The calamity Janes by Sherryl Woods Page A

to consider.
    On the ride home she let the horse gallop full out, relishing the way the wind whipped her hair and stung her face. She felt exhilarated, if not any less conflicted by the time she got back to the corral.
    Finding Ford sitting on the front porch waiting for her destroyed what little equanimity she had managed to achieve. She was still seething over his initial report on the shooting, which had all but condemned Sue Ellen on the front page. Fortunately, thanks to the tightness of the deadline, it had been little more than a four-inch blurb with a comparatively small headline. His report on the town’s success stories had been much longer but it hadn’t offset Emma’s reaction to that small item about the shooting. He’d been calling ever since for a follow-up interview for this week’s edition. She hadn’t returned his calls. No matter how fair he’d been to Lauren and the others, she didn’t fully trust him.
    “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