The Calamity Janes: Gina and Emma. Sherryl Woods

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      “Did I pay for your dinner?”

      “No, but now that you mention it, that’s a very good idea. After all, it seems I was spying for you.”

      “If that’s what you were doing, you must not be very good at it. You’re not giving me anything I can use, Lydia.”

      “Because there’s nothing to pass along. All I can say is that it’s a shame that jerk’s actions might bankrupt the place.”

      “Is the word out about Bobby skipping town?”

      “It wasn’t in any of the society columns, and Deidre, that’s Gina’s assistant, acted as if everything were perfectly normal. If there was any buzz about their problems, I certainly didn’t hear it.” She hesitated, then said, “You know, if you just stopped bugging her, I think Gina could keep the place open and pay back all the money Bobby stole. Not that she should have to, if you ask me, but I suppose somebody is obligated to make good on the investors’ losses. Why not at least give her a chance?”

      “If she’s guilty of conspiring with her partner—”

      “She’s not,” Lydia retorted, cutting him off. “I wish you’d just use that supposedly stellar gut instinct of yours where she’s concerned. Have you spent a single minute with her? If you had, you’d know she’s no thief.”

      Maybe not, Rafe thought, but he refused to give his know-it-all secretary the satisfaction of admitting that just yet. Then there was the very intriguing question of how Gina was keeping the place afloat on her own. Assuming she wasn’t involved in the scam—which he still considered to be a sizable leap—she had to be hurting financially.

      Then again, Lauren Winters probably had very deep pockets. Even though Gina had insisted she wasn’t going to burden her friends with her problems, maybe she had lied. Maybe Lauren was quietly bailing her friend out of her financial difficulties. Rafe wondered if he owed the actress a warning about what a risky venture she’d be getting into. Unfortunately, based on past experience, he had a hunch she wouldn’t take the news well and that she’d manage to turn him into the bad guy.

      “Lydia, cancel my appointments for the next two weeks. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

      “You’re staying?” she asked, sounding more pleased than shocked. “Why?”

      “Because Gina is staying.”

      “How are you and Gina getting along?”

      “Let’s just say nobody’s likely to nominate us for couple of the year.” He tried to keep the regret out of his voice when he said it.

      Apparently he’d succeeded, because Lydia sighed heavily. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were,” she said. “Romantically speaking, of course.”

      “Of course,” he said wryly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

      “You’ve been doing it for seven years. I should be used to it,” she said with weary resignation. “But I keep holding out hope that one of these days you’ll come to your senses, find a woman who can put up with you and settle down.”

      She paused, then added, “Now would be a good time, Rafe. You’re not getting any younger, and you could do a whole lot worse than Gina Petrillo.”

      “So you’ve mentioned—more than once, as a matter of fact.”

      “It bears repeating,” she said. “Bye, boss.”

      “Goodbye, Lydia. Hopefully they’ll appreciate your humor in the unemployment line.”

      “Your threats don’t bother me.”

      “I know. I know. All those bodies,” he said and hung up. If only he could find a few of the skeletons in her closet. A woman as cheeky as Lydia was bound to have dozens of them.

      * * *

      If he was going to stay in Winding River, Rafe couldn’t keep wearing the same clothes, especially since the only dry cleaner in town seemed to have a quirky disregard for customer service. Whoever owned the business apparently opened when he felt like it. If he had regular hours, they weren’t posted, and Rafe had yet to see the lights on in the business.

      The only clothing store in town offered Western wear. Rafe resigned himself to a new wardrobe of jeans he’d rarely have the opportunity to wear once he got back to New York. His closet was filled with practical suits and three tuxedos for all of the charity events he was duty-bound to attend because his partners’ wives served on the boards and the fund-raising committees.

      He left the hotel, walked down Main Street and was about to go into the clothing store when he spotted Emma Rogers accompanied by a little girl, who looked as if she might be about six. Emma frowned when she saw him.

      “Still here, Mr. O’Donnell?” Emma asked, her tone not especially friendly. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

      “I’m afraid my business is taking longer than I’d hoped.”

      Her gaze narrowed. “What exactly is your business?”

      Before he could respond, Gina came darting out of the café across the street and pointedly got between them. Ignoring the two adults, she hunkered down to give the little girl a hug.

      “Caitlyn Rogers, you are getting so big I hardly recognized you. How old are you now? Ten?”

      The child giggled. “No, Aunt Gina, I’m only six.”

      “I can’t believe it.” She leaned closer. “I think Stella has your pancakes on the griddle. Do you want to run on over there so you can get them while they’re hot?”

      Caitlyn looked up at her mother. “Is it okay?”

      Emma regarded Gina with amusement, then turned her attention to her daughter. “Go,” she said. When the little girl would have darted straight across the street, Emma reached out and caught her. “Hey, what do we do before crossing the street, even here in Winding River?”

      Caitlyn regarded her guiltily. “Look both ways,” she said, then dutifully did just that.

      “Okay then, now you can go.”

      All three of them watched the child’s progress, then Gina beamed at Emma. “We should join her.”

      “In a minute,” Emma said. “Rafe was just about to explain why he’s still in town.”

      Gina gave him a sharp look. “Was he really?”

      He grinned. “Emma was certainly hopeful that I might. In all honesty, I was heading for the store to buy some clothes.”

      “You don’t look like a man who wears a lot of jeans,” Emma said. “In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you usually wear thousand-dollar suits. I recognize the type. I go up against them in court every day. In fact, again if I were guessing, I’d say you’re either a lawyer or a stockbroker, Mr. O’Donnell. Which СКАЧАТЬ