The Calamity Janes

“Very important,” he agreed, winking at Emma. “You bought it when you were her age, too. Don’t disillusion her.”

A puzzled frown knit Caitlyn’s brow. “What’s disillusion?”

Emma brushed her hair away from her face. “Nothing you need to worry about, my love. How did your riding lesson go?”

An incandescent smile lit Caitlyn’s eyes. “It was sooo fun. I’m getting good, aren’t I, Grandpa?”

“You’re terrific, baby doll.”

Emma’s eyes misted at the endearment. It was what he had once called her. As if he understood what she was feeling, her father clasped her hand in his large callused hand and squeezed.

Thinking of her conversation with her mother, Emma whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He seemed startled. “For what? You have nothing to apologize to me for.”

“I know you’d hoped that I’d stay here and work with you.”

“That was my dream, not yours. You’re entitled to the life you want. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Of course, that was the problem, Emma realized. In the past few days she’d been forced to face the fact that she didn’t even know what real happiness meant anymore. Worse, she couldn’t seem to remember when it had ceased to matter. Maybe she and her brother Matt were in the same sinking boat.

Ford was putting the finishing touches on the layout of photos from the class reunion when Ryan strolled in. The sheriff peered over his shoulder.

“Teddy did a good job, didn’t he?” he said, sounding surprised.

“The boy’s definitely got a way with a camera,” Ford agreed.

“Having you as a mentor is real good for him,” Ryan said. “I’m grateful. Ever since his dad left, he’s been desperate for a role model.”

“An uncle who’s the sheriff isn’t a bad one,” Ford pointed out. “He idolizes you.”

“In some ways, not in others,” Ryan said. “I always thought he was wasting his time and my sister’s money by shooting five rolls of film at every family gathering. It took someone like you to channel what he loves into a money-making proposition. Now all he talks about is being a photojournalist. He can’t wait to get to college this fall. Before, he was going just because his mother and I pushed him to.”

“He is motivated,” Ford agreed. “He’ll make the most of it.” He studied the sheriff speculatively. “What brings you by? I’m sure it wasn’t to get an advance peek at this week’s headlines.”

“Nothing specific,” Ryan said. “I had a few minutes to kill before I head over to the town council meeting. You going?”

“Of course. Anything exciting on the agenda?”

“I hear there’s a zoning request to subdivide the old Callaway ranch into a housing development.”

Though his attitude was nonchalant, something in Ryan’s voice alerted Ford that he wasn’t happy about the plan. “Is there a problem with that?”

“The plan calls for low-cost, subsidized housing. I’m afraid we’re going to be attracting nothing but trouble.”

“There’s not a need for it around here?”

“No. Housing costs are modest as it is. I’ve checked. Locally there aren’t any families in dire need of low-cost housing. It would be a draw for folks from the bigger cities. I’ve got nothing against that on principle, but a whole development all at once will end up putting a strain on the school and on all the other services, law enforcement included. There will be an economic impact on the community, no doubt about it. Winding River’s just beginning to get back on its feet. Tourism is starting to flourish. We’ve had a few people with big bucks move into the county. Last year a few small businesses opened. I don’t want to see anything come along to change that direction.”

What Ryan was saying made a lot of sense. Development per se wasn’t necessarily bad, but the wrong kind could sabotage all efforts to improve the town.

“Is this a done deal?” Ford asked.

“Not by a long shot.”

Ford grinned at him. “Then let’s go do our part to inject a little common sense into the discussion and put a stop to it. You talk, and I’ll give you coverage in this week’s paper. I can still get it in before tomorrow’s deadline, along with an editorial in opposition to the development.”

The sheriff slapped him on the back. “I had a feeling I could count on you.”

As they walked toward the school, where council meetings were held in the auditorium, Ryan cast a sideways look at him. “Heard you and Emma had quite a little chat over at Stella’s today. Looked real cozy.”

“Who’s your source?” Ford asked.

“Now a newspaperman ought to know better than to ask a question like that,” Ryan taunted. “Were they right?”

“Emma and I talked. I don’t know how cozy we were. Having a conversation with that woman is like dealing with a porcupine. You never know when she’s going to take offense and come after you with a sharp barb.”

“You look to me like a man whose hide is tough enough to take a few pointed remarks and to give back as good as you get.”

“There is a certain amount of intellectual stimulation involved, but it can take a toll. I must admit, though, she’s a more complicated female than I first imagined.”

“Complicated, huh?” Ryan grinned. “Watch yourself, pal. Complicated women have a way of getting under a man’s skin and staying there.”

“Emma Rogers is not getting under my skin,” Ford insisted, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew he was lying through his teeth.

“The last man who said that wound up married to her.”

Ford regarded him with surprise. “You knew her husband?”

“We’d met. My sister knew him better.”

“Teddy’s mom?”

“No, my oldest sister, Adele,” Ryan explained. “She dated Kit Rogers for a while at college. That’s how he and Emma met. Kit was here visiting over the holidays one year—we were all at the same party. Then he got one look at Emma, and that was it for him and Adele. They broke up that same night. Can’t say I was sorry. For that matter, neither was Adele. She told me he had ‘control issues,’ which I took to mean that he was a possessive son of a gun.”

Ford digested that news with a sense of astonishment. “I can’t imagine any man controlling Emma.”

“Not for long, that’s for sure,” Ryan said. “Emma hasn’t said, but I suspect that’s what broke up their marriage. She might have tolerated it for a while, but she’s too strong willed to be anybody’s doormat.” He slanted a look at Ford. “A word to the wise.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Ford said. “If I were interested, which I’m not, I’d know better than to think there was a single submissive bone in that woman’s very attractive body.”

Ryan hooted. “All right!”

“What?”

“You noticed that Emma has a fabulous body. I was beginning to worry about you.”

“I noticed,” Ford said, then added firmly, “not that I have any intention of doing anything about it…even if she’d let me…” He met Ryan’s gaze. “Which she won’t. She’s none too crazy about my profession, in case you hadn’t noticed.”