The calamity Janes (7 page)

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, pausing at the bottom of the steps, her hand on the railing.

“Waiting for you. I’ve left several messages. You haven’t called me back.”

“What do you suppose that means? Could it possibly be that I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

“If you have a question, now that you’re here, just spit it out.”

“I want to talk to Sue Ellen.”

“Not a chance. Anything you want to know, you’ll have to ask me.”

“Will you answer me?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I like the question.”

“In other words, you have all the cards.”

She grinned. “Pretty much.”

“Are you sure that you’re operating in your client’s best interests? Or are you letting some vendetta you have against the media interfere with getting her story out in a way that might help her?”

“You want to help Sue Ellen? Now why do I have a tough time buying that?”

“Because you have a suspicious nature?”

“No, because you’ve already made it plain in print and in conversation that you’ve got an ax to grind against her.”

“I reported the bare facts in last week’s paper. As for any conversation that you and I have had, it was in the heat of the moment.”

“Then you don’t consider Sue Ellen to be guilty of a cold-blooded murder?” she asked, quoting him precisely.

“I never said that.”

“You did,” she corrected. “At the jail on the night she was arrested. That’s not exactly the kind of open-minded reporter I want her to talk to.”

“If you won’t let me talk to her, have dinner with me. You can give me her side of things.”

Emma hesitated. He was right about one thing. She did need to build sympathy for Sue Ellen’s cause, if only to plant a subliminal message in the minds of potential jurors. And, sadly, the
Winding River News
was the only game in town, though many locals took the Cheyenne newspaper as their daily paper. Emma resolved to try to reach someone there first thing in the morning. In the meantime, putting her spin on things for Ford made sense.

“Okay,” she said at last. “I’ll have dinner with you.”

“Tonight?”

“That’s as good a time as any.”

He grinned. “Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”

She bristled. “It’s not a date, it’s an interview. If you can’t keep that fact straight, why should I trust you with any others?”

“An interview, not a date,” he said solemnly. “Got it.” He gestured toward his car. “Coming?”

“I’ll meet you in town. That way you won’t have to drive me all the way back out here.”

“Ah, that’s the date thing again, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get confused just when things are starting to go so well.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can keep it straight for a couple of hours…maybe even all evening long.”

“A couple of hours should be enough. I don’t want to tax you,” she said acidly.

He left that unchallenged. “Where should I meet you for this non-date dinner?”

“Tony’s,” she said at once. Maybe Gina would be
there. She could offer additional insights into the kind of person Sue Ellen had been when they were growing up.

“The Italian place on Main Street,” he said. “Great lasagne.”

“Better pizza,” she countered.

“Are we going to argue over that, too?”

She gave him a faint smile. “More than likely. I’ll see you there. Give me an extra couple of minutes to check in on Caitlyn and let my parents know I’m going out.”

“I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

“Forget the wine. It might loosen my tongue.”

“That’s the whole idea,” he said with an unrepentant grin.

“Make it coffee.”

“Whatever you say, Counselor,” he said with a jaunty salute.

If only, Emma thought as she watched him drive away.

When Ford spotted Gina Petrillo coming out of the kitchen at Tony’s, he understood why Emma had picked this particular restaurant. She’d wanted backup. Was that because she was afraid of what she might say about Sue Ellen and Donny Carter? Or because she felt—and feared—the same sizzling awareness that had aroused him? Did it even matter? The bottom line was that they were going to be well chaperoned.

Gina greeted him with a smile. “I’m filling in for Tony, and the waitress is on a break. Are you here for dinner?”

“Of course. Tony must really rate, if he can lure you into substituting,” he said.

“He got me into the restaurant business,” she told him. “So, are you here alone or are you expecting someone?”

“Actually, your friend Emma will be joining me,” he said. “How about that booth over there? It looks fairly private.”

Gina studied him with a penetrating look. “You intending to whisper sweet nothings into Emma’s ear?”

“Nope. This is an interview, not a date,” he said, dutifully reciting the ground rules.

Gina grinned. “Your choice of words or Emma’s?”

Before Ford could answer, she said, “Emma’s, I imagine. I really need to have a talk with her. What can I bring you to drink?”

“Red wine for me, coffee for her.”

“Two red wines,” she corrected.

“As long as I don’t end up wearing that second glass,” he said, chuckling at her audacity.

