The Calamity Janes

by Sherryl Woods

  “Okay, then, I’ll try not to shut any doors.”

  “Will you open one by telling me what happened to you that made you so skittish about journalists?”

  She thought back to that terrible time in her life, to how much she had almost lost, to the unbearable sense of betrayal that had almost destroyed not just her career, but everything she valued. Only the backing of some very important people at her law firm had pulled her through, both professionally and emotionally.

  “I can’t talk about it,” she said, feeling the surprising sting of tears. She thought she had shed all the tears she had a long time ago. “Not yet.”

  Ford seemed to accept that. “One day, then. When you’re ready.”

  “I might never be ready,” she warned him.

  “You will be,” he countered. “You just have to realize that you can trust me.”

  She searched his gaze, wishing she could believe in him, that she could make the leap of faith. “Can I?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You can.”

  Looking into his eyes, feeling his strength and compassion, she wanted to believe that. Maybe he was right. Maybe one of these days she would.

  It had been weeks now, and Emma was just as much of an enigma to Ford as she had been when he first met her. It would have been annoying, if he hadn’t seen just how deeply troubled she was by whatever had happened in her past. There had been real torment in her eyes when he had pushed for answers. That was the only reason he had backed off and agreed to wait.

  Now he sat in front of his computer and stared at the blank screen. The temptation to jump onto the Internet and see what he could find by digging around in the Denver newspaper archives was tremendous, but a nagging voice in his head kept reminding him that he had told her she could trust him. If she found out that he’d been checking out her past to fill in the blanks she refused to discuss, she might never forgive him. And Ryan had made his feelings on that subject known as well. Ford didn’t want to disappoint either of them.

  He sighed, turned off the computer and headed for the door. If he was going to be so blasted honorable, he needed to get away from temptation.

  Or else track down the biggest temptation of all, Emma herself.

  He found her at the ranch, sitting on the front porch once again, staring into space, looking as if she were at peace with herself, a glass of lemonade close at hand, an open book lying on the seat beside her. He realized that every time he’d found her there, the restless energy he’d associated with Emma from the beginning was nowhere in evidence. Since it was one of the things that had attracted him, he couldn’t decide if its absence was good or bad.

  “Busy?” he asked from the bottom of the steps.

  The question seemed to startle her. “What?”

  “I asked if you were busy. I was joking, but maybe I shouldn’t have been. Where were you, solving the riddle of the universe?”

  “Nothing so important,” she admitted. “Just trying to decide whether I can get back to Denver this evening or if I should wait till Monday.”

  “If it’s up for a vote, I say Monday.”

  Her lips twitched. “Is that so? Any particular reason?”

  “I have big plans for us this weekend—starting right now, in fact.”

  “Oh, really? What plans? Grilling me for another story?”

  He held up his hands. “My grilling days are over, for the time being, anyway.”

  “What then?”

  “A date,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “Dinner and a movie, maybe. Caitlyn can come along.”

  Her eyebrows rose at that. “You want my daughter on our date?”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Why?”

  “Protection.”

  “She’s six.”

  He grinned. “Exactly. I’ll have to keep my hands to myself.”

  “True,” she said thoughtfully. “How would you feel about driving somewhere to a mall?”

  It was his turn to be startled. “A mall?”

  “Don’t say it as if it’s an alien concept. I’m sure you’ve been to malls before.”

  “I have, just not on a date. Not since high school, anyway.”

  “Then this should make you nostalgic.”

  “Okay, a mall it is. Mind telling me why?”

  “I need some clothes that are less—”

  “Uptight?” he suggested.

  She frowned at that. “I’ll have you know I was voted one of the best-dressed women in Denver last year.”

  “Really?” he said with blatant skepticism.

  “The article said I had class and style.” She regarded him with genuine puzzlement.

  “You really think my clothes are uptight?”

  “The power suits certainly are.”

  “When have you seen me in a power suit?”

  “At Sue Ellen’s arraignment. The rest of the time, you just look as if you’re wearing a power suit. It makes my blood run cold.” He emphasized his comment with an exaggerated shudder.

  “Then I’m surprised you want to spend any time with me at all,” she said stiffly.

  “That’s okay. Mentally I just strip you out of them.”

  Emma choked on her sip of lemonade.

  “I have a really vivid imagination,” he added, thoroughly enjoying her reaction.

  “Apparently.” She studied him with evident curiosity. “If I had other clothes, do you think it would put a stop to these thoughts of yours?”

  “Do I get to pick them?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then my hunch is you’re going to choose a new wardrobe that I’ll have to work just as hard to strip away—mentally, that is.”

  “Mentally. Of course.”

  “Unless you’d like me to act on it,” he suggested hopefully.

  “I think we’ll just wait and see on that,” she said. “So, are we on for the mall or not?”

