Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “He didn’t break my…” She waved a hand at him. “Oh, never mind.” She was getting sick of repeating that, and besides, nobody seemed to believe her, anyway.

  Case gave her a slow, even smile that said he didn’t believe her, either. “So, are we straight on what you’re going to do?”

  Dutifully, Jo repeated his instructions back to him word for word.

  When she was finished, Case sat back and nodded. “It sounds like you’ve got it all down.”

  “Try not to sound so dubious,” she advised. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was letting her help if he truly didn’t think she could do this, but she didn’t want to put any ideas in his head.

  “He’s going to find out pretty quickly that you’re a reporter, so he might not talk to you. How will you handle that?”

  She gave him a sly look and stood up, striking a seductive pose. “I’ve got a slinky black dress that’s got a slit on the thigh clear up to…”

  “No.” Again he was on his feet. This time he added emphasis by stomping around the room. “You don’t get it, do you? You just don’t understand.…”

  Jo giggled, then bit her lip. When he whipped around to glare at her, she said, “Gotcha.”

  Case stared at her for a few seconds, then his right eyebrow went up, his lips came together, and he sauntered over to stand before her. He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. His gaze touched on her face, on the color riding high in her cheeks and the bright mischief in her eyes. “You know, Miss Quillan, for a reporter, you’ve got kind of a frivolous attitude toward investigations.”

  “Really?” She could feel the rhythm of her heart picking up to a quick patter in her chest. Casually, she leaned against the corner of her desk. “You mean I’m not serious and sober enough?”

  “No, you’re not.” A grin played at the edges of Case’s mouth. “And you tend to think that you’re in charge.”

  “That is kind of a bad habit of mine. I guess it goes with the territory. After all, I’m the only hard news reporter on the Ingot, so I can pretty much run my own show.”

  He nodded. “And in Calamity Falls, that show would be, what? Reporting on a chicken that laid an egg with a double yolk?”

  “No, my uncle handles those stories. He loves oddities like that. Aunt Millie takes care of social happenings in town. Yours truly is responsible for all the really hard news around here,” she said importantly.

  Jo was amazed at her own delight when she saw the interest in his eyes. This was much better than arguing with him, and much more intriguing. Looking into those deep, dark eyes of his made her forget all about Steve’s perfidy. Case looked so good, in fact, that her gaze dropped to his lips. She wondered how they tasted.

  “What kind of hard news?” those lips asked.

  “What?” She blinked and focused. “Oh, hard news.” She cleared her throat, ignored his blossoming grin, and said, “Did you know they’re going to resurface the parking lot over at the supermarket? Painting new stripes and everything.”

  “Fascinating. Have the major wire services picked that up?”

  “Not yet. I’m keeping it quiet for the moment.” Her smile flickered then she grew serious. “This investigation of Purdy is the first really serious story I’ve worked on in a while.”

  “In a while?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, in a long while. But it won’t be the last one,” she added quickly. She straightened, neatened her collar and pretended to brush dust from her shirt cuffs. Smiling impishly, she said, “I’m going to be really good at this investigative-reporter job.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, his face going cool. “So you can get out of Calamity Falls and onto the fast track.”

  Remembering how he felt about the fast track, and his relief at having escaped it, she said, “I know it wasn’t for you, but that doesn’t mean it’s not for me.”

  Case’s eyes were steady on hers. “That’s right.” He looked at her mouth, which for some reason began to tingle. “And I’ve got to remember that, too,” he finished.

  He stepped away from her abruptly. “I’ll need to talk to you after the meeting tonight.”

  Jo felt a keen sense of disappointment at his brisk tone. For a moment, she was at a loss. “My place,” she said. “Here, I’ll write down directions.”

  “No need,” he said, starting toward the door. He turned and gave her a cocky grin. “I’m an investigator. I can find it.”