“Blame it on me. She’d never toss it at a friend, especially once I explain to her that wasting a perfectly good wine is a sin.”

Gina had delivered the two glasses of wine and retreated to the kitchen by the time Emma arrived. She scowled at him.

“I thought I made myself clear about the wine,” she said.

“You did,” he agreed. “To me, anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Your friend had other ideas.”

“Gina?”

“She’s subbing for Tony tonight.” He studied the guilty flush on her face. “Which you were hoping for, right?”

She didn’t answer. He took that for a yes.

“In that case, drink your wine. I promise if you get wild, I’ll drive you home and never print a word about it.”

“As if I’d believe that.”

He frowned at her. “Is it me you distrust, or all reporters?”

“All media,” she said succinctly.

“There must be a story there.”

“If there is, you’ll never hear it from me,” she said, then lifted her glass in a mocking toast. “Not even if I drank the whole bottle.”

D
inner turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Maybe it was the warm glow Emma was feeling from the wine. Maybe it had something to do with the way Ford seemed to hang on her every word without taking notes. He’d sworn to her that he’d let her know when the conversation shifted from casual chitchat to a formal interview. Not that she wasn’t very circumspect all the same, but she had begun to relax just a little.

It had been a long time since she’d had dinner with a handsome, intelligent man who wasn’t a business colleague. As long as Ford talked about sports and theater and books, she could almost convince herself that this evening wasn’t work related either. Despite her earlier edict, it almost felt like a date—or at least the way she remembered a date feeling. There was even an edgy anticipation that seemed to underscore everything.

As soon as she acknowledged that, she frowned at the glass of wine in her hand. Was it her second or her
third? She rarely drank. She should have stopped after one, lest her thinking turn fuzzy and her defense mechanisms weaken. She felt as if they already had, so clearly she must have gone over her limit.

“I need to get home,” she said, standing up on legs that wobbled. Obviously alcohol and exhaustion were a lousy combination.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ford said, nudging her back into her chair with surprisingly little effort. “Not until you have some coffee and we do this interview.”

She shook her head to clear it. They’d been talking for hours. Surely…she regarded him with confusion. “We haven’t done it?”

“Did you see me taking notes?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be the first time a sneaky reporter fooled me into thinking he wasn’t going to report what I said,” she said with feeling.

“Well, I’m not sneaky, and I’m not going to report anything unless you tell me it’s on the record.”

He sounded sincere, but Emma had vowed never to let herself be taken advantage of again by the media. Until tonight she had restricted her recent media contacts to quick, prepared sound bites that couldn’t be misinterpreted. She no longer agreed to in-depth interviews.

“I can’t do this now,” she said again. She shook her head in a futile attempt to clear it, then said with amazement, “I believe I may have had too much wine.”

Ford grinned. “Entirely possible. You’ve almost finished that first glass.”

She stared from him to the glass. “The first? I was sure it had to be my third.”

“Afraid not. You don’t drink a lot, do you?”

“No.”

“Is that a control thing?”

She frowned at the question, fairly sure he had meant it to be insulting. “Meaning?”

“Are you afraid of losing control?”

“Pretty much,” she agreed without hesitation. Her reputation as a control freak was widespread and undeniable. Pretending otherwise would be a waste of time.

“Do you ever let loose?”

“Never.”

His look heated as he captured her gaze and held it. “Not even in bed?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

Emma had risked another sip of wine, but the question made her choke on it. “Excuse me?”

“I was just wondering—”

“I know what you were wondering. Isn’t that a little inappropriate as an interview question?”

“Sorry,” he said without any evidence of real remorse. “I lost my head there for a minute and asked a date question.”

She propped her chin on her hand and stared at him with fascination. Maybe this was a good chance to shine a little illumination on the whole dating thing. She’d been out of practice for quite a while. “You actually ask that sort of thing on a date? Times certainly have changed from when I was dating.”

Ford seemed to take her question seriously. “Well, not recently, to be perfectly honest, but yes, the subject of sex has come up a time or two.”

“On a first date?”

He grinned. “Depends on the date. You’ve certainly planted the idea firmly in my head tonight.”

Emma had a feeling the heat she felt climbing into
her cheeks had nothing to do with the wine. Now that she’d opened the door to the topic, she was regretting it.