  “We’re on.”

  She beamed at him. “Good. I’ll get Caitlyn.” She stepped off the porch. “This could take a while. Make yourself comfortable. Can I bring you a glass of lemonade?”

  “No need. I’ll just finish yours.” He tipped up the glass, sipped, then made a face. “It’s tart. Haven’t you ever heard of sugar?”

  “Tart suits me,” she responded, then sashayed off in search of her daughter.

  “It would,” Ford muttered, setting the glass aside.

  He heard a sound, turned and found Millie Clayton, a fresh glass of lemonade in hand.

  “I think you’ll like this better,” she said, grinning at him. “Of course, where my daughter’s concerned, you seem to be satisfied with her just the way she is. Am I right?”

  “You are.”

  She regarded him with obvious pleasure. “Smart man. I don’t think Emma’s likely to change for any man. Her husband tried.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  “Only in discovering that he was sadly mistaken to think he could change one single thing about her.”

  Even though she had given him the perfect opening, Ford resisted the urge to probe more deeply. Information—unless, of course, it just happened to fall into his lap—needed to come from Emma herself. He caught Mrs. Clayton studying him.

  “I thought you’d have a million questions,” she said.

  “I do.”

  “Why aren’t you asking them?”

  “Because Emma’s the one who has to answer them. I don’t want her to think I’m prying.”

  Mrs. Clayton’s smile spread. “Something tells me you’ll do, young man.”

  “Do?”

  “For Emma.”

  “Then you approve of me seeing her?”

  “It’s not my decision,” she said righteously, then grinned, “but yes, I approve. And if you can get her to stay here, I’ll love you forever.”

  Emma, here for good? Ford was taken aback. “Is that even a possibility?”

  “Not to hear her tell it,” she admitte
d candidly.

  “Then what can I do?”

  “Use your imagination,” Millie said, getting up as she spotted Emma heading their way with Caitlyn in tow. “From what I heard earlier, it’s highly developed.”

  For the first time in his adult life, Ford felt himself blushing. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

  “Don’t be. Use it to your advantage.” She patted his shoulder. “That’s my advice.”

  He regarded her with amazement. “You’re quite a woman, you know that?”

  “Well, of course, I am. Why do you think Emma turned out so well?” Millie turned toward Caitlyn. “Have you been playing in the hayloft again?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve got straw everywhere.” She regarded Ford shyly. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Are you going to the mall with your mom and me?”

  “If she can ever get me clean,” she said with a resigned expression.

  “I can do that,” Millie said, casting a pointed look at Ford. “You and Emma enjoy yourselves. This won’t take a minute.”

  “I think you’re being overly optimistic,” Emma retorted.

  “I’m a grandmother. I know a few tricks.” She winked at Ford.

  After Millie and Caitlyn had gone inside, Emma studied Ford. “What was that all about?”

  “What?” he 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,” she murmured just before his lips claimed hers.

  She still bore the tart taste of lemons, which he found to be surprisingly improved thanks to an undercurrent of heat and passion. He lingered and savored, drawing a sigh for his efforts.

  “How am I doing?” he asked after several minutes.

  “Amazingly well,” she admitted, and reached for him, turning what had been a simple experiment into something bold and dangerous.

  A subtle cough and a giggle from inside the door suggested the return of her mother and Caitlyn. Ford drew away but kept his gaze locked with Emma’s.

  “I think we’ve been busted.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she said, grinning. “My mother always did have radar when I was just about to get lucky out here.”

  “Emma Clayton Rogers!” her mother protested, coming outside.

  Emma winked at Ford. “She knows it’s true.”

  “I am shocked, nonetheless,” her mother said. “Get lucky, indeed.”

  She turned from her daughter to Ford, and he saw Millie’s indignation fade, to be replaced by amusement.

  “Watch your step, young man,” she scolded, eyes twinkling.

  “Yes, ma’am. Emma, I think we’d better get out of here before she decides to ground you.”

  Caitlyn watched the adults with increasing bemusement. “Grandma, are you gonna ground Mommy?” The prospect seemed to fascinate her.

  “You never know. I might,” Millie threatened.

  Caitlyn tucked her hand in Emma’s. “Don’t worry, Mommy, I’ll come to see you.”

  “Me, too,” Ford declared seriously.

  “Which would pretty much defeat the purpose,” Emma’s mother said. “Now, go. I have things to do around here, and I can’t get them done with all of you underfoot.”

  Caitlyn scampered off the porch at once, followed more slowly by Emma. Ford paused and kissed Millie Clayton’s cheek. “Remind me to tell your husband how fortunate he is.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, he knows. I remind him all the time.”

