The Way Home (5 page)

“Look, let's sit down for a minute, okay?” he suggested gently.

She eyed him warily, trying to read the expression in his eyes. The man was like a chameleon, changing from moment to moment. She could deal with the difficult, evasive assistant prosecuting attorney. She was used to that type. She could also deal with men who thought they could barter for favors. Unfortunately, she'd had experience with that type, too. But the way Cal Richards was looking at her now—with compassion and concern and a disconcerting insight—threw her off balance. And for a woman who liked to be in control, that was
not
a pleasant sensation. After all,
she
might know that confrontation made her uncomfortable, but she'd always done a good job hiding that from the world. Until now. For some reason, she had a feeling Cal had picked up on it. And that was downright scary. A “danger” signal flashed in her mind, and somehow she sensed that it would be a lot safer if he left right now, if they forgot about this date and—

“Please.”

The single word, quietly spoken, and the warmth in his eyes, melted her resistance. Even though she had a feeling she was making a mistake, she did as he asked and gingerly sat on the couch, folding her
hands tightly in her lap. He sat beside her, keeping a modest distance between them.

“I think we need to clear the air here,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. “I was only teasing a few minutes ago. For the record, I do not indulge in, nor condone, physical affection except in the context of a committed relationship. It seems that might be one of the few things you and I agree on. Besides keeping my mugging out of the news, that is.”

He smiled then, his eyes reassuring and warm, and Amy looked down, twisting her hands in her lap, feeling like an idiot for overreacting. There was no way she could doubt his sincerity, and a flush of embarrassment rose to her cheeks. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions,” she said quietly.

“I have a feeling you had reason to.”

She conceded the point with a nod. “I don't always meet the most ethical people in my work.”

“I can imagine.”

She looked down again. “Listen, why don't you just go home and get some rest? You've been through enough tonight. Just forget about the date, okay?”

Cal frowned and studied her profile: smooth forehead, finely shaped nose, firm chin, the slender sweep of her neck. At the moment she looked more like a fragile and vulnerable woman than a brash reporter. An unexpected surge of protectiveness swept over him, and his frown deepened. Now what was
that
all about? He didn't even
like
Amy Winter! And she'd just let him off the hook, released him from the ob
ligation to go on the date he'd been dreading. This was his chance to make a quick exit. Except, strangely enough, he suddenly didn't want to leave.

When the silence lengthened, Amy glanced up cautiously and tried to smile. “Are you still here? I thought you'd be out the door in three seconds after that reprieve.”

So had he. Why was he still sitting here? For a man who spent his days finding answers to difficult questions, this one left him stumped. Maybe it was simply his sense of fairness, he rationalized. After all, she'd paid good money for this evening, and he owed her dinner. That was certainly the easy answer—even if he had the uncomfortable feeling it wasn't the
right
one. But now was not the time to analyze his motivation for wanting to stay. He could think about that later. In fact, he
would
think about it later—whether he wanted to or not, he realized ruefully. And he had a feeling that the answer was going to be a whole lot more complicated than simple fairness. Still, it was a good enough response to Amy's question.

“I owe you dinner. And I pay my debts.”

She hesitated. Then, with a little shrug, she capitulated. “We could at least make it another night, if you'd prefer.”

“Like I said, as long as you don't mind having an escort who attracts attention, I'm game.”

With or without the black eye, Cal Richards would attract attention, Amy thought. Tall, distinguished, handsome—he'd turn women's heads in any room he entered. If he thought the black eye was the only reason he'd be noticed, he was either slow or totally
without vanity. And she knew it wasn't the former. The fact that it must be the latter was refreshing. In her world, appearance—for both men and women—was at least as important as skill and often received far more attention. To discover someone who seemed totally unaware of his appeal was a rare—and pleasant—occurrence.

“I'm used to attention,” she hedged.

“I'm sure you are. Even Mitch recognized you. I imagine that gets old.”

She shrugged. “Not yet. It's still kind of fun, most of the time.”

Cal shook his head. “Well, to each his own. Personally I prefer anonymity.”

“Then maybe we
should
cancel tonight. Because between the two of us, I guarantee we're going to attract attention.”

He frowned. “Well, I have an idea, although it's not much of a date for five hundred dollars,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Let's have dinner here.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Amy hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay.” She took a quick mental inventory of her freezer. “I think I have a couple of frozen microwave dinners. And I might have a—”

“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I wasn't asking you to supply the food.”

She frowned. “Then what did you have in mind? Pizza?”

He grinned. “Hardly. Will you trust me on this?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Nothing else tonight has turned out the way I expected.”

“Look at the bright side. The evening has to get better, because it can't get any worse.”

Amy had to admit that he was being an awfully good sport about the whole thing, and she smiled in return. “Too true.”

“I'll just need to use your phone again.”

“Okay. I'll set the table.”

“We'll salvage this evening yet,” he promised with an engaging grin as he reached for the phone.

As Amy got out plates and silverware, she glanced once or twice toward Cal. He was mostly turned away from her, but she caught a glimpse of his strong profile now and then. He wasn't exactly handsome in the classic sense, but there was something about his face, some compelling quality—call it “character” for lack of a better term—that touched her. It was odd, really. In an evening full of surprises, this was the most surprising of all—the discovery that she was actually starting to
like
Cal Richards. It didn't make any sense, of course. She was still convinced they were polar opposites in many ways, not to mention at odds professionally. Nevertheless she had a strange feeling that somewhere deep inside, at some core level, they were more alike than either had suspected. It was an intriguing, unsettling and surprising thought.

