four,” Caitlyn said. “I forgot.”

“Okay, there’s Jessie—”

“How old is Jessie?”

“She’s six, the same as you.”

“Do you think she can ride a horse already?” Caitlyn asked worriedly. “Will she make fun of me?”

“I don’t know if she can ride, but Grandpa won’t let her make fun of you.”

Caitlyn nodded, evidently satisfied. “Who else?”

“There’s Davey, and Rob, and Jeb and Pete.”

“They’re all boys,” she said, clearly disappointed. “And they’re all littler than me, right?”

“That’s right.”

“But me and Jessie will be friends, right?”

“I’m sure you will be,” Emma reassured her. “You had a wonderful time together the last time you were here for a visit. You had tea parties for your dolls and played games with Grandma and baked cookies.”

Caitlyn’s eyes shone with excitement. “How soon will we be there?”

“A half hour, maybe less.”

“What time is that?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

Caitlyn touched a finger to the clock on the dash. “When the big hand is here and the little hand is down here, right?”

“Exactly.”

A worried frown puckered her brow again. “I thought Grandma said we’d have lunch at twelve. Will they eat without us?”

“No, baby, I don’t think they’ll eat without us. I called to let Grandma know we got a late start, remember?”

“’Cause you had to go to the office,” Caitlyn said. “Even though we’re on vacation.”

“That’s it till Monday,” Emma promised.

“Then how come your phone keeps ringing?”

Emma sighed. It kept ringing because she hadn’t cut it off. Getting away from the office was one thing. Deactivating her cell phone was something else entirely. There could be emergencies, questions from her paralegals…all sorts of crises that simply couldn’t wait.

“Don’t worry,” she told her daughter. “It won’t ring all that often. I won’t let it interfere with our plans.”

As if to prove her wrong, the cell phone promptly rang. With an apologetic look at Caitlyn, Emma answered. “Rogers.”

“Is this the famous Denver lawyer who only handles the most challenging cases in the universe?”

Emma grinned. “Lauren? Where are you?”

“I’m sitting at a table with your family, waiting for you to get here. We are growing impatient. I, for one, am starved, and they won’t let me eat till you show your face. Where are you?”

“Just outside of town, about a mile from the ranch now. Tell Mom to put the food on the table and pour the iced tea.”

“Already done. I helped.”

“Was the family impressed that a glamorous actress was fixing lunch?”

Lauren chuckled. “Not that I noticed. Rob has smeared strained peas all over my designer blouse, but he’s only a baby, so I’ve forgiven him.”

“Good thing. I don’t think Rob’s daddy can afford to pay for a replacement. It probably cost more than he makes in a month.”

“Pretty close,” Lauren agreed. “I told him you’d replace it. You can afford it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing that I’m about to turn into the driveway, so I can protect my interests,” Emma said.

Even as she made the turn, she could hear the squeals announcing that the kids had spotted her car. As they neared the house, she glanced over at Caitlyn and saw her eyes widen as all of her cousins except the baby tumbled out of the house, followed by Emma’s younger brothers and their wives, then Lauren—still holding the portable phone—and then her grandparents.

Suddenly shy, Caitlyn held back when her grandmother opened the car door and reached for her. Not permitting even the tiniest hint of the hurt she must have felt, Emma’s mother gently touched Caitlyn’s cheek.

“I am so glad you’ve come to visit,” she said quietly. “Your grandpa and I have missed you.”

“Really?” Caitlyn said, looking surprised.

“You bet. Would you like to come with me to see the surprise he got you? It’s down at the barn.”

Caitlyn turned to Emma. “Can I, Mommy?”

“I thought everybody was anxious to eat,” Emma said, casting a pointed look at Lauren.

“That’s okay. I’m sure I won’t starve,” her friend said with an exaggerated pout.

Emma grinned at her. “Nice acting.” She released Caitlyn’s hand. “Of course you can go.” She glanced at her mother. “What’s the big surprise?”

“You’ll see,” her mother teased. “I’m not giving away a thing.”

As the two of them went off hand in hand, trailed by the cousins, Emma turned to her brothers, who enveloped her in bear hugs even as they chided her for staying away too long.

“Leave her alone,” her sister-in-law Martha said. “She’s here now. That’s what counts. And we’re going to make the most of every minute of it.”

“That we are,” Lauren said, stepping forward for her own hug. “You look tired.”

“It was a long drive.”

“Not that long,” Lauren chided, leading her inside where the dining room table had been set for a celebration, complete with her mom’s best dishes. “And dark circles like that don’t happen overnight. I ought to know. I’m an expert on what lack of sleep can do to a person’s face. Lucky for you, I am also an expert on makeup tricks that will disguise it. By the time we go to the reunion dance on Saturday, you’ll look like a million bucks. Men will fall at your feet.”

“I’m here to see my friends, not to nab a man for myself,” Emma scolded. “Besides, with you around, no one will be looking at me.”

“Wait till I get through fixing you up,” Lauren retorted. “You can’t take a chance that you’ll bump into the perfect man. You don’t want to scare him to death.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that. There are very few perfect men in Winding River.” She glanced at her brothers and grinned. “Present company excluded, of course. That was one of the reasons we left, remember?”

“I’m an optimist,” Lauren declared cheerfully. “A lot can change in ten years. For one thing, acne usually clears up.” She poked an elbow into Matt’s ribs. “Right?”

Matt frowned and ignored her.

“Absolutely,” Martha said to cover her husband’s silence. “Not only that, we can even get cappuccino or a latte on Main Street now. Of course, the locals pretty much go to Stella’s the same as always. The gourmet stuff is for the tourists.”

Emma stared at her in surprise. “We have tourists now? What do they come to see?”

“The real west,” her brother Wayne reported dryly. “Of course, while coming to gawk at the genuine article, they can’t do it without a few of the frills from back East, but what the heck, it’s pumping a few dollars into the economy.”

“It’s going to destroy us in the end, you mark my words,” her brother Matt chimed in, his expression dire. “And that new newspaper editor is going to be leading the charge.”

“Ford Hamilton’s not such a bad guy,” Martha chided her husband. “Give him a chance.”

“To do what? Ruin the place with his fancy, big-city ideas?” Matt countered.

“How do you know he has big-city ideas?” Martha demanded. “You won’t even talk to him!”

“He’s from Chicago, isn’t he?” Matt grumbled. “I guarantee you he’s going to be the first one to call for opening up the land to all kinds of greedy developers. We’ll have subdivisions all the way from here to Laramie if we’re not careful.”

Emma’s mother held up her hand. “Okay, Matt, enough. Let your sister at least get something to eat before you start all this doom-and-gloom stuff over the fate of Winding River. That kind of thing is bad for the digestion.”

Nevertheless, over lunch Emma got an earful on the changes in the town in the past few years—none of them good, to hear Matt tell it. She also heard quite a lot about this man, Ford Hamilton, whose first two editions of the paper had been the talk of Winding River.

“Took out the local columns that Ron had been running for years,” Matt groused.

“Everybody around here already knew what everybody else was doing,” Martha argued. “We didn’t need to read about it in the paper.” She regarded her husband defiantly. “Besides, I think he’s gorgeous. It’s about time somebody exciting and available moved into town.”

“Why do you care? You’re married to me,” Matt reminded her.

Martha rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m dead. Besides, a man like Ford Hamilton could be just what it takes to persuade Emma to move back here.”

Emma held up a hand. “Whoa! Don’t even go there. I am not looking for a man and I am not coming back here. Don’t go getting any crazy ideas on that score, Martha—or any of the rest of you, either.”

“Well, we can all dream,” her mother said. “I, for one, think it would be wonderful if you’d at least give the idea some thought.”

“Don’t push the girl,” her father said. “She just walked in the door.”

“Oh, be still. You’re just as anxious to have her back here as I am,” her mother retorted. “That’s what that pony is all about.”

Emma stared at them. “What pony?”

“That was the surprise,” Caitlyn said, her eyes glowing. “Grandpa got me a pony.”

