The Calamity Janes

by Sherryl Woods

  “Do you honestly think you’ll be able to get one anyway?” he demanded. “Everyone around here knows Sue Ellen. They also know just how bad her marriage to Donny was. If anything, it will be the prosecution that has difficulty finding unbiased jurors.”

  “They don’t know Sue Ellen’s history in Cheyenne or the rest of the state that subscribes to this paper, or at least they didn’t until this appeared on the front page so they could look at it while they drank their morning coffee.”

  Ford knew she was right. Teddy had captured not just a frozen moment in a marriage but its entire history in that photo. “I’m sorry. I take full responsibility for it.”

  “How gallant of you. That and a buck will get me a cup of espresso in that fancy new tourist restaurant up the block. Maybe you should consider having yours up there.”

  “I prefer it in here. Stella’s is the heart and soul of Winding River. This is where I find out what people are thinking and talking about.”

  “Well, today all they’re talking about is how you betrayed one of their own.” She regarded him with regret. “I can’t believe I had almost started to trust you.”

  Ford lost patience. “Stay here,” he muttered grimly. He stalked over to pick up a copy of his latest edition and slapped it on the table in front of her. “Read this and see if you still want to condemn me.”

  Her gaze flew to the headline, which was temperate by anyone’s standards: Local Woman Charged In Husband’s Death. She began to read.

  Emma had an amazingly revealing face. Ford could tell when something annoyed her, when it angered her, even when she was moderately pleased. In the end, though, she looked up at him, her expression studiously blank. “So?”

  “Is there a single fact in there that’s in dispute?”

  “No. Your facts are exactly right.”

  “And I found not one, but three experts on domestic violence.”

  “Bully for you,” she taunted.

  “And you’re still not satisfied, are you?” he said, surprisingly hurt by that.

  “No, because they’re just dry, perfunctory quotes about abuse statistics. A good reporter looks beyond the facts, don’t you think? A good journalist uses sound judgment and compassion.”

  “I spoke to those experts to get some balance into the article, just the way you wanted me to,” he said. “Even they agreed that what Sue Ellen did was probably an extreme reaction to the situation.”

  “Of course it was extreme,” she exploded impatiently. “So was the provocation. People don’t just go around shooting their spouses unless they’ve been driven to extremes. She was beaten, Ford. Every week, if not every day, during her marriage. Imagine that. Picture the humiliation. Put yourself in her shoes and imagine the fear she felt every time her husband stepped through the front door of their home.”

  She rose to her feet, spine straight, then leaned down to level a look that seared him. “A decent person thinks about the horrible life Sue Ellen lived day in and day out, before they condemn her without a trial.”

  “I didn’t condemn her,” he protested. “And how can I understand what she went through when you won’t let me talk to her?”

  “That’s your excuse, that I won’t give you access to my client? After this and what you did with that photo, can you blame me?”

  She was gone before Ford could think of an adequate response. She was gone before he could grasp the fact that the unfamiliar feeling stealing over him was shame. Maybe he didn’t deserve all the disdain she was heaping on him, but on some level, she was right. Maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe a man who hadn’t lived with abuse never could.

  Just as that thought occurred to him, so did another. If it was difficult for a man to understand something he’d never experienced, why not a woman? Was Emma’s understanding and compassion for Sue Ellen born out of her own experience? Dear God in heaven, what if it was?

  Before he could grapple with that, he looked up and spotted Ryan stalking toward him with a dire expression.

  The sheriff stood beside the table, hands jammed into his pockets, scowling down at Ford. “What the devil were you thinking, Hamilton? I thought you and I had an understanding.”

  “We did,” Ford agreed, debating whether to give him an explanation.

  “Then why in hell did you betray me?”

  Just then Teddy popped up in the next booth, his face pale. Obviously he’d overheard the entire conversation Ford had had with Emma. He apparently didn’t intend to let his boss take all of the heat with Ryan as well.

  “It was my fault, Uncle Ryan. I gave the picture to the Cheyenne paper. Ford didn’t have anything to do with it. Once they had it, he tried to stop them from using it, but it was too late.”

  Ryan’s gaze shot from his nephew to Ford. “Is that the way it happened?”

  Ford nodded. “He didn’t realize what he was doing.”

  The wind seemed to go out of Ryan then. He frowned at Teddy, but he didn’t condemn him. Instead, he sat down across from Ford and raked a hand through his hair.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped all over you like that.”

  “Not a problem. You’re not the first.”

  A faint smile tugged at Ryan’s lips. “Emma? Yes, I imagine she was in fine form. The woman does have a temper.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ford said. He eyed Ryan curiously. “Any idea how I can get back in her good graces?”

  “So she’ll let you get to Sue Ellen?”

  “That’s one reason,” Ford admitted.

  “And the other?”

  Ford frowned. “I wish to hell I knew. She’s prickly and tough as nails, but she gets to me.”

  Ryan grinned. “Nice to know you’re not immune to a challenge.”