But the surprises for the evening weren't over yet, it seemed. When she returned to the living room, Cal had put on one of her favorite jazz CDs.

“I like your taste in music,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

“Dinner will be here shortly.”

“Can I ask what we're having?”

He grinned. “I think I'll surprise you.”

She tilted her head, a small smile lifting her lips. “I like surprises.”

“Really? I'll have to remember that.”

She started to say “Why?” then caught herself. It was just a meaningless remark. After tonight, the only time their paths would cross would be in the courtroom, she reminded herself, surprised at the sudden slump in her spirits. She forced herself to focus on the present, reminding herself she had a job to do tonight. That was what this evening was all about after all. With an effort she smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”

“That would be great.”

“Would you like a soft drink, or something stronger?”

“Do you have any wine?”

Amy bit her lip. She was pretty sure she had some wine left from a gathering she'd had at Christmas-time. “I think so.”

“It's not something I indulge in often, but I could use a glass tonight.”

Amy returned to the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator, triumphantly withdrawing a bottle of merlot. She had just enough for two glasses, which she carried back to the living room, handing one to Cal.

He waited until she was seated, then lifted his glass. “May the rest of the evening be better,” he said.

She raised her glass. “I'll second that.”

Amy wasn't sure if it was the toast or the wine or just the fact that they both seemed to let their guard down, but from that moment on, the evening took a decided turn for the better.

By the time they'd finished their wine, dinner arrived, and it was like no “carryout” Amy had ever seen. It came via courier—two gourmet dinners from one of the city's finest restaurants, on china plates inside domed food warmers, complete with salad and a chocolate dessert to die for.

Amy could only stare in awe as Cal arranged the food on the table, shaking her head in wonder the whole time. “Well, if you can't go to the restaurant, bring the restaurant to you,” she murmured finally. “I'm impressed. You must have good connections to get this kind of treatment. I didn't think ‘carryout' was even in their vocabulary.”

Cal shrugged. “The owner and I go way back. Trust me. I'll owe him for this,” he said over his shoulder with a grin. Then he stepped back and surveyed the table. “Now, all we need is a little candlelight, and we can pretend we're actually at the restaurant.”

“That I can supply.”

As they leisurely made their way through the dinner, Amy realized that she was truly enjoying herself. Cal was a good conversationalist, moving with ease from topic to topic, displaying an impressive knowledge and insight on everything from world events to Broadway musicals. The more they talked, the more she realized how much they had in common. Their
tastes in art and music were similar, and they were surprisingly in sync politically. It wasn't until they started talking about more personal things, especially their careers, that their differences emerged.

“So tell me why you went into broadcast news,” he said as they sipped their coffee and dug into the rich dessert.

Amy cupped her chin in her hand. “For the glamour. And the excitement. Not to mention it pays well,” she said with a grin.

“Is money that important?”

“It is when you don't have it.”

“So I take it you don't come from a wealthy background.”

She made a face. “Hardly. I grew up on a farm in Ohio. We weren't poor, but there was never any money to spare. It never bothered my sister, Kate. She was perfectly content with that life and had no desire to leave the farm. I, on the other hand, was drawn to the lights of the big city. I figured there was more to life than cows and plows, and I was determined to find it.”

“Have you?”

She looked surprised. “Sure. I mean, this—” her arm swept the room, with its panoramic view of the city lights “—is what I've always wanted.”

“And you've never looked back? Never questioned your decision?”

Amy shifted uncomfortably under his suddenly intense gaze. Funny he should ask that, when she'd done that very thing not long ago. But as she'd told
herself then, it was too late for second thoughts. And anyway, she
did
like her life and her job.

“Not really. Sure, there are some parts of my job that I don't particularly care for. But someday, if I play my cards right, I'll snag an anchor slot and have the freedom to pick and choose the kind of stories I cover.”

“Such as?”

“Human-interest pieces. Stories about ordinary people who do extraordinary things. Feature reporting, more in-depth than what I do now, where you have the time to do stories that leave people uplifted and inspired. I get to do a bit of that now, but not nearly enough. It's really satisfying to shine the light on good, decent people instead of the dregs of humanity who usually dominate the news. There
are
good people out there, and I like to find ways to give them their moment in the spotlight. I think it would also help young people to see that nice guys don't always finish last.”

Amy had gotten more and more passionate as she spoke, and Cal's attentive—and approving—gaze, as well as the sudden warmth in his eyes, brought a flush to her cheeks. She didn't usually get so carried away, nor did she typically reveal so much about her personal feelings. She had no idea why she'd done so tonight. She
did
know it was time to shift the focus. “So now you know all the reasons why I left the farm and never looked back,” she finished lightly. “And how about you? What's your background? How did you get into law?”

He gave her a quick smile. “I guess turnabout is
fair play. I grew up in Tennessee, in the shadow of the Smoky Mountains. Unlike you, I had to think long and hard about leaving.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged. “A lot of reasons. For one thing, law seemed like a career where I could do some good, help people, advance the cause of justice. I was pretty idealistic in the early days.”

His reasons for his career choice made many of Amy's sound shallow and self-serving, she realized, and she took a sip of coffee while she mulled over his answer—especially the past tense in the last sentence. “And you aren't idealistic anymore?”

His eyes grew troubled. “When the system works the way it's supposed to, when I can really help someone and justice is served, it's incredibly satisfying,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately, that doesn't happen nearly often enough.”

“Is it happening in the Jamie Johnson case?”