Emma’s father grinned at her. “That was supposed to be a secret till after lunch, cupcake.”

Caitlyn’s face fell. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“That’s okay, sweetie. Somebody needed to tell me,” Emma said, giving her hand a squeeze, even as she shot a reproachful look at her father.

“You had one when you were her age,” her father pointed out.

“But I lived here,” she retorted, then let the subject drop. She was not going to ruin lunch by getting into an argument at the table.

“Let’s get back to Ford Hamilton,” Martha suggested diplomatically.

“Yes, let’s,” Lauren agreed. “If Emma’s not interested in a gorgeous, available newspaper editor, maybe I’ll check him out.”

“Right,” Wayne scoffed. “As if you’d ever come back here to stay.”

“You never know,” Lauren said so seriously that it drew stares from every adult at the table.

“Lauren?” Emma said, regarding her curiously. This was the first she’d heard of any disenchantment Lauren felt with her glamorous lifestyle.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lauren said, pushing back from the table. “I’ve got to run. I promised Karen I’d drive over to the ranch this afternoon and help with the horses.”

“Now there’s a picture the tabloids would pay to have,” Emma’s father teased. “Millie, where’s my camera? I could probably make enough from this shot to pay for a couple of new bulls.”

“You don’t want to do that, Dad,” Emma warned. “I’d have to advise Lauren to sue you.”

“As if I could ever sue my favorite surrogate dad,” Lauren said, pressing a kiss to his cheek that made him blush.

He shook his head. “Who knew that one of Emma’s friends would grow up to become one of the most famous beauties in the world? I remember when you wore your hair in pigtails and made mud pies in my backyard.”

“Now that is a picture the tabloids would love,” Wayne said. “And I think I know where one is.”

“In the scrapbook,” Matt said, grinning for the first time since Emma had arrived. “Shall I get it? We can split the profits.”

“You do and you’re a dead man,” Emma warned. “I’m in that picture, too. If Lauren doesn’t kill you, I will.”

She glanced across the table to see tears in her mother’s eyes. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“I’m just so happy to have all of you around this table again, squabbling the way you used to. You, too, Lauren. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having my whole family under one roof.”

Guilt spread through Emma. “I’ll get home more often, Mom. I promise.”

“You say that now, but once you’re back in Denver, you’ll be deluged with clients, and the next thing you know another two years will have slipped by.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Emma vowed.

But, of course, it would. She was powerless to stop it. Her career defined her. Being the best and brightest in her class had challenged her to become the best and brightest in the firm. She wanted to be the first lawyer people thought of when there was a high-profile case in Denver. She’d failed at marriage. She was a neglectful, if loving, mom and daughter. But she would be somebody when it came to her profession. Men made sacrifices for their careers all the time, and no one thought any less of them. Why should it be different for a woman? And at least she was setting an example for Caitlyn that a woman could achieve whatever she wanted to in a man’s world.

But at what cost? some would ask. Emma even asked herself that from time to time in the dark of night. So far, though, she hadn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. She wondered if she ever would.




Chapter 2


Ford hadn’t intended to go anywhere near the Winding River High School class reunion. With no other reporter on staff, he’d assigned Teddy Taylor to cover it and given him a camera to take along. Teddy had been ecstatic.

“Be sure you get a few shots of Lauren Winters,” he reminded the teenager. “Everyone’s going to want to see the big celebrity deigning to mingle with the small-town folks.”

Ford’s sarcasm was unmistakable, even to Teddy. The boy had frowned. “I don’t think Lauren’s like that. Uncle Ryan says she’s great. She was the smartest kid in the class. He says she was real serious back then. Nobody expected her to wind up an actress.”

“Whatever,” Ford said, dismissing the ardent defense. “Just get lots of pictures. You probably know who’s important better than I do.”

“I hope so. I got a list from Uncle Ryan. He knows everybody. There’s a lady named Gina who has one of the hottest restaurants in New York—”

“Gina Petrillo?” Ford asked, startled. “Owns a place called Café Tuscany?”

Teddy glanced at his notes, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve eaten there,” he said. The editors of a New York paper had taken him there when they’d been courting him, trying to steal him away from an investigative team in Chicago. He’d been impressed by the food and the ambience, if not by the New Yorkers’ pitch. The owner’s name had stuck with him, though he’d only caught a glimpse of her as she rushed from the kitchen to greet favored guests. Discovering that Gina Petrillo came from Winding River was a surprise.

“And there’s someone named Emma, who’s some kind of courtroom barracuda in Denver now,” Teddy had continued. “And Cole Davis, the big computer-programming genius—well, he wasn’t in the class, but his girlfriend was. Uncle Ryan says he’ll probably be there even though he’s a couple of years older. Everybody’s turning out because it’s such a big deal for the town that Lauren’s coming.”

Ford had been even more startled by the complete litany of success stories. Even though he’d come from a small town himself, he’d always felt that the odds of success were stacked against him. To find so many high achievers coming out of one small class in Winding River—okay, two classes, if Cole Davis had been a year or two ahead of the others—was intriguing.

The more he’d thought about it, the more convinced he’d become that there was a story there. Who or what had motivated these four people to work so hard? Was it a teacher? A parent? A community-wide commitment to education? Their stories could well provide motivation for the current crop of students.

Because of his fascination with the idea, he’d bought a ticket to the Saturday night dance. He had his tape recorder in his pocket, but for the moment he was content to stand on the fringes of the party and watch the dancing.

It was early yet. There was plenty of time for tracking down the class celebrities. Not that he expected to have any difficulty identifying them. The others would probably be fawning all over them, with the possible exception of the attorney. They might be giving her a wide berth. In his experience, most sensible people were wary of lawyers.

“Young man, why aren’t you dancing?” Geraldine Hawkins demanded.

Ford glanced down into twinkling blue eyes framed by gray bangs. The veteran English teacher was sixty-five and barely five feet tall. Yet, according to Ron Haggerty, she could intimidate a six-five, two-hundred-forty-pound linebacker. She’d been one of the first people Ford had met, the introduction preceded by an admonition not to underestimate her. Mrs. Hawkins, despite her diminutive size, was a well-respected powerhouse in town. A decade ago, she had been mayor twice, but now she claimed she no longer had time for that “nonsense.”

She stood before him now with increasing impatience. “Well, young man?”

“Two left feet,” Ford told her.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” She gestured across the room to five women sitting at a table with one man. One of those women was unmistakably the gorgeous Lauren Winters. Another he recognized as Gina Petrillo. “Now go on over there and ask someone to dance. Nobody should be a wallflower at their own class reunion, especially not when there’s a handsome, available man in the room.”

Ford grinned at her. “I’d rather dance with you, Mrs. Hawkins. How about it? Care to take a spin around the floor with me?”

Color flamed in her cheeks, but she demurely held out her hand. “Why, I don’t mind if I do. Just stay off my toes, young man. I have corns.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises.”

He swept her into his arms and waltzed her gracefully around the floor. When the music ended, she scolded, “Young man, you fibbed to me. You know perfectly well how to dance.”

“You inspired me,” he insisted.

“Nonsense. Now go ask someone your own age to dance.”

“Anyone in particular?”

She glanced over at the same group of women. One of them was clutching a cell phone to her ear and nodding, her expression intense. She was beautiful in an uptight, regal way, Ford mused.

“I’d recommend Emma,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “The one on the phone. She needs a distraction. Whoever invented cell phones ought to be shot, but since it’s too late for that, we can only try to get them away from the people who are addicted to them.”

“Emma?” Ford repeated, recalling his conversation with Teddy. “She’s an attorney?”

“A fine one, from what I’ve heard. Works too hard, though. I’ve heard that, as well. Just look at her. Here she is at a dance with all of her old friends and she’s on the phone. I guarantee you that it’s a business call.”

Even as they stared at her, Emma reluctantly handed the phone to Lauren, who dialed, spoke to someone, then hung up, her expression triumphant. When Emma reached for the phone, Lauren held it away from her.

