The Calamity Janes

by Sherryl Woods

  “You call them,” she said, regretting the fact that she’d given the housekeeper several weeks off while they’d been away. Emma had called her that morning, but the woman wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. “I’ll speak to their moms.”

  “Can they spend the night?”

  “Sure,” she said, resigned to the inevitable. “We can order pizza.”

  Caitlyn beamed at her. She ran to grab the portable phone, then raced back, skidded to a stop and regarded Emma solemnly. “I don’t really hate you, Mommy. I just said that ’cause I was mad.”

  “I know, baby. Now give your friends a call before it gets too late.”

  Emma spoke to the girls’ mothers, assuring them that it would be fine for their daughters to spend the night. “Caitlyn’s looking forward to it.”

  “And you?” Laura Beth’s mother asked, chuckling. “You’re a brave woman to do this on your first day back from a trip.”

  “Not brave, pragmatic,” Emma told Darla. “They’ll keep Caitlyn occupied and happy while I go over the mountain of paperwork that’s stacked up while we’ve been away.”

  “The girls could come over here,” Darla said.

  “You’re an angel for suggesting it, but another time. Caitlyn was unhappy about leaving her grandparents. I think it’ll be good for her to see she can have just as much fun right here.”

  “What time should I pick Laura Beth up in the morning?”

  “I’ll drop her off about nine. I want to run by the office first thing anyway.”

  “Then leave Caitlyn with me,” Darla suggested. “Kids are like puppies. When they’re in pairs, they’re much easier to deal with. They entertain each other. I love my daughter, but it’s been a long summer, and it’s just the end of July. Another whole month to go before school starts.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. See you soon. You can tell me all about your reunion.”

  Emma tried unsuccessfully to hide a groan.

  “I heard that,” Darla said. “Don’t panic. I’ll take the condensed version and then get out of your hair. Any gorgeous men there?”

  Emma immediately thought of Ford. “One, as a matter of fact.”

  “Aha,” Darla gloated. “Maybe this will take longer than I thought.”

  Emma was chuckling when she hung up. Darla was a perpetual optimist, a romantic at heart, who believed in silver linings and happily-ever-after. They weren’t good friends. In fact, they were little more than acquaintances, but they’d seen a lot of each other since their daughters had become fast friends in kindergarten. If Emma told her about Ford and how disconcerting she found him to be, Darla would be encouraging her to start picking out wedding invitations, especially since he was the first man Emma had ever mentioned to her.

  It didn’t help that Darla and Laura Beth arrived just as the phone rang.

  “Ford?” Emma said when she heard his voice. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

  Darla gave her a thumbs-up.

  “I just wanted to be sure you got back okay. Any problems?”

  “Nope. Clear sailing.”

  “Are you back in your routine already?”

  “No, actually Caitlyn is having guests. Two of her classmates are coming over for a slumber party.”

  “Do I detect an attempt at bribery?”

  “You’ve got it,” Emma said, not especially surprised that he’d read the situation so accurately.

  Kelly arrived just then, and the squeals escalated. Darla’s attempts to hush the girls were pretty much ignored.

  “It sounds as if you have your hands full,” Ford commented. “I’ll let you go. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

  “Thanks for calling.”

  “No problem.”

  She was about to hang up, when he said, “Emma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t be surprised if I’m the one showing up on your doorstep one of these days.”

  “What?”

  “Sweet dreams,” he said, and hung up before she could demand an explanation.

  Sweet dreams, indeed! He’d just given her one more thing to worry about.

  “Was that him?” Darla asked, watching her closely.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re barely home and he’s already checking in. You must have made quite an impression. What does he do?”

  “He owns the newspaper in Winding River.”

  “Sounds promising. You can’t get much more respectable than that.”

  “I suppose that depends on your point of view,” Emma said wryly. “Journalists are not my favorite people.”

  “I don’t know why. You’re a master at using the media to help your clients. You have all of those TV reporters eating out of your hand. You’ve mastered the art of sound bites. My Jimmy says he’s never seen anything like it, and he’s been a TV news director for five years now,” she said, referring to her husband, who worked for a local network affiliate. Before that he’d worked for a newspaper in town as one of its brightest political columnists.

  “But I maintain a cautious distance even then,” Emma said. “I certainly never dated reporters.”

  “Well, maybe you should make an exception. I married one and he’s definitely a keeper,” Darla said, grinning. “So, what’s his name? Ford, right? If he’s caught your attention, he must be something. Give him a chance. I know you had a lousy time with your divorce. I read about some of it when it was in the papers, and Jimmy heard a lot of the rumors, but not all men are like that. I caught myself a prize, and there are more like my Jimmy in the sea. I believe the right one will come along for you.”

  Though Emma didn’t handle them herself, an awful lot of divorces were handled by other attorneys she knew. Seeing the sheer volume of them and the bitterness they stirred had made her even more jaded than she’d been by the end of her own. “How did you know Jimmy was such a prize?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “I saw it in his eyes, the first time I looked into them. He has an old soul, you know what I mean? There was all this gentleness and kindness and wisdom.” Darla grinned. “It didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous, either.”