  “Not a challenge,” Ford insisted. He thought of his earlier suspicion that Emma might have had personal experience with abuse. “A puzzle…I guess that’s it. She’s got more contradictions than any female I’ve ever met. The journalist in me wants to make sense of them.”

  “So this is just a professional fascination?” Ryan said, regarding him with amusement.

  “Of course.”

  “That’s why the two of you were discussing sex at Tony’s the other night? It came up in a professional conversation?”

  “Does everybody in this town know about that?” Ford grumbled.

  “More than likely,” Ryan said. “Welcome to living in a small town. So, were you or were you not talking about sex?”

  “Yes, but it was a casual thing. I just threw the topic on the table to rattle her.” He grinned. “Worked like a charm. If she hadn’t been married, divorced and had a child, I would have said it was the first time she’d ever heard the word.”

  “Maybe it was just the first time she’d heard it brought up by a relative stranger in the middle of a business dinner. Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t douse you with a glass of ice water.”

  “She probably would have, if she hadn’t been just the slightest bit tipsy. I think her reflexes were a little slow.”

  “Good thing, because Emma always had damned fine aim.”

  “I’ll remember that if the situation ever arises again.”

  Ryan’s expression suddenly sobered. “Maybe it shouldn’t come up again.”

  Ford looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were all for something happening between me and Emma.”

  “I was,” Ryan admitted. “But it sounds to me as if you’re treating her like some sort of intellectual puzzle you want to unravel. Seems to me she might mistake your interest for something more. I don’t want Emma getting hurt. She’s been through enough.”

  “You mean with that ex-husband of hers?”

  “Yep. I don’t know the details, but the divorce was a nasty one, according to her brothers. She had to all but hog-tie them to keep them from beating the man to a pulp. Given how she feels about you already, I don’t think you want to tempt fate by riling her any more. She might not be so eager to tell them to lay off you.”


  “I’m sure you told me that to warn me off,” Ford said.

  “Of course.”

  Once again his suspicions came to mind. “Too bad, because all you’ve really done is whet my appetite for the story behind the divorce.”

  “Leave it alone,” Ryan advised. “Emma won’t talk about it. Neither will Wayne or Matt.”

  “If it was messy, there are probably public records,” Ford said slowly. Maybe even newspaper reports, which might explain why Emma was so wary of reporters. He never had gotten around to checking that out.

  “You’re going to put her life under that kind of a microscope?” Ryan demanded indignantly.

  “It’s one way to get answers,” he said defensively.

  “A better way would be to ask her whatever you want to know. She might take your head off, but at least it would be the honest way to go about it.”

  Ryan was right, Ford conceded reluctantly. Snooping around in Emma’s past would have to be a last resort. But in order to get the story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, he was going to have to find some way to convince her to start talking to him again. He weighed his charm against her fury and concluded it was going to be a real challenge.

  He could hardly wait.

  Chapter 8

  Emma was still stewing over her run-in with Ford Hamilton as she sat in the swing on the front porch at the ranch, idly pushing herself back and forth. A glass of her mother’s fresh lemonade and the sound of Caitlyn’s giggles as she rode the lawn mower around the house with her grandfather slowly began to have an effect, settling Emma down, washing away her anger over that awful photo in the Cheyenne paper and Ford’s role in giving it to them.

  It just proved that she’d been right all along about all journalists—they simply couldn’t be trusted. The competitive drive for a scoop would win out over ethics every time, no matter how well-intentioned and honorable they claimed to be.

  The fact that Ford hadn’t run the picture in the Winding River News meant nothing. Actually he’d seen to it that it was published in a far more damaging place, a statewide newspaper that had a greater reach and more apparent credibility than a small local weekly would have.

  His decision was unfortunate, really, and untimely. She had been starting to like Ford, starting to believe he might be different from his colleagues of the fourth estate. The story he’d done about her classmates and their success had been fair and factual. Of course, there was the tiniest possibility that the shift in her opinion might have been entirely self-serving. She’d been fighting an attraction to the man ever since the moment they’d met.

  Too bad. Her suddenly awakened hormones were just going to have to wait until a more suitable prospect came along—one with higher ethical standards at the very least.

  Emma gave the swing an idle push, stirring a slight breeze as it went back and forth on creaking chains. How many afternoons had she spent out here, a book in one hand, her mom’s lemonade in the other? As a girl, she’d been a Nancy Drew addict, reading every book in the series she could find in the attic and in the town library. By her teens, she’d become a John Grisham and Scott Turow fan. And for her sixteenth birthday, her brothers had given her a collection of Perry Mason tapes. By then, the die had been cast. She’d known she was destined to be a lawyer. Only her father hadn’t seen it coming, or hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  Thinking of how clear-cut her goals had seemed back then, Emma sighed. Only now was she beginning to realize how many lives had been affected by her drive and determination…how many people had been disappointed. If she had known, would it have changed anything? She didn’t think so. Maybe it would have kept her from marrying a man incapable of letting his wife work, but then she hadn’t known how fiercely possessive Kit was until after the wedding. Moreover, she wouldn’t have had Caitlyn. How could she possibly regret anything that had given her such a beautiful daughter?