“Good for Lauren,” Mrs. Hawkins said approvingly. “Now it’s up to you. Ask her to dance. If ever there was a young woman in need of some fun, it’s our Emma.”

Ford sensed that the teacher was not going to give up until he was back out on the dance floor, preferably with the workaholic attorney. Since he’d intended to seek Emma out anyway, he nodded. “You win. But if I step all over her toes and she sues me, I’m holding you responsible.”

“I’m not concerned,” the English teacher said with a blithe expression.

Ford crossed the high school gym. By the time he reached the table, Emma was sitting all alone, her expression glum.

“I’ve been commanded to dance with you,” Ford told her.

She gazed up at him, her expression startled. “Commanded? Now there’s a gracious invitation, if ever I heard one.” She might be an uptight workaholic, but Emma was even more attractive up close. For a brief moment Ford was grateful the English teacher had sent him on this mission of mercy. He suspected though, that Emma was going to do her very best to see that he got over that benevolent feeling.

“Mrs. Hawkins,” he said, nodding in the teacher’s direction.

To his surprise, a smile spread across Emma’s face, softening the harsh lines of her mouth and putting a sparkle into her eyes. “She does have a way of getting what she wants, doesn’t she? She actually managed to nudge me into reading Shakespeare. I hated it, but she never once let up. Eventually I began to like it.”

“She must not have had to nudge too hard,” Ford said. “From what I hear, you were a terrific student. I’m Ford Hamilton, by the way.”

Her expression cooled considerably. “Ah,” she said, “the new owner of the paper. I’ve heard about you.”

“Nothing too damning, I hope.”

“So far no, but then you’ve only been here a few weeks. I’m sure you haven’t done your worst yet.” She stood up. “Thanks for asking me to dance, but I have some old friends I need to see.”

She brushed past him and headed straight for the hallway. Ford stared after her, wondering what he’d said to offend her. Or was it nothing more than the fact that he owned the paper?

“Ms. Rogers?” he called after her.

She hesitated but didn’t turn around. Refusing to talk to her back, he walked over and stepped in front of her.

“When you have a few minutes, I’d like to speak with you,” he said.

Her expression remained cool. “About?”

“What or who motivated you when you were at Winding River High. I’m hoping to talk to all of the major success stories from your class. I think there might be some lessons in what drove you to succeed.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What’s your measure of success, Mr. Hamilton? Fame? Money?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about. You see, the people I view as successful from our class are the ones who are doing what they love to do, who are happy with their lives. For instance, my friend Karen. She’s not famous, and she probably has very little savings. But she’s working a ranch she loves with a man she adores. That’s success, Mr. Hamilton, not what I do.”

Before he could respond, there was a scuffle of some kind across the gym. A man who looked as if he was probably drunk was tugging on the arm of a woman, while another man looked as if he might intervene. Only after a subtle nod from the woman did the second man back away with a shrug. Finally he turned and left the room.

Beside Ford, Emma tensed. He glanced down and saw genuine worry on her face. “You know them?”

“Of course. Everyone in Winding River knows everyone else. Sue Ellen was in my class. Donny was a year older. They were high school sweethearts.”

“They don’t look so happy now,” Ford observed. “Would they qualify as one of your success stories?”

“I really couldn’t say. I haven’t kept up,” Emma replied frostily. “Look, Mr. Hamilton, I wish you luck with the paper. I really do—Winding River needs a good newspaper. But I’m not interested in being interviewed.”

“Not even for the sake of inspiring a student?”

“Not even for that,” she said firmly. “Now you really will have to excuse me.”

“Has the media given you a tough time, Ms. Rogers?” he asked, halting her in her tracks. “Is that why you won’t take five minutes out of your busy schedule to talk to a reporter from your hometown paper?”

Eyes flashing, she faced him. “Why I don’t care to talk to you is my business. The bottom line is that I won’t. Good night, Mr. Hamilton.”

This time when she walked away, Ford let her go. He’d run across her type before. She wouldn’t be above using the media if it served her purposes, but the rest of the time she treated each and every journalist with disdain. He hadn’t expected to run across that kind of attitude in Winding River, but, of course, Emma Rogers lived in Denver now. Whatever bee she had in her bonnet about reporters came from a bad experience there. He’d bet his tape recorder on that.

He should let it pass. What did it matter if she didn’t want to talk to him? He had other prospects for his story. But the competitive part of him that hated being beat out of any potential scoop rebelled. First thing in the morning, he’d go on the Internet and do a search of the archives of the Denver papers. If Emma Rogers was as high profile as everyone said, there were bound to be mentions. They would give him some insight into what made the woman tick.

Once he knew that…well, it remained to be seen what he would do with the information.



“Don’t tell me what I saw!” Donny Carter shouted, weaving in place in front of his wife. “You were flirting with Russell. The man’s hands were all over you.”

The sound of Donny’s voice carried across the dance floor to where Emma sat with her friends. This was Donny’s second outburst of the evening, and their former classmate was threatening to get out of hand. He was clearly drunker now…and angrier.

“I see Donny’s still getting sloshed at the slightest provocation,” Emma said to her friends. “I thought his beer-drinking days would be over by now.”

“They’re not,” Karen said tersely.

“And he’s still taking out his bad temper on Sue Ellen,” Cassie added. “They’ve been at it all weekend. Not that the Carters’ battles are anything new. My mother says their neighbors are constantly calling the sheriff over there to break up fights. And Sue Ellen’s been to the hospital twice in the past few months.”

Emma felt her stomach clench. Donny and Sue Ellen had always had a volatile romance. She’d hoped that would change with maturity, but obviously it hadn’t. If anything, it was even worse than she’d suspected when she’d witnessed the earlier incident. She’d recognized all the signs of an abusive relationship, but she’d been praying it was mostly verbal. Cassie’s information suggested otherwise.

“Why doesn’t she leave him?” Lauren asked, viewing the scene with indignation. “She shouldn’t have to take that kind of treatment from her own husband.”

“She says she loves him, that it’s her fault for upsetting him,” Karen said, her worried gaze on the arguing couple. “I guarantee you, if you were to walk over there right now, she’d be apologizing all over the place for saying hello to Russell—which by the way, is all she did. I was standing right there with her earlier. But you’d never persuade her husband of the truth. Donny is jealous and possessive when he’s sober. Drunk, he’s even worse. He’s downright mean.”

A few minutes later, as the argument escalated again, Emma saw the sheriff intervene, settling Donny down by escorting him outside for a chat. Donny went along with Ryan Taylor docilely enough. As they exited, Emma noticed that Ford Hamilton was observing the scene with interest.

“I hope he doesn’t intend to report that little drama in next week’s paper,” she murmured, half to herself.

“I don’t think Ford would do that,” Karen said.

“He’s a journalist, isn’t he? It’s his job to muckrake whenever the opportunity arises,” Emma replied, leaving little doubt of the contempt in which she held Ford Hamilton’s profession.

“Maybe in the city, but not here,” Cassie said. “Mom likes Ford. She met him when he came into the hair salon one day when she was there and asked if Sara Ruth cut men’s hair.”

Despite herself, Emma bit back a grin. The Twist and Curl had been strictly a women’s domain for two generations. “Oh, my. How did that go over?”

“Actually, after the initial shock, he charmed everyone in the room,” Cassie reported. “Mom’s been thinking of inviting him over for Sunday dinner. He’s a bachelor. She’s worried he might be lonely.”

“A little young for your mom, though, isn’t he?”

“Very funny,” Cassie said. “She’s just being neighborly.”

Emma turned another speculative look on the journalist. Maybe she’d judged him too harshly earlier, but she knew the type. There was no mistaking the arrogance in his stance. What she’d at first dismissed as idle curiosity was clearly the far more dangerous nosiness of a professional snoop.

