Emma was still stewing over her run-in with Ford Hamilton as she sat in the swing on the front porch at the ranch, idly pushing herself back and forth. A glass of her mother’s fresh lemonade and the sound of Caitlyn’s giggles as she rode the lawn mower around the house with her grandfather slowly began to have an effect, settling Emma down, washing away her anger over that awful photo in the Cheyenne paper and Ford’s role in giving it to them.
It just proved that she’d been right all along about all journalists—they simply couldn’t be trusted. The competitive drive for a scoop would win out over ethics every time, no matter how well-intentioned and honorable they claimed to be.
The fact that Ford hadn’t run the picture in the Winding River News meant nothing. Actually he’d seen to it that it was published in a far more damaging place, a statewide newspaper that had a greater reach and more apparent credibility than a small local weekly would have.
His decision was unfortunate, really, and untimely. She had been starting to like Ford, starting to believe he might be different from his colleagues of the fourth estate. The story he’d done about her classmates and their success had been fair and factual. Of course, there was the tiniest possibility that the shift in her opinion might have been entirely self-serving. She’d been fighting an attraction to the man ever since the moment they’d met.
Too bad. Her suddenly awakened hormones were just going to have to wait until a more suitable prospect came along—one with higher ethical standards at the very least.
Emma gave the swing an idle push, stirring a slight breeze as it went back and forth on creaking chains. How many afternoons had she spent out here, a book in one hand, her mom’s lemonade in the other? As a girl, she’d been a Nancy Drew addict, reading every book in the series she could find in the attic and in the town library. By her teens, she’d become a John Grisham and Scott Turow fan. And for her sixteenth birthday, her brothers had given her a collection of Perry Mason tapes. By then, the die had been cast. She’d known she was destined to be a lawyer. Only her father hadn’t seen it coming, or hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Thinking of how clear-cut her goals had seemed back then, Emma sighed. Only now was she beginning to realize how many lives had been affected by her drive and determination…how many people had been disappointed. If she had known, would it have changed anything? She didn’t think so. Maybe it would have kept her from marrying a man incapable of letting his wife work, but then she hadn’t known how fiercely possessive Kit was until after the wedding. Moreover, she wouldn’t have had Caitlyn. How could she possibly regret anything that had given her such a beautiful daughter?
She glanced up just in time to see Caitlyn steering the lawn mower straight for Millie’s flower bed. A gasp from just inside the screen door suggested Caitlyn’s grandmother had seen the same thing.
“I’m going to kill your father,” Millie said, stepping onto the porch.
At the last second, Emma’s father took control of the machine and steered away from the flowers, casting an apologetic look toward the porch. Emma chuckled when her mother raised her fist and shook it at him.
“I swear that man has no sense at all when it comes to Caitlyn,” she told Emma, her amusement plain despite her annoyance. “If she tried to follow him onto the roof, he’d help her up.”
“Probably,” Emma agreed.
“He’s spoiling her.”
“I know, Mom, but it’s okay. It’s only for a short time. Let them have their fun.”
Her mother sighed heavily. “It’s going to break his heart when you leave again.”
“Mom, please.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you.”
“Yes, you do.” Emma glanced at her mother, hoping that she could distract her by getting into the problems faced by another of her children. “By the way, I had a talk with Martha. She’s worried sick about Matt. I promised I’d talk to him.”
Her mother looked relieved. “That’s wonderful. Any idea what you’re going to say?”
“Mostly I’m going to listen.”
“Will you tell him to go to college, the way Martha wants?”
“It’s not what she wants. She thinks it’s what Matt wants but refuses to admit.”
Her mother seemed taken aback by her daughter-in-law’s grasp of the underlying situation. “She’s probably right,” Millie conceded. “Sometimes I forget that she’s an adult now, and how much she’s matured. A part of me still sees her as the schoolgirl who had a crush on my son.”
“Will you and Dad be able to manage if Matt decides to go back to school?”
“We always have.”
“But will Matt have your wholehearted blessing?”
“Of course,” her mother said fiercely. “How could we do otherwise? We backed you and Wayne. We want Matt to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted for any of you.”
“Maybe Dad should be the one talking to him, then,” Emma suggested. “He could convince Matt not to feel guilty for wanting a different life.”