  “You knew right away that he was the one?”

  “On the first date,” Darla confirmed.

  “I thought I knew on my first date with Kit. I was wrong. What’s to say that my judgment has improved?”

  “So that’s it? You don’t trust your own judgment? I can remedy that. Get this Ford down here to Denver and I’ll check him out. My track record as a matchmaker is unparalleled. Ask my friends.”

  “I’m not sure I want him anywhere near Denver.”

  “That’s fear talking,” Darla said confidently. “I saw the look on your face when you realized it was him on the phone. You want him here.” Her grin turned wicked. “In fact, you just plain want him. You can deny it to me, if you like, but don’t deny it to yourself.” She patted Emma’s hand. “I’ll get out of your hair. If the girls get too rambunctious, you have permission to threaten my Laura Beth with permanent grounding and no TV. That usually gets her attention.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Emma said. “See you in the morning.”

  “Right-o.”

  “And thanks for the advice.”

  “Don’t thank me—take it! I know what I’m talking about.”

  Emma sighed as she watched Darla leave. It must be nice to be so confident about your own intuition about men. She didn’t trust hers at all.

  But Darla had been right about one thing, and Emma wasn’t afraid to admit it: She really, really wanted Ford Hamilton. She just wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do anything about it.

  Emma haunted Ford’s dreams like a sexy ghost. He hadn’t been this hot and bothered by a female in a very long time. And he’d never let a woman who professed to be unattainable get under his skin this way. He usually preferred to cut his losses and stick with women who were as eager to see him as he was to see them. M
aybe it was just because his options in Winding River were so limited. The town wasn’t exactly crawling with single women his age.

  But, if he was being totally honest, he knew it was more than that. Emma would have drawn him if he’d met her during singles night at a bar crammed with available women. She was intelligent and attractive and mysterious. All in all, a worthy challenge. And as Ryan had so rightly pointed out, there was that surprising hint of vulnerability just below the surface.

  He knew Emma had been taken aback by his mentioning that he might turn up in Denver. He’d heard her unmistakable gasp, but he’d deliberately hung up before she could demand an explanation or try to talk him out of making an impromptu visit. He intended to let the notion simmer a few days until she got used to it. Then he’d make good on it.

  But the waiting was killing him. He’d made it through one week, but he couldn’t see lasting through two. In fact, by the time he got this week’s edition of the paper on the stands, he’d lost the battle. The urge that had him climbing into his car and heading south was, no doubt, a foolish one. That didn’t keep him from whistling cheerfully the closer he got to Denver. It was going to be downright fascinating to tackle Emma—so to speak—on her home turf.

  Chapter 13

  Emma was actually relieved to be back in Denver, heading to work. Sue Ellen’s case alone, especially in these preliminary stages, wasn’t enough to keep her mind fully engaged, not when she was used to a nonstop barrage of challenges. Her colleagues had stepped in for her while she was away, but she was eager to jump back into the fray. She took on two new cases her first week back and handled pretrial motions for two others that were scheduled for trial later in the fall.

  This was the life she understood, the life she’d been born to lead. She had goals here, respect and an important job to do, even though the trial she’d primarily come back to handle was one she was very likely to lose and she would even be relieved to do so.

  Most of all, this was giving her a much-needed break from Ford Hamilton. His promise—no, she viewed it as a threat, actually—to visit her soon had left her completely rattled when he’d made it the week before. As time had passed and he hadn’t shown up or called again, she began to hope that he’d had second thoughts.

  It was unlikely, though. It didn’t seem to be in Ford’s nature to give up. How could she possibly be so wildly attracted to a man who was as pigheaded and insensitive as he was?

  Except, she was forced to admit, he wasn’t insensitive. She had seen more and more evidence of that as he’d interacted on a few occasions with Caitlyn and her family. In fact, he’d won over just about everyone in Winding River with his easygoing charm. From a tight-knit town not known for welcoming strangers, his acceptance was a testament to Ford’s determination to fit in. A part of Emma could actually envision their acceptance as a couple.

  As for their disagreement over Sue Ellen’s case, if Emma was totally honest with herself, she would be forced to concede that Ford wasn’t just being difficult. He was coming from a perspective that was based on deeply held values about the ultimate sanctity of life, no matter what the circumstances. Though he had listened to her and talked to a few experts, she knew she hadn’t been able to convince him that Sue Ellen had simply been struggling over that gun to defend herself. Ford couldn’t see that years of escalating abuse had convinced the desperate woman that this time her life had been truly endangered. Even Emma had to admit it was a thorny issue with compelling arguments to be made on both sides.

  For the moment, though, that case was on the back burner. Later this morning Emma had another case to fight for a major client of the firm, a drunk-driving case that never should have made it to court. As Emma had hinted to Ford without sharing any of the details, her client should have pleaded guilty—which he was—and taken his punishment, including the loss of his driver’s license because of repeated offenses. Instead, he had insisted on a jury trial.