Over the years Emma had had more than her share of run-ins with reporters. She didn’t have much use for them as a breed. Most of them managed to get their facts straight, but in her view they had the sensitivity and discretion of a runaway bulldozer. That alone would have been enough for her to give the press a wide berth, but there had been one incident that had come close to destroying her career with a little help from Kit. Hell would freeze over before she gave another reporter any assistance on a story, even if the story itself was as well-intentioned as the one Ford had described to her earlier.

“Didn’t I see him asking you to dance earlier?” Lauren asked, regarding her curiously. “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Not really. He was just acting on Mrs. Hawkins’s orders.” Emma wondered if she might have warmed more to the classically handsome newspaperman if she’d thought he’d been drawn to her by appreciation of her own charms, but decided no, she wasn’t that vain. Still, it irked her ever so slightly that it was Mrs. Hawkins’s prodding that had sent him her way.

“Mrs. Hawkins was matchmaking?” Cassie said, chuckling. “Imagine that. I seem to recall she spent most of my sophomore year trying to keep Cole and me separated. And we weren’t even dating at that point.”

“Maybe she just has good instincts about who belongs with whom,” Lauren said, casting a speculative gaze at Emma. “I can see you with a journalist.”

“Me? Never,” Emma said fiercely. “They’re always poking their noses in where they don’t belong. Just look at the way he’s been watching Sue Ellen and Donny, taking mental notes. If the opportunity arises, he’ll report this without giving a second thought to the consequences.”

“Which are?” Lauren asked.

“If Donny and Sue Ellen have a serious problem, putting it in the paper will only escalate the tension,” Emma predicted.

“Or maybe getting it out into the open will force them to face what they’re doing to each other,” Karen said, looking thoughtful. “Everybody tiptoes around it, because Sue Ellen clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge that Donny hits her. It’s just one of those unspoken truths that everyone knows.”

“And you think publicly humiliating her will make the situation better?” Emma demanded. “I say she needs to be able to cling to whatever dignity she can.”

The others sighed.

“I doubt we’re going to solve Sue Ellen’s problems for her,” Cassie said. “She has to want to get out of the relationship.”

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t wait too long,” Emma murmured. She glanced in Sue Ellen’s direction, but when their classmate realized she was the subject of Emma’s scrutiny, she fled, her cheeks flaming.

“Okay, enough of this,” Karen said. “I’m going to look for my husband. I want to dance.”

Gina and Cassie drifted away as well, leaving Emma alone with Lauren.

“You’re really concerned about Sue Ellen, aren’t you?” Lauren asked.

Emma nodded. “I’ve seen too many women like her in my pro bono work. They’re scared to go and they’re terrified to stay. Either way, their lives are hell. A few make it out. Too many stay and wind up severely beaten or dead.” She shuddered. “It’s the most depressing kind of case I handle. I don’t do it often, because it takes a terrible toll on me emotionally. I keep thinking, �there but for the grace of God go I.’”

Lauren stared at her in shock. “Kit?”

Emma nodded reluctantly. She never spoke about what the last days of her marriage had been like, but she couldn’t bring herself to skirt the truth with Lauren. “He never laid a hand on me, but the psychological abuse was almost as bad.”

“You never said a word about this,” Lauren said, her gaze filled with concern. “What did he do?”

“He did everything he could to convince me I would never make it as an attorney,” Emma said, chilled by the memory. “He wanted me dependent on him, emotionally and financially. I was lucky—I’m stubborn and strong willed. He couldn’t intimidate me. I believed I could succeed without him. After all, I had made it into one of the best colleges in the country and had finished law school at the top of my class. I refused to let Kit diminish those accomplishments.”

“Yet even now that he’s out of your life, you’re still proving yourself to him, aren’t you?” Lauren said, regarding her thoughtfully. “That’s why you work so hard.”

Emma opened her mouth to disagree vehemently, but the denial died on her lips. “You could be right,” she admitted slowly. “I never considered that before.”

“Maybe you should think about it now,” Lauren advised, “so you’ll be able to give yourself permission to slow down. You don’t want to wake up one day and realize you’ve missed every single important event in Caitlyn’s life all because you were trying to prove something to a man like Kit Rogers.”

“Caitlyn’s only six,” Emma said defensively. “She hasn’t had a lot of important events.”

“She’s had birthdays, hasn’t she? And Christmases? And school vacations? How many of those have you spent with her?” Lauren asked.

“I’ve never missed a birthday or Christmas,” Emma retorted.

“Good. But I know for a fact that this is the first trip the two of you have taken in two years. Part of the joy of being a mother is seeing things through your child’s eyes. You’re missing that.” Her expression turned wistful. “If I had what you have, I wouldn’t waste a second.”

Lauren’s words struck a nerve, which was probably why Emma felt inclined to snap at her. She resisted the urge, confining herself to a pointed question. “When did you get to be an expert on motherhood?”

“Wishful thinking,” Lauren said lightly.

“I’ve never heard you talk about kids before.”

“Maybe I just never heard my biological clock ticking quite so loudly before.” Lauren forced a smile. “Enough of this. I’m going out right this second to find myself the handsomest man in the room to dance with, even if he’s married to somebody else.”

“Just don’t forget to give him back,” Emma teased. “I don’t want to have to rescue you from a vengeful wife.”

Lauren waved off the suggestion as she began weaving through the couples on the dance floor. Only after Lauren had gone did Emma realize that her friend had taken Emma’s cell phone with her.

“You look a little lost,” Ford Hamilton noted, pulling out the chair next to her. “Missing your phone?”

She was startled by his intuition. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Do you conduct a lot of business on a Saturday night?”

“When necessary.” She frowned at him. “I still don’t want to be interviewed, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I got the message. You don’t object to dancing with a journalist, though, do you? I promise I won’t take notes if you miss a step or two.”

Emma hadn’t been on a dance floor in…well, too long. Listening to the oldies being played by the band reminded her that once she had loved to dance. She’d been good at it, too. If she could forget for a minute who and what he was, it could be fun.

“Let’s wait for a fast dance,” she said, eyeing him with amusement. “Then we’ll see if you can keep up.”

“No contest,” he retorted. “Anything you can do—”

Emma laughed. “Don’t finish that thought. I might view it as a challenge.”

“It was meant to be.” His gaze clashed with hers.

To Emma’s astonishment, she felt a little tingle of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse did an unexpected dip and sway that left her feeling giddy. Fascinating. Lately the only time she felt any stirring of excitement was in a courtroom. Discovering that Ford Hamilton could have the same effect was more than mildly intriguing.

One dance, she promised herself. No more. Just for the sheer exhilaration of it. And if she felt a bit off-kilter, a bit breathless at the conclusion, she could blame it on the unfamiliar exertion. It certainly wouldn’t have anything at all to do with the man who was regarding her with such an amused glint in his blue eyes.

The beat of the music slowed, as the band slid from one tune to another, but then the pace quickened. Emma recognized an old Chubby Checker hit.

“They’re playing our song, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, reaching for his hand and drawing him onto the floor.

He was a tall, lanky man, and the twist was definitely not his dance. He was a good sport about it, though, laughing when they drew a cheering, clapping crowd of her friends.

At the end of the song, Emma was ready to claim victory, but Ford wasn’t quite so quick to release her. As the band began a slow song, he drew her into his arms. She went with less reluctance than she’d intended.

For a beat or two, Emma held herself stiffly, but then the music, the scent of Ford’s aftershave, the gentle pressure of his hand against her back, had her relaxing into the rhythm. Her cheek fit perfectly against his shoulder. It was rare that she’d been with a man who had several inches in height on her own five-ten. She caught herself right before she sighed with the pure pleasure of it.

This time, when the song ended, he released her, then took a step back. He seemed suddenly wary, as if the dance had been more than he’d bargained for, as well.

“Thanks for the dance,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around town.”

His dismissal irritated her, but she managed to keep her voice and her expression cool. “I doubt that. I’ll be leaving on Sunday.”

“On your next visit, then,” he said. “Or will that be a long time coming?”

She didn’t like the implied criticism. “I get home when I can.”

“Every couple of years is what I hear.”