“I wish it were that simple,” her mother said.
“Why isn’t it?”
“I’m no psychologist, but I think I know my children. As much as I hate to say it, I think Matt’s enjoying being a martyr. And I think there might be a part of him that’s afraid of going back to school after all this time. He was a good student in high school, but that was a while ago. You know how Matt hated to fail at anything.”
Emma was shocked by Millie’s assessment, but she knew her mother would never have said such a thing if she didn’t believe it. Her insights were usually right on target, too.
“Then it’s about time somebody put a stop to that,” she said adamantly. “I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow. I won’t have Matt being a martyr and wasting his life. I’ll remind him that studying skills come back. All it takes is a little determination. And if money’s an issue, I’ll help him with his tuition until they get on their feet.”
“He won’t take your money.”
“Oh, yes, he will,” Emma said with grim determination. “It won’t be an offer he can refuse.”
Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s little wonder you’re such a fine attorney, Emma. You do everything with such passion. I only wish…” She cut herself off. “Well, never mind about that.”
Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Well, well, who have we here?”
Emma’s gaze followed her mother’s. An unfamiliar car was coming up the driveway at a breakneck pace. Emma tensed, surmising who it was, even though she didn’t recognize the car. Ford had parked around back when he’d been here the last time, which was one reason he’d taken her by surprise. She hadn’t realized anyone was visiting, or she might have slipped in the kitchen door. It might have been better if she had. There was no escaping now, though, not with her mother sitting right beside her.
When Ford emerged, her mother’s smile spread. If she was aware of the tension between the journalist and Emma, it certainly didn’t show on her face.
“Ford, how nice to see you,” she called out, even though Ford’s gaze was locked on Emma.
“Do you agree?” he asked Emma.
“Frankly, no.”
“Emma,” her mother scolded. “Ford is a guest.”
“I didn’t invite him. Did you?”
“That’s not the point. Don’t be rude.” She stood up and patted her place in the swing. “Have a seat, Ford. I’ll bring you some lemonade—I just made it. It’s the perfect thing for a warm evening.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, still watching Emma warily.
Her mother tapped her on the shoulder. “Be nice,” she admonished before going inside.
The second they were alone, Emma scowled at him and demanded ungraciously, “What are you doing here?”
Ford ignored the lack of welcome, just as he had at the diner, but he wisely settled into a rocker next to the swing rather than taking the seat her mother had vacated. “I thought we needed to talk.”
“About?”
“I’m not the bad guy here,” he said carefully.
“No? Couldn’t prove it by me.”
He held out his cell phone.
“What’s that for?”
“Call Ryan.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Ask him how that picture really wound up in the Cheyenne paper.”
Emma studied Ford’s expression. “You didn’t give it to them?”
“No.”
“It was your picture. The photo credit said as much.”
“It was Teddy’s picture,” he corrected mildly.
Emma regarded him in stunned silence, thinking of Ryan’s eager nephew. It made an awful kind of sense. Teddy was so anxious to become a big-time journalist. But would he have done such a thing on his own?
“Teddy actually gave it to them?” she asked cautiously. “He works for you. He must have had your permission.”
“He didn’t. The paper called. He couldn’t find me, so he sent it on over. He thought he was doing the right thing. He knows otherwise now. If you don’t believe me, call Ryan. Teddy told him the truth.”
“Why not you? You could have told me.”
“Because the buck stops with me. I might not have given the picture to the Cheyenne paper, but my employee did.”
“So you were willing to take responsibility, rather than put Teddy into a tough spot with his uncle or me.”
“That about sums it up. But Teddy overheard you yelling at me. Then Ryan came storming in and lit into me. It was too much for his nephew. Teddy confessed the whole story.”
“I see.”
“Still mad at me?” he asked, regarding her with a hopeful expression.
“Yes,” she said at once. “Just not as mad.”
He grinned. “You do know how to cling to a grudge, don’t you?”
“It’s not a grudge,” she said with exasperation. “This isn’t some whim, Ford. My client’s future is on the line. That doesn’t seem to matter to you.”
“Of course it matters. That’s why I want her side of the story.”
Emma considered the request yet again, then shook her head. “I can’t risk it.”
Ford sighed. “I’m not going to give up or go away.”