  Jo watched him stride out, her disappointment warring with her good sense. It was better if they were cool and strictly professional with each other. Getting involved in anything even remotely personal would be a big mistake. She knew that. She didn’t have time for anything personal. She wasn’t going to get involved with a man, even one as interesting and compelling as Case Houston. She didn’t have time for it.

  She sure was curious about how those lips tasted, though.

  HE’D PROBABLY MADE the biggest mistake of his career. Case sat stretched out in a chair, legs extended, boot heels digging into the plush carpet of his room at the Copper Quest.

  He never involved nonprofessionals in an investigation. And why this girl, of all people? She was maddeningly persistent, completely sure she knew exactly what she was doing when it was obvious that she was clueless.

  “Great,” he muttered, sitting up and resting his head in his hands. He was partnering up with a clueless reporter. She was eager, he had to give her that.

  Eagerness was in her words, in her voice, in everything she did, from making friends with the town’s odd citizens, to seeking out a story that could get her out of this little place and into the high-profile, high-powered, high-stomach-acid career she thought she wanted.

  Talk about clueless. Case stood and began prowling the room, stopping occasionally at the window to gaze down Manzanita Street at the cozy little town.

  Jo had no idea what she was letting herself in for, the kind of stress she would have to endure, the millions of details that would demand her attention. The memory gave him a sickening punch to the gut.

  He’d hate to see that happen to her. She was too soft for that life, despite her desire to be a hard-driving investigative reporter. Too soft.

  Case’s eyes lost focus as he gazed out the window. Too soft. He thought about the way her hair belled around her face, the gentle curve of her cheek, her lush mouth, that Marilyn Monroe body with extra leg length added.

  “Oh, hell!” He whirled away from the window and paced the room like a caged lion.

  He was the one who was soft. Soft in the head.

  Somehow he’d lost the good judgment he prized in himself. In doing so, he’d gotten tangled up with Jo, who wasn’t a model of good judgment, either.

  He’d given her careful instructions, but would she follow them? Panicked doubts sent him hotfooting it toward the door.

  He’d better go find out.

  6

  “I WANT TO SEE what you’re going to wear tonight.” Case stood on Jo’s tiny front porch, rocking on his heels and trying not to look like as much of a fool as he felt.

  Jo gaped at him. “What I’m wearing?”

  Actually, what she was wearing wasn’t bad; a lacy robe in stop-your-heart red, no shoes, hot pink polish on the nails. He should have known she’d be the kind of woman who’d paint her toenails. Somehow that made her even more enticing.

  She’d had a bath. The scent of roses swept out to greet him and lure him in. Her soft, smooth cap of hair swung in a chocolate-brown wave. Her lips were touched with pink. She looked like a woman getting ready for a hot date.

  He’d arrived exactly in the nick of time.

  “I thought we were going to join up later,” she said pointedly, crossing her arms at her waist as she blocked the door. “After the women’s-club meeting.”

  “Yeah,” he said, picking her up by her shoulders and moving her out of the way so he could get into her house. She gave an outraged squeak, but he ignored her. “I decided I
’d better come check out what you’re going to wear. You can’t look too attractive to Purdy, or too much like a reporter.” He turned and gave her another up-and-down look.

  Those sea-green eyes of hers asked if he’d lost his mind. Yes, as a matter of fact. He’d already established that. He scowled, trying to pretend he was a sane professional—or at least a professional.

  “Case, everyone in town knows I’m a reporter. It won’t matter what I wear.”

  “Then go get dressed, show me what you’ve picked out and I’ll tell you if I approve.”

  Jo’s hands rose to her hips and she looked him over as if he was some form of mutant insect species. “If you approve? Case, you left me only an hour ago. Did you spend that time listening to a tape on how to be an ape-man?”

  “No. I spent the time thinking I’ve made a big mistake and that you’re much too likely to fall under the spell of Harold Purdy, the King of Charisma.”

  “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence!”