“Been asking a lot of probing questions tonight, Mr. Hamilton?” she inquired, disconcerted by the thought. A part of her had hoped she’d been wrong about him being like all the other reporters.

“A few. You obviously lead a busy life.”

“I do.”

“Too bad it’s not fulfilling,” he said, then gave her a jaunty wave as he started away.

This time she was the one calling him back. “Why would you say something like that?” she demanded indignantly. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Deductive reasoning,” he said. “Besides, you admitted as much earlier.”

“When?”

“When I said I wanted to interview the town’s success stories,” he answered. “You gave me your interpretation of success, then all but said you couldn’t claim to have that kind of achievement.”

Emma hadn’t realized her words had been so telling, or that Ford Hamilton was sensitive enough to pick up on what she’d left unspoken.

“Well?” he prodded. “Are you denying it?”

She forced a grim smile. “No comment.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“And if you quote me on it, I’ll call you a liar,” she retorted.

“Oh, this isn’t for publication,” he assured her. “It’s just between us. I like to tuck away useful information about the people I meet.”

Something about the way he said it—the way he looked at her when he said it—suggested she might have been better off giving him the interview he’d wanted hours ago. This conversation had red flags all over it.




Chapter 3


Emma had expected to be on her way back to Denver first thing Sunday morning, but somehow Cassie and the others had persuaded her to stay over for a class picnic.

“We’re playing baseball. We need you,” Cassie had insisted.

It had been sometime after midnight, and Emma’s resistance had been low. After her conversation with Ford Hamilton about the lack of fulfillment in her life and Lauren’s suggestion that she was trying to prove something to her ex-husband, she hadn’t been looking forward to going back to Denver, anyway. It hadn’t taken a lot of persuasion to convince her to spend one more night in Winding River. The promise that she could manage her team had been the clincher.

The women were doing surprisingly well against the men, largely thanks to Lauren. She distracted the men so badly that they’d had only two hits in six innings. They were even less successful at fielding the hits made by the women. As a result, the women were winning two to nothing. Emma didn’t trust such a slim lead. She wanted more runs.

She glanced around in search of her star player. Emma finally spotted Lauren sitting in the shade, Ford Hamilton stretched out beside her, obviously hanging on her every word. Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy streaked through Emma at the sight of Lauren staring raptly at the charismatic journalist in his faded, formfitting jeans, sneakers and T-shirt.

Irritated by her reaction, Emma turned away, wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, glanced down at her lineup and realized that Lauren was next up to bat. How was Emma supposed to manage her team to a victory when her star player was more interested in a good-looking guy than she was in winning?

“Lauren, if it’s not too much trouble, could you take a couple of warm-up swings?” she called out testily. “It’s almost your turn to bat.”

Lauren merely waved an acknowledgment, then turned back to Ford. He said something that made her laugh just as she stood up and strolled back toward the bench, hips already swaying in the suggestive way that had the men on the field all but panting. Cassie’s little bloop of a hit, which should have been an easy out, landed untouched in short center field, and she reached first base before a single male reacted. Emma grinned, her mood improving.

“Everything okay?” Lauren asked, regarding her curiously.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Something in your voice a minute ago. You sounded almost jealous that I was chatting with Ford, but that couldn’t be, could it?” She seemed to find the possibility highly amusing.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know the man. If you’re interested in him, he’s all yours—though I’m surprised that you of all people would give the time of day to a journalist,” she said, figuring Lauren knew better than most people how annoyingly intrusive the press could be.

“So? I hear reporters can be decent human beings. The Winding River News isn’t some sleazy tabloid. Besides, Ford seems like a nice guy.”

Emma lost patience. “Do we have to have a discussion of Ford Hamilton right this minute? You’re up to bat. And the pitcher’s beginning to look irritated.”

Actually the pitcher’s tongue was all but hanging out as he ogled Lauren’s short shorts and snug tank top.

“Don’t mind John. He’ll wait,” Lauren said. “This is important.”

“No,” Emma said firmly. “It’s not. Winning this game is the only thing that’s important.”

Lauren shook her head. “Sweetie, you are in serious need of an adjustment in your priorities, but I suppose I can’t fix everything in a single weekend.”

When Emma started to speak, Lauren patted her hand. “Never mind. I’m going.” She picked up a bat, slung it over her shoulder and headed for the batter’s box, where she promptly wiggled her hips outrageously. Four pitches later she had drawn a walk. John grinned as he watched her sashay to first base.

“Amazing,” Ford said, sitting down on the bench next to Emma. “I think your team definitely has an unfair advantage.”

“We wouldn’t if men weren’t so predictable,” Emma retorted. “What are you doing here, anyway? Still stalking your prey?”

“I prefer to think of it as interviewing my sources,” he countered. “It’s going to be a great story. Too bad you won’t be part of it.”

“Be careful about libel, Mr. Hamilton. It can be a nasty business.”

“I hardly think there can be anything libelous in reporting how several Winding High grads achieved success.”

“I suppose that depends on how conscientious you are when you write your article.”

“Do you have a lot of experience with libel cases?” he asked, studying her curiously.

“No. It’s not my area of expertise, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the law.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Of course, that is a subject I wrote my thesis on when I got my graduate degree, so I have a working knowledge of the law as well. Perhaps we can compare notes sometime.”

Refusing to admit that she was startled by his degree or his area of study, she frowned at him. “I wouldn’t count on it. Just be sure you keep your facts straight about my friends, and you and I won’t have a problem. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a game to play.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that they chose you to manage the team? Do you take everything you do so seriously?”

“Pretty much,” she said, then added defensively, “I don’t consider that a character flaw.”

“Not a flaw,” he agreed. “Just boring.” He glanced toward the ballfield where Lauren and Cassie were hamming it up in the outfield. “Now, take your friend Lauren. She obviously knows how to enjoy herself.”

The observation rankled, possibly because it implied that he approved of Lauren more than he approved of Emma. She found it extremely exasperating that it mattered to her whom he preferred.

“Don’t let her fool you,” she said tightly. “She’s a very smart woman.”

“Did I say she wasn’t? You don’t have to hide your brains to have fun.”

The remark hit a little too close to what Lauren had said to her. Emma was getting tired of everyone suggesting that she was leading a dull, predictable life.

“I enjoy myself, Mr. Hamilton. Maybe it’s just that you don’t amuse me.”

His grin spread. “Then I’ll have to work on that. Good luck with the game,” he added, then stood up and sauntered off.

Emma stared after him, once again feeling more off-kilter than she had in years. It was definitely a good thing she was going back to Denver first thing tomorrow. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discover how effective Ford Hamilton could be once he set his mind to charming her.



Emma Rogers was pretty much an aggravating pain in the butt, Ford concluded as he went off to find friendlier company. Even so, he couldn’t deny that she intrigued him—not as a woman, he quickly assured himself, but as a person. There was a distinction, though he was having difficulty pinning that down at the moment.

At any rate, even while he sat with the men as they took their turn at bat, his gaze kept straying to Emma, noting the intensity of her expression as she watched her players perform in the field. Suddenly an image of her in his bed, just as intent on their lovemaking, swept through his mind. Heat climbed up his neck at the improbable but thoroughly erotic fantasy.

“What’s going on, buddy? You look a little flushed,” Ryan Taylor said, amusement threading through his voice.

Ford forced his attention away from Emma and glanced at the sheriff. “It’s hot out here.”

“Maybe so, but I’ll bet it’s not half as hot as wherever your head was. Thinking about our Emma, were you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know the woman. And what I do know doesn’t recommend her. She’s an annoying, stuffy know-it-all.”

Ryan’s grin spread. “Some men would find that challenging.”

“Not me.”

“Too bad. She could use a man who’s not afraid of her intellect, maybe even one who’s perceptive enough to see through to her vulnerability.”

“Emma, vulnerable? I don’t think so.”

“Like I said, it takes a certain amount of perception to see past that tough facade. I guess I misjudged you. I thought you might be used to digging below the surface to see what a person is really like.”