For some reason, Emma found that oddly reassuring.
His gaze locked with hers. “And it’s not all about Sue Ellen, either.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Meaning?”
“There’s something between us.”
“Innate animosity?” she suggested.
“If only,” he said wryly. “No, I’m afraid it’s more than that. It’s damned inconvenient, but it’s a fact. It’s pointless to try to ignore it.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“That we start over, try to keep Sue Ellen’s case from becoming a roadblock to the two of us becoming better acquainted.”
Emma considered the suggestion, debated the merits of getting any more deeply involved with a man she instinctively distrusted. In the end, she admitted that she might not have been entirely fair to him. And there were her hormones to consider.
“I suppose I can do that,” she said finally.
He cast a speculative look in her direction. “Do you think the results will be any better?”
Emma sighed. “Probably not.”
He grinned. “I’m pretty much thinking the same thing.”
“Then why bother?” she asked.
He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. That was it. Just his mouth on hers, light as air, hotter than fire. Emma saw stars.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, when he eventually pulled away.
“Still need an explanation?”
She shook her head. “No, I think you’ve presented sufficient evidence to make your case.”
“Good.” He stood up. “Tell your mom I couldn’t stick around for the lemonade.”
Startled, Emma stared. “Why not?”
“Because there’s an old rule of show business—always leave them wanting more.”
He winked and took off down the steps, leaving Emma staring after him. She lifted a hand and touched her still-burning lips.
Oh, my, indeed.
* * *
Ford allowed Ryan to talk him into joining a Sunday afternoon baseball game in the park. He had no idea why the sheriff was so eager for his participation, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t because he desperately needed another outfielder, which was all Ford was qualified to be. He certainly wasn’t a powerhouse at the plate or capable of playing any critical defensive infield position.
When he arrived at the park, he took one look at the opposing team and had his answer. Emma was sitting on the bench, legal pad in hand, brow furrowed as she barked out orders to her team of women. She was wearing shorts, a baggy T-shirt and well-worn sneakers that he had a hunch she’d found in the back of her closet. It definitely wasn’t the attire of a dress-for-success hotshot attorney. The longer she stuck around Winding River, the more her standards seemed to be relaxing—when it came to clothes, anyway.
Her gaze narrowed when she spotted him standing over her. “What are you doing here?”
“Ryan invited me.”
She shot a suspicious look at the sheriff, who was studiously avoiding her gaze. “Oh, really?”
“He didn’t tell me who was playing,” Ford said.
“Would that have made a difference?”
“In the interest of keeping that newfound peace between us, it might have.”
“You certainly don’t think your team is going to win, do you?”
“Of course I do,” he said. Then, just to see the quick rise of indignant color in her cheeks, he added, “We are guys.”
“You were here the last time we played, correct? You do remember the score?”
“Sure, but you’re forgetting two things. One, Lauren went back to California yesterday. Two—”
Emma interrupted. “Wait. How do you know that?”
“Big news,” he said succinctly. “It was the talk at Stella’s this morning. Everyone was speculating how long it would be before she found an excuse to come back again.”
“What’s the prediction?”
“A week. Two at most. Everyone’s concluded that Lauren would like to move back here permanently but just hasn’t talked herself into it yet. What’s your take on that? Think she could give up the glamour?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking pretty much the same thing about Lauren,” Emma said, her expression thoughtful. “Okay, what’s the other thing I’m supposedly forgetting?”
“I’m playing this time.”
She hooted at that. “And you’re some sort of superstar baseball player?”
“Could be,” he lied. He was a Little League dropout, but she certainly didn’t need to know that. He had a hunch his primary useful skill today was going to be rattling the manager of the opposing team.
Emma frowned at him. “We’ll see.”
Ford leaned down and planted a hard kiss on her lips, then retreated. “We certainly will,” he said, and strolled out to the mound where Ryan was having a conference with the other men. He could feel Emma’s gaze on him the whole time.
“Glad you could join us,” Ryan said to Ford, amusement threading through his voice. “I thought for a while there you were going to join the other side.”
“I doubt she’d have me,” Ford said.
“That’s not the way it looked to me,” Ryan needled. “How about it, guys? Think Emma would take on Ford?”
