wasn’t buying the promise, but she stayed where she was because she was suddenly too exhausted to move.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Want to talk about something else?”
“Not especially.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Then you’re with me just because you prefer anything to your own company?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. I can relate to that.” He picked up the New York paper he’d been reading. “Want some of this? Hard news? Features? Sports?”
“Business,” she said without enthusiasm.
“Checking on your investment portfolio?”
“Nope, checking to see if one of my clients made any headlines this morning.”
Ford’s eyes lit up. “Big case?”
“In some circles.” Despite herself, she began to grin at his obvious yearning to question her about it. “Go ahead. Ask.”
“What company?”
She mentioned the name of the software manufacturer.
Ford whistled. “That is big. I’ve been reading about it. Patent infringement, right?”
“That’s the charge. A former employee is suing them, claiming that they stole his idea then fired him.”
“And you’re claiming it was their property since he developed the idea while working for them,” he speculated.
“Exactly. And it’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”
“Still, it must be fascinating.”
Emma shrugged. Normally this case—all of her cases—brought on an adrenaline rush, but after her failed meeting with Sue Ellen, none of them seemed all that important.
Ford regarded her intently. “You’ve been to see your friend this morning, haven’t you? Sue Ellen?”
Once again, Emma was surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you guess?”
“It wasn’t that difficult. Even after a couple of encounters, I can tell you’re the kind of woman who gets excited by work, yet I ask about the biggest case you’re handling and you shrug it off. That had to mean that something else is weighing on your mind.”
“Sue Ellen, Cassie’s mom—she was just diagnosed with breast cancer,” she explained when he regarded her blankly. “Then there’s my daughter’s unhappiness at the prospect of going back to Denver.”
“So you’re not having a good day.”
“Not especially.” She met his disconcertingly blue gaze. “Why did you end up in Winding River?”
“Do you really care about that?”
If it meant avoiding a conversation about Sue Ellen, she would listen to him talk endlessly about life before Winding River. “Let’s just say I’m curious. I heard you were a hotshot reporter in a big city before you came here. Did you get fired?”
“Naturally you would think that, wouldn’t you?” he said with a weary expression. “I’m sure there has to be a story behind your distrust of the media. One of these days I’ll get it out of you. As for me, the truth is that I did some investigative reporting in Atlanta and then in Chicago, and I was damned good at it.”
“That must have been exciting compared to covering a class reunion.”
“True, but it wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected it to be. Oh, I liked exposing the bad guys well enough, but there’s a lot of bureaucracy on a large newspaper, a lot of economic pressure. I got tired of fighting it. I quit.”
“And here you’re in control,” she guessed, understanding the need to be in charge. For the first time since they’d met, she could relate to him.
“In charge and in a position to make a difference. If I do this right, I might be able to influence the future of this town.”
“In what direction?”
He grinned. “Hard to say. I’m still getting to know it. I’m not going to start out recommending that we bulldoze the trees and encourage development.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Which is not to say that I might not recommend that very thing at some point in the future.”
Emma tried to imagine Winding River as something other than the small, peaceful town it had always been. The image bothered her more than she’d expected. “I hope you don’t. Winding River is…I don’t know…special. It shouldn’t be tampered with too much.”
“So it’s too small for you to be happy here, but you want to know it’s unchanged for those rare occasions when you feel like coming home?” he challenged.
“Exactly,” she said without remorse. “Some things should never change.”
“Then maybe you need to stick around so you can have a say in what happens.”
She shook her head. “No, my life is in Denver now.”
“What life?” he asked.
She scowled at the deliberate challenge. “My career, my daughter.”
“Interesting that you put your work first,” he noted. “But let’s stick to your daughter for the moment. Don’t you think she’ll be happy wherever you are? Besides, didn’t you just tell me she didn’t want to go back?”
The reminder grated. “She has friends there. School. She loves it.”
“She just likes it here better. Why is that?” he prodded.
“Her grandfather just bribed her with a horse.”
Ford laughed. “That would do it for most kids, but are you sure that’s all of it?”
“What else could it be?”
“I’m hazarding a guess, but could it have something to do with the fact that she sees more of her mom here than she does at home?”
“You haven’t interviewed my daughter, have you?” she asked, only half in jest.
“So that is it?”
“Probably part of it,” she conceded.
Ford gathered up his newspaper and slid out of the booth. “I’m the last person on earth qualified to give parenting advice, but it seems to me there’s a message there that’s worth taking to heart. I’ll leave you to think about it.”
Emma
