The Calamity Janes

“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.