“I haven’t embarrassed you, have I?” Ford asked, his expression innocent. “I figured being a big-city lawyer and all, you would be familiar with the topic.”

“It doesn’t come up a lot in corporate law.”

“Or in your personal life, either, I’ll bet,” he said in an undertone.

“I know about sex,” she said emphatically just as Gina stopped at the table.

“Whoa!” Gina said, backing off a step with exaggerated horror. “Obviously I’m interrupting.”

“No, you’re not,” Emma said, grateful for the intrusion. She was very much afraid that the conversation had veered into a quagmire from which she might never extricate herself. “Can you drive me home?”

Gina glanced at Ford. “What about your date?”

“He is not my date. This was supposed to be an interview, but he never got around to asking any questions, so he loses,” she said triumphantly.

“Another time,” Ford said, his eyes twinkling and his lips curving into a smile.

Emma gazed into those mesmerizing eyes and lost her train of thought. Lordy, he was handsome when he smiled. Too bad he had such a major character flaw: his career.

“I’ll remember to make sure you lay off the wine next time,” he added. “I like my women to remember everything about an evening we spend together.”

She frowned at that. “I am not one of your women, and I can remember everything that happened tonight.”

“We’ll see about that in the morning. I’ll call you.” He glanced at Gina. “Need any help?”

Gina was staring at Emma with a perplexed expression. “No, but how did she get this way?”

“Exhaustion and that glass of wine you insisted on.”

“One glass?”

“One,” he confirmed. “But she was pretty much this way after the first couple of sips.”

Gina shook her head. “Amazing.”

Emma scowled at her. “Kindly do not talk about me as if I weren’t here.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Okay, sweetie, on your feet. Let’s get you home.”

Emma brushed aside Gina’s outstretched hand, cast one last haughty look at Ford and walked out of Tony’s alone. She’d lied when she’d told Ford she would remember everything about this evening. She had a pretty good hunch that in a few more minutes she wouldn’t even remember her own name. Oddly enough, though, she couldn’t seem to make herself regret it. In fact, she felt as if she’d been through some sort of rite of passage back into the social world of grown-up women. Next time, though, she vowed to steer clear of the wine so she could actually enjoy it. Also next time, it might be best if the male company she chose weren’t in a position to derail a client’s case.

“You should have seen her,” Gina was saying when Emma walked into Stella’s the next morning in serious need of coffee and a bottleful of aspirin. She’d hitched a ride into town with her mother so she could pick up the car she’d left outside Tony’s the night before.

“She was seriously looped, and on barely a glass of wine,” Gina concluded.

“Emma?” Lauren stared from Gina to Emma, clearly incredulous.

“Oh, stop it. I wasn’t drunk. I was just a little shaky. I don’t usually drink.”

“Keep it that way,” Gina advised. “You are not a woman who holds her liquor well.”

“I didn’t do anything outrageous, did I?”

“Other than talking to Ford about sex?” Lauren teased. “Gina told me about that.”

“I didn’t,” Emma said, but Gina’s gaze didn’t waver. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gina confirmed. “I think I came along before things got too hot and heavy. I’m pretty sure you were just assuring him that you were familiar with the concept.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he asked, or maybe he implied that you didn’t know anything about the subject. Ford seems to bring out your competitive streak. Looked to me like you might be about to leap across the table and offer him proof of your experience.”

Emma groaned and held her head. “Get me coffee before I die.”

Lauren chuckled. “Ah, here comes the man in question now. Maybe he can fill in the blanks.”

Ford approached the table, nodded at Gina and Lauren, then fixed his gaze on Emma. “Room here for one more?”

“Sure,” Gina and Lauren said in a chorus, just as Emma said, “No.”

He slid in next to her anyway. When his thigh grazed hers, she swallowed hard and kept her gaze firmly on the menu. She would not let him see that he had the power to disconcert her in the slightest. She was fairly certain it was not possible to die of terminal embarrassment.

Breakfast seemed to take an eternity. With every second that passed, Emma grew more and more aware of the hard, solid thigh next to her own. All that muscle, all that heat…sweet heaven, what was happening to her? Why had her hormones, which had been dutifully silent for months and months, chosen now to act up? And with Ford Hamilton, of all people.

“Well, as enthralling as it’s been to watch the two of you,” Lauren said, “I have to go. Karen’s expecting me.”