The comment hit its mark. “Well, it hardly matters whether I am or I’m not. She’s definitely not inclined to let me get close enough to find out. Besides, she’s heading back to Denver any day now. In fact, based on what she said at the dance last night, I thought she’d be on the road first thing this morning.”

“Were you disappointed to find her still here today?”

Ford scowled. “It didn’t matter to me one way or the other.”

Ryan chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that.” His expression suddenly sobered. He paused, as if he were choosing his words with care. “By the way,” he began finally, “Teddy says he got a picture of that little scene with Sue Ellen and Donny last night. You don’t intend to use it, do you?”

“No,” Ford said without hesitation. “Domestic disputes don’t warrant coverage.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ryan said, looking relieved. “Sue Ellen doesn’t need to have her troubles plastered all over the newspaper. She has a tough enough life as it is.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you arrested Donny?”

“She won’t press charges,” Ryan said with evident frustration. “My hands are tied, unless I catch him in the act of hurting her. Believe me, I’m just itching to slap the man with assault charges. He needs help, and he sure as hell won’t get it as long as she keeps making excuses for him. It makes me sick to see how he humiliates her over and over again. Sue Ellen was one of the most outgoing kids in our class. She participated in every activity. She always had a smile on her face. Now she barely sets foot out of the house, and I can’t tell you the last time I saw her smile.”

“I noticed they didn’t come today,” Ford said.

Ryan’s expression turned grim. “Probably because she has bruises she’s trying to hide and he’s out on the sofa with a hangover.”

Ford shuddered at the sheriff’s matter-of-fact description. “Even around here, there must be places she could go for help.”

“She won’t leave. I’ve tried. Hell, half the town has tried at one time or another, but Sue Ellen believes with everything in her that Donny loves her and that he’ll change. Personally, I don’t see it happening. Their marriage is a tragedy waiting to happen. The one blessing in all of this is that they’ve never had kids, so there are no innocent victims suffering because she refuses to get out.”

A shadow fell over them. Ford looked up, surprised to see Emma standing there.

“Are you talking about Sue Ellen?” she asked Ryan, carefully avoiding Ford’s gaze.

Ryan nodded. “Any ideas on how to get her out of there?”

“None,” she said.

Ford was startled by her helpless, frustrated expression. For the first time, he saw a hint of that vulnerability Ryan had been talking about.

“Maybe you could talk to her,” Ryan suggested. “She always admired you, Emma, and you are an attorney. You could give her some hard truths about the odds of Donny ever changing.”

Emma shook her head. “I’m sure she’s been told the statistics a hundred times, and just doesn’t want to believe them. She wants to believe that he’s the exception, that if she’s loyal enough and patient enough, he’ll stop hurting her.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to get through to her,” Ryan coaxed. “Do it as a favor to me.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll do it for you. I’ll call her,” Emma promised. “I just hope the fact that she’s even talking to me doesn’t set Donny off. It could, you know.”

“I think it’s a chance worth taking,” Ryan told her. “Thankfully I don’t run across a lot of domestic violence around here, so I’m no expert, but I think the tensions are escalating dangerously.”

Emma sighed. “I hope you’re wrong about that.”

“You really care about Sue Ellen Carter, don’t you?” Ford said, letting his surprise show.

Emma finally looked at him. “Of course. She’s an old friend,” she said matter-of-factly. “In Winding River, friends stick together.”

“And in Denver?” he taunted. “What do friends do there?”

The question seemed to disconcert her. “The same thing, I suppose.”

Her reply was more telling than she realized. In that instant, Ford realized that despite all of the close friends in evidence at the reunion, Emma Rogers was quite possibly one of the loneliest people he’d ever met. And to his very sincere regret, in some gallant, knight-in-shining-armor fantasy, he wanted to change that.



The news that Cassie’s mother had breast cancer threw Emma’s already shattered timetable into chaos. There was no way she could abandon her childhood friend right now. Thanks to faxes and the availability of overnight couriers, she could stay on the job and remain right here in Winding River for a few more days until they knew how the surgery was going to go.

Making those arrangements and lending support to Cassie pushed all thoughts of Sue Ellen temporarily out of Emma’s mind. It was several days later when she remembered her promise to Ryan and set aside time to call Sue Ellen. Maybe it was for the best that she’d waited, Emma told herself as she dialed Sue Ellen’s number. Donny would surely be back at work, which would make it easier for them to talk without him influencing what Sue Ellen said or fueling her reluctance to talk at all.

The phone rang and rang without even an answering machine picking up. Since everyone in town had told her that Sue Ellen rarely left the house anymore, Emma left Caitlyn with her grandfather for another riding lesson and drove into town.

Sue Ellen and Donny were living in a small apartment in a converted garage just a few blocks from where Cassie had grown up. It wasn’t the best part of town. There had been little effort at upkeep and even less at landscaping. No doubt whatever money Donny earned went for booze, Emma thought, more sadly than cynically.

Emma knocked on the Carters’ door, waited, then knocked again. She was almost certain that she heard a faint stirring inside, but no one answered the knock.

“Sue Ellen, are you there? It’s Emma Rogers. I’d love to visit with you, if you have a few minutes.”

The rustling sound came closer to the door, but it remained tightly shut.

“I’m…I’m not feeling well,” Sue Ellen whispered, her voice hoarse. “It’s not a good time.”

“I’m not worried about catching a few germs,” Emma said, deliberately pretending to go along with the excuse but at the same time refusing to leave.

“Please, Emma, not now.” Sue Ellen sounded near tears.

Concluding that dancing around the obvious was accomplishing nothing, Emma asked bluntly, “Has Donny hurt you again?”

The question was greeted by a sharp intake of breath, then a sob.

“It’s okay, Sue Ellen. I just want to help.”

“You can’t. Nobody can.”

“That’s not true. Won’t you at least let me try?”

“I can’t. It will only make it worse if Donny finds out. Please go away,” she begged. “That’s the best thing you can do for me, Emma.”

Emma took a card for an abuse hot line from her purse, scribbled her own cell phone number on the back, and slid it under the door. “If you change your mind, call me or call that hot line. There is help, Sue Ellen. All you have to do is ask for it.”

Only the sound of wrenching sobs answered her.

“Call,” Emma pleaded one last time, then reluctantly turned and walked away.

She drove to Main Street, then parked in front of Stella’s. She needed to eat something completely and thoroughly decadent, some confection to remind her that life wasn’t entirely bleak. Bumping into a few of her friends wouldn’t hurt either.

Unfortunately, the only familiar face besides Stella’s was Ford Hamilton’s. Right this second, she would take whatever company she could get, if only because it would keep her from having to think about Sue Ellen.

Ford eyed her warily when she slid into the booth opposite him. Wariness quickly shifted to concern. “Everything okay? You look a little pale.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said grimly, then glanced up at Stella. “I want the biggest hot-fudge sundae you can make, extra hot fudge and extra nuts.”

“Now I know something’s wrong,” Ford said.

“Oh, why?”

“Because you strike me as the type who normally splurges on carrot sticks.”

“Well, now you know I’m not,” she said testily. “And if you’re just going to take digs at me, I’ll sit someplace else.”

He held up a placating hand. “Stay. I’ll be good.”

She wasn’t buying the promise, but she stayed where she was because she was suddenly too exhausted to move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“Want to talk about something else?”

“Not especially.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Then you’re with me just because you prefer anything to your own company?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay. I can relate to that.” He picked up the New York paper he’d been reading. “Want some of this? Hard news? Features? Sports?”

“Business,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Checking on your investment portfolio?”

“Nope, checking to see if one of my clients made any headlines this morning.”

Ford’s eyes lit up. “Big case?”

“In some circles.” Despite herself, she began to grin at his obvious yearning to question her about it. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“What company?”

She mentioned the name of the software manufacturer.

Ford whistled. “That is big. I’ve been reading about it. Patent infringement, right?”

“That’s the charge. A former employee is suing them, claiming that they stole his idea then fired him.”