  Chapter 10

  Listening to the exchange between Ford and her mother, watching the two of them grinning at each other like co-conspirators, rattled Emma worse than the few stolen kisses she had shared with the man. She knew exactly what her mother’s agenda was: to get Emma and Caitlyn back to Winding River permanently. Apparently she was willing to enlist an unsuspecting Ford Hamilton in her plan, hoping that his methods of persuasion would be more successful than her own.

  Emma stewed about that all during the trip to the mall, all during the movie and all during their outing for Mexican food before heading back to Winding River. Despite Ford’s speculative glances, he didn’t try to ferret out the reason for her silence.

  In the car on the way home, though, she saw him glance into the rearview mirror as if to assure himself that Caitlyn had finally fallen asleep in the back seat. Then he turned briefly to Emma.

  “Okay, spill it.”

  “Spill what?”

  “Something’s been on your mind all day. Tell me.”

  Emma started to deny it, then sighed. They needed to get this out in the open. “It’s you and my mother.”

  He shot her an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to know what you were up to back at the house.”

  “Up to?” he echoed as if the phrase had no meaning he could divine.

  “Don’t you dare play dumb with me, Ford Hamilton. I saw you. I heard you.”

  “Well, if you saw us and heard us, why don’t you tell me what we were up to, because I’m clueless.”

  “A journalist admitting he’s clueless,” Emma said scathingly. “That has to be a first. I figured if you didn’t know the facts, you’d just go right ahead and make something up.”

  A scowl settled over his features, and for a minute Emma thought she had gone too far. She had promised to stop taking potshots at him. Her vow was only a few days old, and she was already breaking it.

  Finally Ford turned to her. “Do you honestly believe that? Have I ever given you any reason to think I would do such a thing?”

  Emma struggled to put fairness above her own history. “No,” she conceded reluctantly.

  “Okay, then, why don’t you tell me about what you think your mother and I have done, and leave out the uncalled-for slams against my character?”

  She accepted the rebuke as her just deserts. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But it looked to me as if you were conspiring.”

  Ford chuckled.

  “I’m serious, dammit.”

  His expression sobered, but she suspected there was still a twinkle in his eye. In the dim light of the car she couldn’t see it.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little overly dramatic?” he asked. “What were we supposedly conspiring about?”

  “Me.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “She wants you to influence me into staying here, doesn’t she?”

  “As if I could,” he said with another deep-throated chuckle. “Emma, is there a person on earth who could make you do something you don’t want to do?”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “Well, then, what are you so worried about?”

  “You could try,” she said.

  “But I wouldn’t succeed, right?” He glanced at her. “Or is that the real problem? Are you afraid I might convince you that Winding River is where you belong?”

  “You could never convince me of that.”

  “Well, then, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Somehow she didn’t find his response as reassuring as she should have. “As long as you understand that,” she said.

  He regarded her solemnly. “I do.”

  The words made her shudder. Apparently he noted her reaction, because he grinned.

  “Those two little words don’t scare you, do they? I do?”

  “It depends on the context, doesn’t it?” she said carefully.


  “Exactly. You and I are a long way from standing in a church, repeating vows to each other, wouldn’t you say? We haven’t even made it through a single date without sparring over something or other.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good, then we’re on the same wavelength.”

  “Good,” she agreed, but for some reason the thought brought little comfort. If anything, she found it annoying. It was no wonder she had so much trouble with relationships. Clearly she was totally perverse, declaring one thing, wanting another, and unable to reconcile the two. She’d better stick to the one thing she was really good at—being a lawyer.

  For once, though, the idea brought scant comfort.

  Ford couldn’t quite figure out Emma’s mood. She had been quiet at the mall, letting Caitlyn’s exuberance fill in all the conversational gaps. The child had charmed him, suggesting what Emma must have been like as a girl. Once she’d gotten over her shyness, Caitlyn had talked a blue streak. In some ways he already knew her better than he did her mother.

  As for Emma, he concluded he might never figure her out. He had thought she might be relieved to have everything out in the open, to have his agreement that they were very much on the same wavelength when it came to their relationship…or lack thereof. Instead, she’d gone quiet on him again, maybe even a little more despondent.

  Pushing for answers didn’t seem likely to get much clarification. He had a feeling Emma didn’t understand her mood—or the reason behind it—any better than he did. Since he was familiar with conflicting emotions, he decided it was best to let the subject alone, to let her mull it over and sort through it on her own. She would let him know when she’d reached a conclusion about whatever it was that was troubling her now.

  They rode on in silence, the night closing in around them. Even from the car the splash of stars in the black-as-velvet sky was visible. Normally Ford found peace in these surroundings, especially on a night like this when the sky was clear and the temperature had dropped to a more hospitable seventy degrees. Tonight, though, he was finding Emma’s edginess contagious. When she finally spoke, he jumped.

  “Ford?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He braced himself. “Sure.”

  “Are people in town condemning Sue Ellen for what happened?”