  He didn’t answer, hoping that his silence would convey the idea that what he’d said made perfect sense.

  He glanced around her living room, which he thought he could cross in exactly five steps. Through one open doorway, he could see her kitchen, and through another, the hallway to the bathroom and bedrooms. It was like a doll’s house, decorated in what he assumed was aunt-and-uncle cast-off chic. A small faded sofa that he figured he could fit into his back pocket was covered with a bright, knitted throw. Print pillows were scattered around, tabletops were covered with pictures and knickknacks. It was warm, cozy and inviting, and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there.

  He ignored her irritation, then chose a chair that he thought might not break beneath him and sat down.

  “Make yourself at home, Case,” she murmured, closing the door—but not until she’d stuck her head out and taken a quick look up and down the street. Probably worried about what the neighbors would think.

  He frowned. She could tell her neighbors that this was strictly business. Maybe she should tell him that, too. “Thanks, I will. Why don’t you get dressed?” When she opened her mouth to argue, he held up his hand. “I’m the boss, remember? We both agreed that I’m the boss and you’re going to do exactly what I say.”

  She stared at him for a couple more seconds, then dropped her hands in defeat, shook her head, and left the room. He heard the door close, then another click, which told him she’d locked the door.

  Smart girl. Case leaned forward to crane his neck and peer down the hall so he could see which room was hers, then sat back with a sigh. Okay. He’d come this far. He could justify this whole exercise in stupidity by saying that he’d never worked with a partner before and wanted to make sure she knew what to do. Or he could say he didn’t trust her. Or he could simply tell the truth and admit that he was spooked by the idea of her listening to Purdy.

  Jo was back in a few minutes, dressed in a knee-length sleeveless dress of lemon yellow. She looked casual, cool, and as tartly sweet as a lemon drop. He could feel his mouth puckering.

  “Too much leg showing,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “You don’t want to get Purdy’s attention on a personal level.” Never mind that she’d already done that this morning.

  “Case,” she said, her voice dripping with patience, “there’ll only be half a dozen women there—older women, with blue hair and polyester pantsuits. I’m certain he’s going to notice me, no matter what I wear.”

  Exactly what Case was afraid of. “Do you have anything…longer?”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous. I don’t…”

  “Want this story?”

  She met his eyes, turned, and headed back to the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later wearing a full-length evening dress. It was a shimmering black, had a high neck and long, tight sleeves.

  “Will this do?” she asked sweetly, and did a slow pirouette in front of him. That was when he saw that the thing had no back. His mouth went dry as he counted her vertebrae. Funny, he’d never known how wildly erotic a woman’s back could be.

  He told himself not to have a heart attack and managed to wheeze, “Do you know that thing’s got a gaping wound where the zipper ought to be?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder, a move that had all kinds of sexual connotations he didn’t even want to consider right now. The puckering effect in his mouth seemed to be sweeping through his whole body.

  “It’s long,” she said. “It covers my legs.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I lied about the slit up the thigh. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  He looked at the determination in her eyes and felt admiration sparking in his own. “Got any pants?”

  “Why, yes, I believe I do.” The sweetness in her voice could have caused cavities.

  As she swept out of the room, Case found himself standing on tiptoe to see exactly how far south that slit went.

  Damn. He’d almost seen the top curve of her derriere. He should be struck blind for what he was thinking. Sitting down, he tried to bring his imagination back under control.

  In a few minutes she stood before him in dark green slacks and a white sweater set. “This is it, Houston. Take it or leave it. The fashion show’s over and I’ve got to go.”

  She looked cool and virginal. Oh, hell. He nodded, stood up and gave her a close inspection. Deciding she probably wouldn’t like it if he reached over and tugged up the gentle V-neck of the sweater, he finally said, “Looks fine. Remember you’re observing and taking notes, and…”

  “I know how to make a report,” she said, taking two steps in so that they were standing inches from each other. “I told you that already and if the way I’m doing this doesn’t please you, then you can just…”

  “Okay, you’re on your own.” He knew when it was time to quit talking and start walking. He headed for the door. “I’ll be back later and you can give me the report.”