  She glanced up just in time to see Caitlyn steering the lawn mower straight for Millie’s flower bed. A gasp from just inside the screen door suggested Caitlyn’s grandmother had seen the same thing.

  “I’m going to kill your father,” Millie said, stepping onto the porch.

  At the last second, Emma’s father took control of the machine and steered away from the flowers, casting an apologetic look toward the porch. Emma chuckled when her mother raised her fist and shook it at him.

  “I swear that man has no sense at all when it comes to Caitlyn,” she told Emma, her amusement plain despite her annoyance. “If she tried to follow him onto the roof, he’d help her up.”

  “Probably,” Emma agreed.

  “He’s spoiling her.”

  “I know, Mom, but it’s okay. It’s only for a short time. Let them have their fun.”

  Her mother sighed heavily. “It’s going to break his heart when you leave again.”

  “Mom, please.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

  “Yes, you do.” Emma glanced at her mother, hoping that she could distract her by getting into the problems faced by another of her children. “By the way, I had a talk with Martha. She’s worried sick about Matt. I promised I’d talk to him.”

  Her mother looked relieved. “That’s wonderful. Any idea what you’re going to say?”

  “Mostly I’m going to listen.”

  “Will you tell him to go to college, the way Martha wants?”

  “It’s not what she wants. She thinks it’s what Matt wants but refuses to admit.”

  Her mother seemed taken aback by her daughter-in-law’s grasp of the underlying situation. “She’s probably right,” Millie conceded. “Sometimes I forget that she’s an adult now, and how much she’s matured. A part of me still sees her as the schoolgirl who had a crush on my son.”

  “Will you and Dad be able to manage if Matt decides to go back to school?”

  “We always have.”

  “But will Matt have your wholehearted blessing?”

  “Of course,” her mother said fiercely. “How could we do otherwise? We backed you and Wayne. We want Matt to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted for any of you.”

  “Maybe Dad should be the one talking to him, then,” Emma suggested. “He could convince Matt not to feel guilty for wanting a different life.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” her mother said.

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “I’m no psychologist, but I think I know my children. As much as I hate to say it, I think Matt’s enjoying being a martyr. And I think there might be a part of him that’s afraid of going back to school after all this time. He was a good student in high school, but that was a while ago. You know how Matt hated to fail at anything.”

  Emma was shocked by Millie’s assessment, but she knew her mother would never have said such a thing if she didn’t believe it. Her insights were usually right on target, too.

  “Then it’s about time somebody put a stop to that,” she said adamantly. “I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow. I won’t have Matt being a martyr and wasting his life. I’ll remind him that studying skills come back. All it takes is a little determination. And if money’s an issue, I’ll help him with his tuition until they get on their feet.”

  “He won’t take your money.”

  “Oh, yes, he will,” Emma said with grim determination. “It won’t be an offer he can refuse.”

  Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s little wonder you’re such a fine attorney, Emma. You do everything with such passion. I only wish…” She cut herself off. “Well, never mind about that.”

  Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Well, well, who have we here?”

  Emma’s gaze followed her mother’s. An unfamiliar car was coming up the driveway at a breakneck pace. Emma tensed, surmising who it was, even though she didn’t recognize the car. Ford had parked around back when he’d been here the last time, which was one reason he’d taken her by surprise. She hadn’t realized anyone was visit
ing, or she might have slipped in the kitchen door. It might have been better if she had. There was no escaping now, though, not with her mother sitting right beside her.

  When Ford emerged, her mother’s smile spread. If she was aware of the tension between the journalist and Emma, it certainly didn’t show on her face.

  “Ford, how nice to see you,” she called out, even though Ford’s gaze was locked on Emma.

  “Do you agree?” he asked Emma.

  “Frankly, no.”

  “Emma,” her mother scolded. “Ford is a guest.”

  “I didn’t invite him. Did you?”

  “That’s not the point. Don’t be rude.” She stood up and patted her place in the swing. “Have a seat, Ford. I’ll bring you some lemonade—I just made it. It’s the perfect thing for a warm evening.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, still watching Emma warily.

  Her mother tapped her on the shoulder. “Be nice,” she admonished before going inside.

  The second they were alone, Emma scowled at him and demanded ungraciously, “What are you doing here?”

  Ford ignored the lack of welcome, just as he had at the diner, but he wisely settled into a rocker next to the swing rather than taking the seat her mother had vacated. “I thought we needed to talk.”

  “About?”

  “I’m not the bad guy here,” he said carefully.

  “No? Couldn’t prove it by me.”

  He held out his cell phone.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Call Ryan.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Ask him how that picture really wound up in the Cheyenne paper.”

  Emma studied Ford’s expression. “You didn’t give it to them?”

  “No.”

  “It was your picture. The photo credit said as much.”

  “It was Teddy’s picture,” he corrected mildly.

  Emma regarded him in stunned silence, thinking of Ryan’s eager nephew. It made an awful kind of sense. Teddy was so anxious to become a big-time journalist. But would he have done such a thing on his own?

  “Teddy actually gave it to them?” she asked cautiously. “He works for you. He must have had your permission.”