  She would have given anything to turn the case over to someone else, but the man wanted her and no one else. His long-standing ties to the firm meant he got what he wanted, though why he felt so strongly about that was beyond her. She had made no secret of her contempt for his behavior. Maybe he’d assumed that she would be an even stronger advocate, because she would force herself to hide her distaste in order to represent him fairly.

  And she would do her best, but the truth was, she wouldn’t be one bit sorry if there was a conviction that involved alcohol-abuse treatment and maybe even jail time. She had repeatedly told him as much, but he hadn’t been dissuaded from pleading not guilty or from keeping her as his attorney.

  Once they were in court, the case went predictably, with all of the evidence stacked firmly against her client. If the jury had known that he had arrived with a strong scent of alcohol on his breath, deliberations would have taken about three seconds, but thankfully she had been saved that humiliation.

  Emma was delivering her final argument when she caught sight of Ford in the back row of the courtroom. It threw her off-stride in front of a jury for the first time ever. She paused for a sip of water, remembered where she’d been and continued finally, but the disconcerted feeling remained.

  When the jury had been sent off for the night, with deliberations to begin in the morning, Emma delivered a terse lecture to her client that his wife had better be behind the wheel when he went home and that he’d better arrive stone-cold sober in the morning.

  After he’d gone off, looking chastened, she took a very long time putting papers into her briefcase. Every nerve in her body went on full alert when Ford approached, proving that she’d been wrong when she’d convinced herself that with time she could get him out of her system.

  “You were good,” he said. “Too bad it was a losing cause.”

  “Let’s hope so,” she said, grateful that no one else was around to hear her.

  “I’m surprised you argued that passionately on behalf of someone you want convicted.”

  “Convicting’s not my job,” she replied. “Every defendant deserves the best representation he can get.”

  “How can you rationalize that, when you know a client’s guilty?”

  There was the moral compass that she found both admirable and, unfortunately, at times too rigid. “I never use questionable tactics, I never try to win a bad case on a technicality and I believe with every fiber of my being that justice will triumph.”

  He shook his head. “I’m glad I’m not you.”

  She forced a smile. “There are days I wish I weren’t me, too. This happens to be one of them.” She finally dared to meet his gaze, then couldn’t look away. “Why are you here?”

  His gaze never wavered. “You’re a smart woman. I think you know the answer to that.”

  She knew, and her insides melted at that knowledge. “It’s a bad idea. It was a bad idea in Winding River. It’s still a bad idea.”

  “It’s inevitable,” he corrected. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this since you left, Emma. I think we need to get it over with and then figure out where we go from there.”

  She frowned at him. “Now there’s a romantic proposal. Is this a technique that usually helps you get the girl?”

  “It’s honest.” His gaze locked with hers. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I’m attracted to you. I think you’re attracted to me. It’s there whether we like it or not. Sex is a powerful thing. It loses its power once it’s been acknowledged and dealt with.”

  She regarded him with amusement. Could he possibly be that naïve, or was this just an incredibly clever tactic? Was he hoping to weaken her resolve by addicting her to incredible sex? “You think so?”

  He returned her gaze solemnly. “It’s a theory.”

  “Ever tested it?”

  “Nope. How about you?”

  “No, but I’m highly suspicious. Also, I’m not exactly sure how I feel about going to bed with someone just on the chance that I’ll never want to do it again. Th
at is what you’re hoping to prove, isn’t it?” She wanted to be absolutely clear about his intentions before she risked the rest.

  “Not ‘never,’” he insisted. “I just want to get the urgency factor out of the equation.”

  “An interesting approach.”

  “Shall we give it a try?”

  Because he was right, because—despite everything that divided them—she wanted him in a way she’d wanted no one in a very long time, she nodded. She would try anything that might put an end to this inexplicable yearning that stirred in her whenever they were together. And this was one instance when actions seemed more appropriate than words. Talking it to death would resolve nothing.

  She took out a piece of paper and wrote on it, then handed it to him.

  He never even glanced at the paper, just kept his disconcerting gaze right on her face, on her mouth. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “My address.”

  He grinned then. “I’m a journalist, darlin’. I’ve had this for days.”

  She brushed past him, then called over her shoulder, “Then I’m sure you also have the directions.”

  He did. In fact, he beat her there by ten minutes.

  Emma had had second thoughts, third thoughts, maybe even fourth thoughts, on the drive home. When she found Ford waiting in her driveway, lounging against the side of his car, his lanky body looking sexy as hell in jeans, cowboy boots and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, all of those thoughts fled. She swallowed hard, walked past him, fumbled with her key, then finally managed to get the door open.

  She headed straight for the kitchen in search of a bottle of wine. For once in her life, she was in desperate need of a little artificial courage. She was doing battle with the corkscrew when she heard him step into the room.

  “Emma.”

  The soft command made her pause. Her gaze shifted, met his. “What?”

  He reached out and put his hand over hers. The touch was warm, reassuring.