“And you’re claiming it was their property since he developed the idea while working for them,” he speculated.

“Exactly. And it’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”

“Still, it must be fascinating.”

Emma shrugged. Normally this case—all of her cases—brought on an adrenaline rush, but after her failed meeting with Sue Ellen, none of them seemed all that important.

Ford regarded her intently. “You’ve been to see your friend this morning, haven’t you? Sue Ellen?”

Once again, Emma was surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t that difficult. Even after a couple of encounters, I can tell you’re the kind of woman who gets excited by work, yet I ask about the biggest case you’re handling and you shrug it off. That had to mean that something else is weighing on your mind.”

“Sue Ellen, Cassie’s mom—she was just diagnosed with breast cancer,” she explained when he regarded her blankly. “Then there’s my daughter’s unhappiness at the prospect of going back to Denver.”

“So you’re not having a good day.”

“Not especially.” She met his disconcertingly blue gaze. “Why did you end up in Winding River?”

“Do you really care about that?”

If it meant avoiding a conversation about Sue Ellen, she would listen to him talk endlessly about life before Winding River. “Let’s just say I’m curious. I heard you were a hotshot reporter in a big city before you came here. Did you get fired?”

“Naturally you would think that, wouldn’t you?” he said with a weary expression. “I’m sure there has to be a story behind your distrust of the media. One of these days I’ll get it out of you. As for me, the truth is that I did some investigative reporting in Atlanta and then in Chicago, and I was damned good at it.”

“That must have been exciting compared to covering a class reunion.”

“True, but it wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected it to be. Oh, I liked exposing the bad guys well enough, but there’s a lot of bureaucracy on a large newspaper, a lot of economic pressure. I got tired of fighting it. I quit.”

“And here you’re in control,” she guessed, understanding the need to be in charge. For the first time since they’d met, she could relate to him.

“In charge and in a position to make a difference. If I do this right, I might be able to influence the future of this town.”

“In what direction?”

He grinned. “Hard to say. I’m still getting to know it. I’m not going to start out recommending that we bulldoze the trees and encourage development.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Which is not to say that I might not recommend that very thing at some point in the future.”

Emma tried to imagine Winding River as something other than the small, peaceful town it had always been. The image bothered her more than she’d expected. “I hope you don’t. Winding River is…I don’t know…special. It shouldn’t be tampered with too much.”

“So it’s too small for you to be happy here, but you want to know it’s unchanged for those rare occasions when you feel like coming home?” he challenged.

“Exactly,” she said without remorse. “Some things should never change.”

“Then maybe you need to stick around so you can have a say in what happens.”

She shook her head. “No, my life is in Denver now.”

“What life?” he asked.

She scowled at the deliberate challenge. “My career, my daughter.”

“Interesting that you put your work first,” he noted. “But let’s stick to your daughter for the moment. Don’t you think she’ll be happy wherever you are? Besides, didn’t you just tell me she didn’t want to go back?”

The reminder grated. “She has friends there. School. She loves it.”

“She just likes it here better. Why is that?” he prodded.

“Her grandfather just bribed her with a horse.”

Ford laughed. “That would do it for most kids, but are you sure that’s all of it?”

“What else could it be?”

“I’m hazarding a guess, but could it have something to do with the fact that she sees more of her mom here than she does at home?”

“You haven’t interviewed my daughter, have you?” she asked, only half in jest.

“So that is it?”

“Probably part of it,” she conceded.

Ford gathered up his newspaper and slid out of the booth. “I’m the last person on earth qualified to give parenting advice, but it seems to me there’s a message there that’s worth taking to heart. I’ll leave you to think about it.”

Emma sighed as he left her alone with her still-troubled thoughts. Now, though, she was focused on her own problems instead of Sue Ellen’s. Funny thing about that. A few days ago she wouldn’t have said she had any problems. Now, thanks to a pushy reporter who was more intuitive than she’d imagined, she realized that she’d just spent the past few years sweeping them under her very expensive rug.




Chapter 4


“Where’s Caitlyn?” Emma asked, walking into her mother’s kitchen and snagging an apple. After that hot-fudge sundae, she hadn’t expected to be hungry for days, but she’d taken a brisk walk up and down Main Street before driving back out to the ranch.

“Where do you think?” her mother asked with a chuckle. “In the barn with her grandfather. She’s helping with the chores, though my impression is that she’s more hindrance than help.”

“Maybe I ought to go out and rescue Dad.”

“Don’t you dare. He’s having the time of his life. He swears it’s like having you back again. Don’t you remember how you used to shadow his every move when you were Caitlyn’s age?”

Emma felt the tug of a smile. “I did, didn’t I? No wonder he was so shocked when I announced I was going to be a lawyer. He must have been certain I was going to take over the ranch.”

Her mother’s expression turned nostalgic. “Of all the kids, you were the one who showed the most interest in it. Now it looks as if Matt’s going to take over by default.”

Emma was startled by the observation. “Why do you say it like that? He’s doing a good job, isn’t he?”

“Of course. Matt’s a hard worker, but his heart’s not in it, not the way it should be.”

“I thought he wanted this,” Emma said.

Her mother shook her head. “No, there just wasn’t anything else he wanted more. It didn’t help that he and Martha married so young. Maybe if he’d gone to college…” She shrugged, her voice trailing off.

“You’re really worried about Matt, aren’t you?” Emma asked.

“I am. I’m afraid your brother is adrift. That’s why he’s so unhappy. You heard him at lunch the other day. He grumbles about everything. He sounds like an old man.”

“Who’s an old man?” Emma’s father demanded, coming in at the end of the conversation. “Not me.”

Her mother stood on tiptoe to kiss his weathered cheek. “Never you. You won’t ever get old.”

Caitlyn tugged excitedly on Emma’s arm. “Mom, guess what? Grandpa taught me to muck out the stalls.”

“Really?” Emma said, barely containing her amusement. “And you liked that?”

“It’s kind of yucky, but it’s real, real important, isn’t it, Grandpa?”

“Very important,” he agreed, winking at Emma. “You bought it when you were her age, too. Don’t disillusion her.”

A puzzled frown knit Caitlyn’s brow. “What’s disillusion?”

Emma brushed her hair away from her face. “Nothing you need to worry about, my love. How did your riding lesson go?”

An incandescent smile lit Caitlyn’s eyes. “It was sooo fun. I’m getting good, aren’t I, Grandpa?”

“You’re terrific, baby doll.”

Emma’s eyes misted at the endearment. It was what he had once called her. As if he understood what she was feeling, her father clasped her hand in his large callused hand and squeezed.

Thinking of her conversation with her mother, Emma whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He seemed startled. “For what? You have nothing to apologize to me for.”

“I know you’d hoped that I’d stay here and work with you.”

“That was my dream, not yours. You’re entitled to the life you want. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Of course, that was the problem, Emma realized. In the past few days she’d been forced to face the fact that she didn’t even know what real happiness meant anymore. Worse, she couldn’t seem to remember when it had ceased to matter. Maybe she and her brother Matt were in the same sinking boat.



Ford was putting the finishing touches on the layout of photos from the class reunion when Ryan strolled in. The sheriff peered over his shoulder.

“Teddy did a good job, didn’t he?” he said, sounding surprised.

“The boy’s definitely got a way with a camera,” Ford agreed.

“Having you as a mentor is real good for him,” Ryan said. “I’m grateful. Ever since his dad left, he’s been desperate for a role model.”

“An uncle who’s the sheriff isn’t a bad one,” Ford pointed out. “He idolizes you.”

“In some ways, not in others,” Ryan said. “I always thought he was wasting his time and my sister’s money by shooting five rolls of film at every family gathering. It took someone like you to channel what he loves into a money-making proposition. Now all he talks about is being a photojournalist. He can’t wait to get to college this fall. Before, he was going just because his mother and I pushed him to.”

“He is motivated,” Ford agreed. “He’ll make the most of it.” He studied the sheriff speculatively. “What brings you by? I’m sure it wasn’t to get an advance peek at this week’s headlines.”