  He scurried out before she could throw something at him.

  INFURIATING MAN, Jo fumed as she trotted down the street, descended two sets of stairs, and landed, breathless, at the front steps of the women’s club. The only good thing this had done was keep her mind off this meeting so she wouldn’t get nervous. She was wildly excited about the chance she was being given, but also determined to be professional. It wouldn’t do to show her unsureness, and in the sparsely populated room it would be even more obvious.

  On the dot of seven o’clock, she swept in the door and came to a screeching halt.

  The place was packed.

  Jo stared. She wouldn’t have to worry about standing out in the group. She wouldn’t even be able to move in this group. She sincerely hoped the fire marshal didn’t hear about this. The room, which had been built to hold one hundred, was jammed with twice that many chairs and more were being passed hand to hand over the heads of the ladies present.

  “Oh, hi, Jo,” Martha said as she squeezed between two other ladies. She stopped to fan herself with a printed program. “Better find a seat quick or you’ll have to stand. I stood up to adjust my girdle—they can call these damned things body-shapers all they want, but they’re still girdles to me—and I lost my chair in the front row to Melba Parker. I never knew she had such a vicious right elbow,” she complained. “She nearly broke my rib.”

  Still awed, Jo nodded. “Martha, where did all these people come from? They’re not members, are they?”

  “Lots of tourists heard that Dr. Purdy was going to be here. Charlotte announced it at her lecture this afternoon.” She stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowd. “Also, I think several cars full of ladies came over from Bisbee, Douglas and Tombstone.” She shrugged. “It seems he’s got a message people want to hear.”

  “No kidding.” Jo quickly found a seat at the edge of the back row. She couldn’t see very well because of the press of people in front, but by nearly climbing into the lap of the lady next to her, she managed to get a view of the podium.

  When Dr. Purdy stood and began to speak
, a hush fell over the group. As he talked, he seemed to cast a hypnotic spell over his audience. They were silent, respectful, and listening intently, though, from what Jo could understand, he wasn’t saying anything new in regard to investing money. Now that she knew he was a con man, she thought it odd that he’d be counseling people to invest prudently. Why wasn’t he asking them to give their money to him? Isn’t that what con men did?

  By the time he finished speaking, she could feel the restiveness in some members of the audience. Apparently, their interest didn’t stretch to listening to his advice about what to do with their retirement checks. In fact, when the meeting broke up, Jo heard several women say they’d only come to hear him talk.

  “He sounds so refined,” one woman sighed. “Just like Cary Grant or Ronald Coleman.”

  “He doesn’t have a British accent,” her companion said.

  The first lady snickered and fanned herself with her hand. “No, but he’s so debonair, so suave. I overheard him say a few words in a restaurant this morning, and I just knew I had to come tonight if only to listen to that man’s voice.”

  “Mabel, you’ve been divorced too long. I thought we only came tonight because there was nothing good on television.”

  “Well, yeah, that too.” She looked around at her friends. “Anybody want to stop by the Copper Pot and have a piece of pie?”

  As the women trooped out, Jo edged closer to Purdy, who had several women grouped around him including Charlotte Quail and Freida Long. Now that Jo knew Freida’s story, she was even more wary, but she hid it with a warm smile.

  “Dr. Purdy,” she began, and he immediately turned his clear blue eyes on her and bathed her with that warm smile. He stepped forward and took her hand, though she hadn’t offered it. “Your talk was very…enlightening. Is your background in banking? You certainly seem knowledgeable.” She hoped she didn’t sound like a twit, but there was something about being near him that made her feel as if her brain cells were clicking into sleep mode and only banal chatter could come from her mouth. It made her think of the old thirties radio show The Shadow, about a character who clouded the minds of men.