Emma ignored the gibe and focused on the rest of Lauren’s statement. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at the ranch. What’s that about?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Lauren said, though she avoided Emma’s gaze. “Karen needs all the help she can get. Since she refuses to take any money from me to hire extra help, then I intend to pitch in as much as I can.”

“And your career?” Gina asked, studying her worriedly.

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Lauren countered. “I don’t see you rushing back to New York.”

Emma held up a hand before the two of them could start a contest over which one was working hardest to avoid some problem. “Hey, enough,” she said. “I’m sure Karen appreciates having Lauren around, and I’m sure Tony is grateful that Gina’s here. And I’m glad you’re both around.”

Both women stared at her. “Emma as peacemaker? That’s a first,” Gina said. “That’s usually Karen’s role.”

“Well, she’s not here at the moment,” Emma said. “I am. And I have negotiated my share of settlements. I don’t always have to win in court.”

“You just don’t like to lose,” Gina teased as she slid out of the booth. “Let’s go, Lauren. I have a feeling these two have things to discuss.”

Emma slanted a look at Ford, who was observing the entire exchange with obvious interest. “I should go, too,” she said, but he didn’t budge. Short of climbing over him, she was stuck right where she was.

“Not just yet,” he countered mildly. “I haven’t finished my breakfast. Stick around. Have another cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, Emma, have another cup,” Gina encouraged. “Those cobwebs in your head can probably use another dose of caffeine. I’ll send Cassie over.”

“Thanks,” Emma muttered.

When Gina and Lauren had gone and Cassie had poured more coffee without comment, Emma scowled at Ford. “Why not sit on the other side? You’ll have more room.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable right here. How about you?”

She knew that to admit to anything other than total comfort and serenity would be far too telling. “I’m fine,” she said, barely resisting the urge to grind her teeth in frustration.

Ford finished his eggs in silence. Emma watched him with mounting tension. How could any man look so perfectly relaxed while instilling such turmoil? Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she scowled at him.

“I thought you had questions you wanted to ask me. If not, I have things to do.”

He grinned at her impatience. “Maybe I was just trying to lull you into a false sense of complacency.”

“Well, it’s not working. I’m getting annoyed, and
when I get annoyed, I am not the least bit inclined to be cooperative.”

His grin widened. “Yes, I can see that. Okay, then.” He drew his tape recorder out of his pocket and put it on the table between them, then met her gaze. “Ready?”

Emma stiffened but nodded. “Any time you are.”

He clicked on the recorder, said the date and her name. “You’re the defense attorney for Sue Ellen Carter, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And she is pleading not guilty in the death of her husband, is that correct?”

“Absolutely.”

“She did shoot him, though? You do admit that much, correct?”

Emma weighed her response. The facts of the case weren’t really in dispute. Though the gun had actually been in Donny’s hand when police arrived, Sue Ellen hadn’t denied that it had gone off while they had struggled over it. The prosecutor had been wise enough not to try for a first-degree murder charge for the same reasons. He’d accepted Sue Ellen’s statement that there had been a struggle and agreed to the lesser charge of manslaughter. But a charge with any jail time at all was unacceptable to Emma.

“Ms. Rogers?” Ford prodded.

She chose her words with deliberate care. “The gun went off during a violent struggle during which my client was in fear for her life.”

“You’re claiming self-defense?”

“Absolutely,” she said without any hesitation. “And based on the pattern of abuse, I think it will become clear that she had every reason to be afraid.”

“Had your client’s husband ever been charged with domestic violence?”

“No.”

“Had he ever been arrested?”

“No.” She saw what Ford was trying to do and scowled at him. “But the police had been called on numerous occasions, not only by my client but by the neighbors as well. Those calls are on record.”

“If she was so terrified, why didn’t she leave?”

Emma lost patience. “Mr. Hamilton, do you know anything at all about domestic violence?”

“It’s Ford, and I’ve read a few articles.”

“Okay,
Ford.
The articles you’ve read must not have been very thorough, or else they were outdated. There is a whole litany of reasons why women don’t leave their abusers. Once you grasp that, then perhaps we’ll have something more to talk about.” She reached over and switched off the tape recorder. “Until then, we’re through.”

He frowned at her. “Why should I read, when you’re the expert? Explain it to me.”

“It isn’t my job to educate you. You’re a reporter. It’s your job to explore all of the facts, to seek out the experts.”