“Nothing specific,” Ryan said. “I had a few minutes to kill before I head over to the town council meeting. You going?”

“Of course. Anything exciting on the agenda?”

“I hear there’s a zoning request to subdivide the old Callaway ranch into a housing development.”

Though his attitude was nonchalant, something in Ryan’s voice alerted Ford that he wasn’t happy about the plan. “Is there a problem with that?”

“The plan calls for low-cost, subsidized housing. I’m afraid we’re going to be attracting nothing but trouble.”

“There’s not a need for it around here?”

“No. Housing costs are modest as it is. I’ve checked. Locally there aren’t any families in dire need of low-cost housing. It would be a draw for folks from the bigger cities. I’ve got nothing against that on principle, but a whole development all at once will end up putting a strain on the school and on all the other services, law enforcement included. There will be an economic impact on the community, no doubt about it. Winding River’s just beginning to get back on its feet. Tourism is starting to flourish. We’ve had a few people with big bucks move into the county. Last year a few small businesses opened. I don’t want to see anything come along to change that direction.”

What Ryan was saying made a lot of sense. Development per se wasn’t necessarily bad, but the wrong kind could sabotage all efforts to improve the town.

“Is this a done deal?” Ford asked.

“Not by a long shot.”

Ford grinned at him. “Then let’s go do our part to inject a little common sense into the discussion and put a stop to it. You talk, and I’ll give you coverage in this week’s paper. I can still get it in before tomorrow’s deadline, along with an editorial in opposition to the development.”

The sheriff slapped him on the back. “I had a feeling I could count on you.”

As they walked toward the school, where council meetings were held in the auditorium, Ryan cast a sideways look at him. “Heard you and Emma had quite a little chat over at Stella’s today. Looked real cozy.”

“Who’s your source?” Ford asked.

“Now a newspaperman ought to know better than to ask a question like that,” Ryan taunted. “Were they right?”

“Emma and I talked. I don’t know how cozy we were. Having a conversation with that woman is like dealing with a porcupine. You never know when she’s going to take offense and come after you with a sharp barb.”

“You look to me like a man whose hide is tough enough to take a few pointed remarks and to give back as good as you get.”

“There is a certain amount of intellectual stimulation involved, but it can take a toll. I must admit, though, she’s a more complicated female than I first imagined.”

“Complicated, huh?” Ryan grinned. “Watch yourself, pal. Complicated women have a way of getting under a man’s skin and staying there.”

“Emma Rogers is not getting under my skin,” Ford insisted, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew he was lying through his teeth.

“The last man who said that wound up married to her.”

Ford regarded him with surprise. “You knew her husband?”

“We’d met. My sister knew him better.”

“Teddy’s mom?”

“No, my oldest sister, Adele,” Ryan explained. “She dated Kit Rogers for a while at college. That’s how he and Emma met. Kit was here visiting over the holidays one year—we were all at the same party. Then he got one look at Emma, and that was it for him and Adele. They broke up that same night. Can’t say I was sorry. For that matter, neither was Adele. She told me he had �control issues,’ which I took to mean that he was a possessive son of a gun.”

Ford digested that news with a sense of astonishment. “I can’t imagine any man controlling Emma.”

“Not for long, that’s for sure,” Ryan said. “Emma hasn’t said, but I suspect that’s what broke up their marriage. She might have tolerated it for a while, but she’s too strong willed to be anybody’s doormat.” He slanted a look at Ford. “A word to the wise.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Ford said. “If I were interested, which I’m not, I’d know better than to think there was a single submissive bone in that woman’s very attractive body.”

Ryan hooted. “All right!”

“What?”

“You noticed that Emma has a fabulous body. I was beginning to worry about you.”

“I noticed,” Ford said, then added firmly, “not that I have any intention of doing anything about it…even if she’d let me…” He met Ryan’s gaze. “Which she won’t. She’s none too crazy about my profession, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And that’s enough to scare you off?” Ryan asked indignantly. “You’re not even going to try to get her to see past that?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then maybe I’ll give her another shot,” Ryan said, his expression innocent. “We were pretty tight back in high school.”

Ford scowled at him. “Whatever.”

“You wouldn’t care?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“But you wouldn’t feel even the tiniest little twinge if I asked her out?” Ryan persisted.

A twinge? He’d probably want to slug the man, sheriff or not. He refused to admit it, though. “Nope.”

“Liar,” Ryan accused.

Ford sighed heavily. “You got that right.”



“Emma, sweetie, wake up!”

Emma heard her mother’s voice, and for a moment thought she must have been caught up in a dream. Then she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her.

“Emma!”

For the first time in months she had actually been in a deep, restful sleep. She came to slowly. “What is it, Mom? Caitlyn’s not sick, is she? Is it Dad?”

“No, no, it’s Lauren. She’s on the phone. She needs to talk to you now. She says it’s urgent.”

Emma tugged on her robe and raced down the hall, heart pounding. Lauren would never call in the middle of the night unless it truly was urgent. Was she sick? Were the tabloids about to break some story that could destroy her career? Had there been an accident? Or was it one of the other Calamity Janes? She had spoken to most of them during the day. They’d all seemed fine.

Clutching her robe around her, she picked up the phone. “Lauren, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Emma, it’s so horrible,” Lauren said, her voice choked. This wasn’t the sexy huskiness she used on screen, but real emotion. “There was another fight between Donny and Sue Ellen. I had the windows open, and I could hear it all the way over here at the hotel. Donny chased her out of their house, screaming and cursing. I called the sheriff, but before he got over here, I heard a shot.”

“Oh, my God,” Emma whispered. “Please tell me Donny didn’t shoot Sue Ellen.”

“No, she shot him. He’s dead, Emma.”

Emma’s heart sank. “Where is she?”

“Ryan just took her down to the jail. He told me there wasn’t any point in my coming along, that he couldn’t let me see her. Can you go over there? Please. She needs an attorney, a really good one. I doubt she has any money, but I’ll pay for it.”

“I’m on my way,” Emma said at once. “And don’t worry about the money. This one’s on the house.”

Emma yanked on her clothes, explained the situation to her mother and raced to the jail. She was only moderately surprised to find Ford Hamilton there ahead of her. He was arguing with Ryan, demanding to see the sheriff’s report on the shooting.

“Settle down,” Ryan told him. “This isn’t Chicago. We take our time and get things right. We don’t jump to conclusions. You’ll see the report when I have all the facts.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—” Ford began.

“Whatever,” Ryan said, waving off what was obviously the beginning of an insincere apology. “It’s going to take a while to talk to Sue Ellen and to the neighbors about what they saw and heard. In the meantime, why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee?”

Ford frowned. “At this hour? Where?”

“Stella will be in now,” Ryan told him. “Whenever there’s a crisis, she hears about it and opens early.”

Emma’s gaze slid past the journalist, searching the room until she spotted Sue Ellen over by the window, still in her bathrobe, her bruised and battered face streaked with dried tears and blood. Her expression, reflected in the glass, was blank.

“Let me talk to Mrs. Carter,” Ford said to Ryan. “Just a couple of questions.”

“No way,” Emma said so fiercely that both men’s heads snapped around to face her.

“Emma,” Ryan said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked exhausted and sad. “I didn’t expect you to show up here.”

“Lauren called. She told me what happened.”

“I’m glad,” he said, casting a worried look at the woman huddled in a chair across the room. “Sue Ellen’s going to need all the legal help she can get.”

Ford scowled at them. “If you two are finished, do you suppose we could get back to business?” Ford asked. “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Carter, so I can get a couple of paragraphs into this week’s edition. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“And I told you to forget about it,” Emma said. “She’s not talking to anybody, you or the sheriff, until I’ve had a chance to talk to her. How did you get here so fast, anyway? Do you have a police scanner in your bedroom?”

“I’ve been up all night,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Ryan was with me at the paper. I was getting it ready to go to the printer this morning. The call came in about an hour ago.”




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Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения