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#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods returns with two enthralling tales of the Calamity Janes…fierce friends facing challenges in life and love
To Catch a Thief
Gina Petrillo thought she was on the run from her troubles…but they followed her home to Winding River, Wyoming. City-slicker lawyer Rafe O’Donnell is in hot pursuit of Gina, and he doesn’t intend to let his suspect out of his sight, even though Gina’s mouthwatering kisses are irresistible. And while Rafe is out to catch a thief—she just might steal his heart!
The Calamity Janes
Struggling with single-motherhood and career pressures, Denver attorney Emma Rogers comes home for a reunion with the Calamity Janes in desperate need of their support. Can they—and her young daughter—possibly be right that sexy journalist Ford Hamilton, the biggest thorn in her side, is actually the answer to her prayers?
Praise for the novels of Sherryl Woods
“Sherryl Woods writes emotionally satisfying novels about family, friendship and home. Truly feel-great reads!”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Woods is a master heartstring puller.”
—Publishers Weekly on Seaview Inn
“Woods’s readers will eagerly anticipate her trademark small-town setting, loyal friendships, and honorable mentors as they meet new characters and reconnect with familiar ones in this heartwarming tale.”
—Booklist on Home in Carolina
“Once again, Woods, with such authenticity, weaves a tale of true love and the challenges that can knock up against that love.”
—RT Book Reviews on Beach Lane
“In this sweet, sometimes funny and often touching story, the characters are beautifully depicted, and readers…will…want to wish themselves away to Seaview Key.”
—RT Book Reviews on Seaview Inn
“Woods…is noted for appealing character-driven stories that are often infused with the flavor and fragrance of the South.”
—Library Journal
“A reunion story punctuated by family drama, Woods’s first novel in her new Ocean Breeze series is touching, tense and tantalizing.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sand Castle Bay
“A whimsical, sweet scenario…the digressions have their own charm, and Woods never fails to come back to the romantic point.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sweet Tea at Sunrise
The Calamity Janes
Gina & Emma
To Catch a Thief
The Calamity Janes
Sherryl Woods
Dear friend,
When I first conceived the idea for the Calamity Janes series years ago, I knew I wanted to write about a group of friends who’d been a bit of a disaster back in high school, then taken very different paths. Now they’re back in Wyoming for their class reunion and the chance to catch up on their lives. In a lot of ways, these women were the predecessors of the Sweet Magnolias. I’m so delighted that new readers will have a chance to get to know them.
Back then, in addition to writing about strong friendships, I also wanted to attempt a group of books set in a parallel time frame. In other words, even though these are very separate stories, the plots overlap during the big class reunion. Only the final book continues past the last dance. It was an interesting writing challenge. As you read the five stories, you’ll have to decide if the experiment worked.
I hope you’ll have as much fun with the Calamity Janes as you’ve had through the years with the Sweet Magnolias and that you’ll enjoy the Wyoming setting as much as I enjoyed visiting that part of the country to do research for the series.
With all good wishes for lasting friendships in your life.
Sherryl
Table of Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Praise
Title Page
Dear Reader
To Catch a Thief
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Epilogue
The Calamity Janes
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
Epilogue
Extract
Copyright
To Catch a Thief
Sherryl Woods
Prologue
The office at Café Tuscany on Manhattan’s Upper West Side was little bigger than a broom closet, large enough for a desk, a chair and a bookshelf crammed with cookbooks, nutrition reports, menus and file boxes of handwritten recipes. It could only hold one person at a time, but at the moment Gina Petrillo’s feeling of claustrophobia had more to do with the court document in her hand than the size of the space.
“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, fingers trembling as the summons to appear for a deposition slid to the desk. “If I ever get my hands on Bobby, I am going to kill him.”
She had met Roberto Rinaldi when they were both studying cooking in Italy. A passionate enthusiast of fine food, Bobby was an intuitive genius in the kitchen. They had struck up an instant rapport that had more to do with ingenious blends of sauces and inventive uses for pasta than lust.
Truthfully, Gina wouldn’t have trusted Bobby anywhere near her bed. The man was more fickle about women than he was about ingredients. He was constantly experimenting with both. He got away with it because he was charming, impossible to resist when he tempted with either delectable dishes or devilish kisses—at least according to his many conquests.
Gina had ignored his romantic overtures and concentrated on his skills in the kitchen. He was the most creative chef she had met during all of her studies, which was saying quite a lot. After forsaking college, she had studied at some of the finest culinary institutes in Europe. Though she had loved French cuisine, from the gourmet recipes of Paris to the simpler fare of Provence, Italian cooking spoke to her soul. Maybe it was genetic, maybe not, but the first time she had walked into the kitchen in Rome with its aromas of garlic, tomatoes and olive oil, she had felt at home.
It had been the same for Bobby, or so he had claimed. His recipes were both bold and adventurous. She doubted he’d ever tasted plain old pasta and tomato sauce, much less eaten canned ravioli, even as a child.
Five years ago, when the year-long course in Italy had ended, they had agreed to form a partnership, seek out investors among Bobby’s financial contacts and open a restaurant in New York. It had taken another year to put the deal together, but it had been worth all of the scrimping and sacrifice, all of the long nights scraping paint and sanding floors. Café Tuscany had been a dream for both of them.
Apparently, it had also been Bobby’s personal get-rich-quick scheme.
According to the summons she’d been handed an hour ago, Bobby had not only embezzled restaurant funds, but stolen from their backers, as well. A check of the café’s account, made just minutes ago, confirmed the worst—the coffers were empty. And the rent was due, as were payments on invoices from most of their vendors.
Gina had no one to blame but herself for this disaster. She had allowed Bobby to keep track of their finances, because she was more interested in cooking and marketing than calculating. The fact that an outsider—an attorney representing the supposedly swindled backers—knew more about the state of the business’s finances than she did was humiliating. It didn’t seem to matter that she had done her part to make the business thrive. She was as much at fault as the man who’d run off with the money. At least, that was the implication in the summons.
Gina thought of all she had sacrificed to put Café Tuscany on the map, including a personal life. But it had been worth it. With a promotional push by one of her old high school classmates, superstar Lauren Winters, Gina had launched Café Tuscany as the hottest restaurant in a town where five-star dining and excellent neighborhood eateries were a dime a dozen. Prime tables were booked weeks in advance, and special events were sold out. Celebrities liked to be seen here, their presence always noted in the next day’s papers. In the past year, their brand-new catering division had been booked for a dozen of society’s most important charity events. With each success had come new bookings that kept her on the go morning till night.
So where had all that money gone? To finance some new scheme of Bobby’s, no doubt. Or perhaps to freshen his designer wardrobe of Italian suits. Or maybe to buy diamonds for his latest lover. All Gina knew for certain was that none of it was in the bank, and that second notices for unpaid bills were stuffed into a drawer of the desk that Bobby had kept under lock and key. She’d broken into it an hour ago, right after she’d read through the damning words in the summons.
When she’d called Bobby’s home—an expensive brownstone on the Upper East Side—she’d discovered that the line had been disconnected. His cell phone had gone unanswered. The man was gone.
The man was slime!
And because of him, this lawyer—she glanced at the summons again—this Rafe O’Donnell was on her trail, apparently convinced that she was in on the scheme, rather than another one of its victims.
Sitting there, stunned, Gina realized that her dream was not just ending, but crash landing. Unless she could come up with money—a lot of money—she would have to declare bankruptcy and close Café Tuscany within months, if not weeks. She might be able to stave off creditors for a while, but not indefinitely.
“I have to think,” she muttered.
And she wasn’t going to get the job done sitting in this closet. She needed fresh air and wide-open spaces. She needed to go home to Winding River, Wyoming.
She could leave the restaurant in the capable hands of her assistant manager for a week or so. She could call this O’Donnell person and postpone the deposition until, say, sometime in the next century.
With her high school class reunion in a few days, the timing couldn’t be better. Her friends—the indomitable Calamity Janes—would be there to bolster her spirits. If she decided to ask, they would offer advice. Lauren would write a check on the spot to bail her out. Emma would give her expert legal counsel. And Karen and Cassie would find some way to make her laugh.
Gina sighed. They would do all of that and more if she decided to tell them just how badly she’d messed up.
In fact, she thought with the first bit of optimism she’d felt all day, they might even offer her a shotgun she could use if she ever spotted Roberto Rinaldi again.
1
“Gina Petrillo has gone where?” Rafe O’Donnell’s head snapped up at his secretary’s casual announcement.
“Wyoming. She called an hour ago and rescheduled the deposition,” Lydia Allen repeated, looking entirely too cheerful.
If Rafe didn’t know better he’d think she was glad that this Gina had escaped his clutches. He scowled at the woman who had been assigned to him when he’d first joined the firm, Whitfield, Mason and Lockhart, seven years earlier. At the time, she’d been with the firm for twenty years and claimed that she was always assigned to new recruits to make sure they were broken in properly. She was still with him because she swore that, to this day, he was too impossible to foist off on a less-seasoned secretary.
“Did I say it was okay to reschedule?” he inquired irritably.
“You’ve been in court all day,” she said, clearly unintimidated by his sharp tone. “We reschedule these things all the time.”
“Not so some crook can go gallivanting off to Wyoming,” he snapped.
“You don’t know that Gina Petrillo is a crook,” Lydia chided. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”
Rafe held on to his temper by a thread. “I do not need to be lectured on the principles of law by a grandmother,” he said, deliberately minimizing whatever legal expertise she might legitimately consider her due.
Typically, she ignored the insult. “Maybe not, but you could use a few hard truths. I’ve eaten at that restaurant. So have most of the partners in this firm. If you weren’t such a workaholic, you’d probably be a regular there, too. The food is fabulous. Gina Petrillo is a lovely, beautiful young woman. She is not a thief.”
So, he thought, that explained the attitude. Lydia was personally acquainted with the elusive woman and disapproved of Rafe’s determination to link Gina Petrillo to her partner’s crimes. As softhearted as his secretary was, she’d probably called Gina and warned her to get out of town.
“You say she’s not a thief,” he began with deceptive mildness in his best go-for-the-jugular mode. “Mind telling me how you reached that conclusion? Do you have a degree in psychology, perhaps? Access to the restaurant’s books? Do you happen to have any evidence whatsoever that would actually exonerate her?”
“No, I do not have any evidence,” she informed him with a huff. “Neither do you. But, unlike some people, I am a very good judge of character, Rafe O’Donnell.”
Rafe was forced to concede that she was...usually.
“Now that Roberto,” she continued, “I can believe he’s stolen from people. He has shifty eyes.”
“Thank you, Miss Marple,” Rafe said snidely. “Roberto Rinaldi was not the only one with access to the money.”
A good chunk of that money happened to belong to Rafe’s socialite mother. She had been taken in by the man’s charm. Rafe hadn’t explored the exact nature of the relationship, but knowing his mother’s track record, it hadn’t been platonic. He was no more oblivious to his mother’s faults than his father had been before the divorce, but he did his best to keep her from getting robbed blind.
“But Roberto is the one who’s missing,” Lydia pointed out. “He’s the one you should be concentrating on.”
“I would if I could find him,” Rafe said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Which is one reason I want to talk to Gina Petrillo. She just might know where he is. Now, thanks to you, I don’t even know where she is.”
“Of course you do—I told you. She’s gone to Wyoming.”
“It’s a big state. Care to narrow it down?”
She frowned at him. “There is no need to be sarcastic.”
Rafe sighed. “Do you know where she is or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then book me on the next flight.”
“I doubt that Winding River has an airport. I’ll check,” she said, her expression unexpectedly brightening.
“Whatever,” he said, not one bit happy about the images of Western wilderness that came to mind. “Just cancel everything on my calendar and get me out there by tomorrow night.”
“Will do, boss. I’ll go ahead and cancel everything through next week. You could use the time off.”
Lydia’s sudden eagerness, the spring in her step as she started to leave his office, had him frowning. “I don’t need time off,” he protested. “I’ll take care of this over the weekend and be back here on Monday.”
“Why don’t you just play it by ear?”
His gaze narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“Just doing my job,” she said with an innocent expression.
Rafe seriously doubted her innocence, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Lydia was so blasted anxious for him to jet off to Wyoming. She was not the kind of secretary who used the boss’s absence to sneak out and shop or even to take long lunch hours. No, she was the kind who meddled, the kind who took great pride in making his private life a living hell with her well-meant pestering.
And she liked this Gina Petrillo, he thought, suddenly making the connection.
“Lydia!” he bellowed.
“You don’t have to shout,” she scolded. “I’m just outside the door.”
“When you book my room in Winding River, make sure I’m all alone in it.”
She feigned shock. “Why, of course I will.”
“Don’t look at me like that. It wouldn’t be the first time some hotel mixup had me sharing a room with a woman you thought I ought to get to know better.”
“I never—”
“Save it. Just make sure of it, Lydia, or you’ll spend the rest of your career at Whitfield, Mason and Lockhart doing the filing.”
She shot him an unrepentant grin. “I doubt that, sir. I know where all the bodies are buried.”
Rafe sighed heavily. She did, too.
* * *
When the Winding River Wildcats did a class reunion, the festivities went on for three solid days. There was a welcome barbecue on Friday night, a rodeo during the day on Saturday, a dance Saturday night and a farewell picnic on Sunday. It all flowed right into the town’s annual Fourth of July celebration.
Gina was less interested in all of that than she was in spending a few quiet hours with her oldest and dearest friends. For just a little while she wanted to forget all about that slime Roberto Rinaldi and the financial mess he’d left her to clean up.
“Couldn’t we just go down to the Heartbreak, have a few beers, listen to some music and chill for a few hours?” she pleaded, even as the others were coaxing her off her parents’ front porch and toward a car on Friday night.
“There will be beer and music at the barbecue,” Emma told her. “Besides, since when have you ever turned down the chance to party? The only one in our crowd who was any wilder was Cassie.”
At the mention of Cassie, Gina’s spirits sank even lower. “I wish she’d come tonight.”
“She’s promised to be at the dance tomorrow night,” Karen reminded her. “And you know perfectly well why she stayed away.”
“Because of that run-in with Cole earlier,” Gina said. “She really was shaken by that. He came within seconds of bumping face-to-face into their son.”
“It might have been best if he had,” Karen said. “I think she’s just postponing the inevitable.”
“Maybe so, but as much as I wish she were here, I am not going to let it spoil tonight,” Lauren said. “Now, get moving, you guys. I’ve been living on lettuce a long time now. I haven’t had a decent barbecue in years, and I am ready to pig out, no pun intended.” She herded them toward the fancy sports utility vehicle she had rented for her visit.
Twenty minutes later Lauren turned into the parking lot at the school where they had shared some of the best times of their lives. Known far and wide as the Calamity Janes, the five of them had stirred up more trouble than any graduate before or since. Cassie had been the ringleader, but the rest of them had willingly gone along with whatever mischief she devised.
Now Karen lived on a ranch, Lauren was in Hollywood, Cassie was still struggling to keep her son a secret from his father and Emma was a hot-shot attorney in Denver. Like Emma and Lauren, Gina was considered one of the class success stories. The daughter of an insurance agent and a high school secretary, in high school Gina had earned much-needed spending money by working as a waitress right here in town. Now she owned her own very exclusive restaurant in New York. By anyone’s standards, it was a rags-to-riches story.
If only they knew how close it was to turning around the other way, she thought with a sigh as they approached the football field that had been turned into giant picnic grounds for the night. A stage had been set up under the goalpost at the north end, a pit for the roasted pig was at the opposite end and in between were rows of tables with every kind of food imaginable, all catered by the town’s restaurants. Huge galvanized steel tubs were filled with ice and crammed with soft drinks and beer.
Classmates had already staked out spots for themselves by tossing blankets on the ground, but at the moment nobody was sitting. Everyone was milling around greeting people they hadn’t seen since graduation ten years before.
Suddenly Gina felt an elbow being jammed into her ribs. “Hey,” she protested, turning to face Lauren. “What was that for?”
The woman who had been declared most likely to succeed because of her brains, not her now-legendary beauty, gestured toward the bleachers, where a lone man sat, legs stretched out in front of him, elbows propped on the bench behind. He looked aloof and out of place. He also happened to be handsome as sin, but in the last few days Gina had sworn off the type. If she never met another sexy charmer, it would suit her just fine. In fact, at the moment, Bobby’s disappearing act had made her view every male with healthy suspicion.
“Who, pray tell, is he?” Lauren asked. “He’s definitely not one of us. Nobody we went to school with could improve that much in twenty years, much less ten.”
Gina forced herself to give the stranger a closer inspection. True, he was gorgeous, in a citified, sophisticated way. Even in jeans and a chambray shirt—which looked brand-new from this distance—there was no mistaking the man for a cowboy. He was too polished, his chestnut hair a little too carefully trimmed, his complexion a little too pale, his cheekbones a little too aristocratic. He all but shouted that he was some Yankee blueblood.
“Well?” Lauren prodded. “Do you know him?”
Gina was certain she’d never seen him before, but that didn’t seem to stop her heart from doing a little lurch or her stomach from taking a dip. It was possible he was someone’s husband, sitting on the sidelines because he felt uncomfortable among all the strangers. She didn’t think so, though. She had the uneasy sense that his penetrating gaze was locked directly on her. Not on Lauren, who tended to captivate any male in a room, but on her, Gina Petrillo, with the untamable hair, too-wide hips and a ten-year-old sundress she’d snagged from the back of the closet in her old bedroom.
Lauren, ever confident from years in the limelight, didn’t seem to notice that the man’s attention was elsewhere. She grinned at Gina. “Only one way to find out.”
Gina wanted to tell her not to go over there, to steer as far away from the man as she could, but she knew the warning would only draw a hoot of laughter. There wasn’t a person born who could intimidate Lauren once her curiosity was aroused. That confidence was something new. In high school Lauren had been as shy as she’d been brainy. The adoration of millions of fans had given her self-esteem a much-needed boost.
Gina deliberately turned her back on the scene and went in search of a desperately longed-for beer. She had just tipped up the can for a long, slow swallow when she heard Lauren say, “Oh, here you are. Gina, sweetie, this incredibly gorgeous man is looking for you. Aren’t you lucky?”
Gina’s stomach plummeted as she slowly turned to face them. With every fiber of her being she knew she wasn’t the least bit lucky. Never had been, and certainly not lately. No, this man was not looking for her because he’d been dying to get her recipe for fettuccine.
“Gina Petrillo, Rafe O’Donnell,” Lauren said, relinquishing him to Gina with a broad wink and then abandoning the two of them as if she’d just accomplished the matchmaking success of the century.
Gina recognized the name with a sense of inevitability. She forced herself to look straight into the man’s unreadable topaz eyes. There was little point in pretending that she didn’t recognize the name. Nor did she have to work very hard to figure out what he was doing here. She was not going to let him rattle her, though. She would remain cool, calm and collected if it killed her. She refused to let him think for a second that she was harboring any sense of guilt.