The question drew a few ribald responses, along with a grin from Ryan.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” the sheriff said. “But since you’ve chosen to be with us, how about playing center field?”
“Why center field?”
“You’ll be directly in the line of sight of anyone up at bat,” Ryan said deviously. “I expect you to make the most of that when Emma’s up. She’s their strongest hitter.”
“I thought she was just managing,” Ford said.
“Not today. Some of her key players—”
“Lauren,” the other men said in a chorus.
“Right, Lauren. She’s not here. Emma’s filling in. I don’t want her on base. Not even a walk. That means I need to pitch strikes and Ford needs to rattle her composure. How about it, pal? Think you’re up to it?”
Ford grinned. “It will be my pleasure.”
It wasn’t long before he had the opportunity to test his skill. Emma had placed herself in the lineup batting cleanup. Her lead-off batter was on base. The next two batters had struck out.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Ford. “Ready?”
Ford acknowledged the question with a salute, then focused all of his attention on Emma. She had a loose and easy stance at the plate that was belied by the intensity of her gaze, which never once shifted from Ryan. Ford concluded that drastic measures were called for. He stripped his T-shirt off over his head. Her attention caught, Emma blinked, mouth gaping. Ryan’s perfect pitch sailed right past her.
“Strike one!”
Emma whirled on Stella, who was umpiring the game. “You call that a strike?”
Stella held her ground. “I do.”
“I wasn’t ready.”
Stella gestured toward the outline of the batter’s box. “You were standing there, weren’t you? Can I help it if your attention wandered?”
Emma muttered something that had the diner owner grinning, but she eventually returned her attention to the field and stepped back into the batter’s box.
Ford turned his back to the plate and bent down to tie his shoe. He figured it was the ultimate test of whether those women who’d voted him as having the best butt at the Chicago paper were right.
“Strike two!” Stella said.
If Ford wasn’t entirely mistaken, she was chuckling when she called it out. Turning slowly around, he saw that Emma, however, wasn’t the slightest bit amused. She looked as if she might argue the call, then shook her head and scowled in Ford’s direction. That look said that she knew what he was up to and didn’t like it. No, he corrected, what she disliked most was the fact that it was working. Baseball might not be his strong suit, but strategy was quite another matter.
Emma’s gaze locked on Ryan. Just as he wound up to pitch, Ford touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss in Emma’s direction. She swung the bat and missed the ball by a mile.
“Strike three! You’re out,” Stella said, laughing openly now.
Ford began jogging in to the bench only to find Emma firmly planted in his path, eyes blazing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He managed what he hoped was an innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course you do! You’re deliberately trying to distract me.”
“You mean the same way Lauren was distracting the men the last time you played?”
“Exactly,” she said, then blushed. “Never mind. Just stop it.”
“Sorry, darlin’, I can’t do that. Ryan gave me an assignment.”
“What assignment? You’re playing center field.”
“But I have a much more important defensive role for the team than chasing after the one or two fly balls your players are likely to hit.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Which is?”
He winked at her. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
“I’m your assignment,” she said slowly. “Me specifically.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Because he wants to win, of course.”
“But why concentrate on me?”
“Because you’re good, I imagine.”
“Well, of course I am,” she said impatiently. “I meant why would he use you to get to me?”
Ford chuckled at that. “It seems to be working.”
She frowned, apparently realized that her gaze seemed to be locked on his bare chest, then snapped impatiently, “Oh, put your shirt on.”
“Seeing me bare-chested doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“I have seen bare-chested men before,” she assured him.
“Not me.”
“I can’t imagine why you think that would make any difference. You, Ryan, Randy, it’s all the same to me. A chest is a chest.”
Ford grinned. “Randy’s not wearing his shirt.”
“He’s not?” Her startled gaze shot to the man jogging in from left field.
“The only bare chest you noticed was mine. I rest my case.”
“Oh, go suck an egg,” she muttered, stalking past him and heading for her position at short stop.
Ford knew that she resorted to that particular expression only when she was most at a loss. He’d heard her use it when her friends were hitting just a little too close to some truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Good job,” Ryan said, patting him on the back. “Just one thing? Without turning this game into something X-rated, what the devil are you going to try to get her attention next time she’s up at bat?”